I’m Welsh-American. My fiancé is Argentinian. We had a wild World Cup.

Neither of us are football fans. But the World Cup is about so much more than football.

Over the tournament, I learned two things about football—as did countless millions of others: heartbreak, and joy.

First, the Welsh side of the story. Heartbreak.

Argentina and Wales entered the competition with very different, but equally gargantuan tasks. For Argentina, it was simple enough: victory or bust after years of disappointment. For Wales, the almighty challenge of doing a nation proud after a 64-year absence from the tournament—putting the nation on the map on a global stage and making the people back home proud.

How different things looked after the first round. Wales had tied the United States on a penalty kick from Gareth Bale, and, well, everyone knows what happened when Argentina faced off against Saudi Arabia.

I made sure to get to The Castle pub in Bangor, Wales ahead of kick-off against the United States. Inspired by Wales’ run to the semifinals of the 2016 Euro championship, I spent years learning the anthem and I wanted to be there for in time to join in.

How little we knew that night about what was to come, as many would now argue that the most memorable moment of the tournament for the Welsh side came during the anthem as the camera panned to a woman whose face—ripe with passion—spoke for all of Wales.

But we tied the United States! Hardly a football superpower, but a superpower in the realm of just about everything else. We came out far stronger in the second half of the match, and it felt like a win. We were ready for Iran.

I was in Cardiff for the next match, and decided I couldn’t go wrong with a pub named after Owain Glyndwr, the last leader of an independent Wales. When I arrived in the pub, Catatonia’s International Velvet was playing (“Every day when I wake up, I thank the Lord I’m Welsh”), and barmen were slinging beers and serving up breakfast ahead of the 10 o’clock kickoff.

How can I describe those 90 minutes? The pub was ready to spill out into the streets and turn the city of Cardiff into one massive, all-day party. Wales had a couple chances in the early minutes, but an off-side goal from Iran sombered the mood at 15 minutes and things became increasingly tense as we waited for Wales to make a move.

Still tied 0-0 at full time, we went into 11 minutes’ worth of stopping time hell as Iran scored two goals in the final minutes.

Of course, we rallied ourselves and prayed for a little Welsh magic in the final group match against England. Off I went to a packed Four Elms on Cardiff’s east side for another ninety minutes of torture.

It’s funny how deeply something you have zero control over can torture you. I made the trip to Wales to witness history, but I had been hoping for a slightly better ending to this chapter. So much for the spirit of ’58.

In my heartbreak, I got a good dose of humility—not to mention empathy for the stricken fans picked up on camera, hands on head and mouths hanging open.

But even in heartbreak, we find determination and resolve ourselves to rally back from defeat. Up next, more on a country that knows a little about that as I reflect on joy.