The FIFA World Cup. The biggest sporting spectacle in the world. A tournament famous for the celebration of diversity, inclusion, and national identity. Whether it be the buzz of South African vuvuzelas from 2010 or the iconic carnival atmosphere from Brazil 2014, the world cup has long celebrated not just the stars on the pitch, but the billions of people from every corner of the globe who come together to celebrate culture.
But as the 2026 rendition of the world’s biggest sporting event approaches, the spectacle is becoming increasingly marred by the realities of world politics and late-stage capitalism.
The Cost of Belonging
Football has long been framed as a working-class game — “the people’s sport” in both origin and identity. It is built on accessibility, on simplicity, on the idea that anyone, anywhere, can be part of it.
But as the FIFA World Cup 2026 approaches, that sense of belonging feels increasingly conditional.
A tournament spread across the United States, Canada and Mexico promises scale and spectacle, but it also raises another question: who, exactly, is it for? And whether, in its pursuit of growth, football is beginning to lose something more difficult to quantify – a sense of belonging that cannot be packaged, priced, or expanded.
Last month FIFA raised the top ticket price for this year’s World Cup final to nearly $11,000. To give some context, the most expensive ticket for the 2022 final was about $1,600.
In a world where wealth inequality is growing, more people are struggling than ever before in the modern era, and billionaire funded corporations are overseeing incomprehensible profits, for many supporters, attending the World Cup is no longer a matter of passion alone, but of financial possibility.
What makes the World Cup, and football in general so special is the idea that the fan comes first, but what FIFA have done with their dynamic ticket pricing model, is turn that notion on its head.
The danger is not just empty seats, but a changing demographic within them — one that reflects wealth more than support, and privilege more than passion. The ability to pay, rather than the depth of one’s undying national support.
Football’s greatest strength has always been its ability to blur those lines – to place people from different backgrounds, countries, and cultures in the same space, united by something simple. A ball, a grass pitch, and 11 players on each team. But when access becomes selective, that balance begins to shift. The World Cup risks becoming less a reflection of the global game, and more a projection of who can afford to be part of it.
However, this sense of distance is not only financial.
Keeping Politics out of Football
This is an old trope we have heard countless times, especially in recent years. But football has always had ties to politics – it is unavoidable. The World Cup, in particular, has long existed as more than just a sporting event; it is a global stage, and with that comes visibility, influence, and power.
What feels different in the build-up to the FIFA World Cup 2026 is not the presence of politics, but its proximity. Even in comparison to the controversies surrounding the decisions to host recent tournaments in Russia and Qatar, the current global climate feels more immediate, more unstable.
Ongoing tensions involving the United States and Iran – ranging from military escalation to fragile ceasefires – serve as a reminder that this tournament will unfold against a backdrop of real-world conflict, not separate from it. At various points, questions have even been raised around Iran’s participation in the tournament, highlighting how closely geopolitical instability now sits alongside football’s most global stage.
Back in 2017, when the “United 2026” bid promoted by the United States, Mexico and Canada carried slogans of unity and global inclusion, it was framed as a tournament that would “bring the game to all.”
However, nine years on, that optimism has been decimated, particularly amongst the co-hosts. Donald Trump has threatened military action in Mexico against the drug cartels and has discussed making Canada the 51st state.
Alongside this, the presentation of what was described as the inaugural “FIFA Peace Prize” to Donald Trump raised further questions about the organisation’s claim to political neutrality.
To award a man responsible for so much of the current global tension with such a prize was viewed by many as divisive, a word which should never be used in the context of a World Cup.
Now, just over a month away from the tournament, it is difficult to envision any kind of unity taking place in North America over the Summer.
Taking the Game Back
Now, much of that may sound bleak. But the World Cup has never been a simple or uncomplicated event.
Bringing 48 nations together in one place will never be without tension. Between on-pitch intensity and off-pitch politics, commercial ambition and cultural significance, power and people, the World Cup exists in constant contradiction.
And yet, every four years, it still returns to something unmistakably familiar – a shared stage where, for all its complexity, the game briefly belongs to everyone, and that is the key to what could still be an enjoyable and positively impactful World Cup.
Football can never truly belong to one force – not governments, not corporations, and not even FIFA itself. It has and always will be – even if only foundationally – the people’s game, and perhaps why, even despite everything that surrounds it, it still matters.
Once the first ball is kicked between Mexico and South Africa on June 11th, the world will stop and watch, as has always been and always will be. Because for all the issues and contradictions, there is no event on Earth quite like the World Cup.
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