In news that will surprise precisely no one who has ever attempted to purchase a pint at a major sporting event, the 2026 World Cup has been officially declared the most fiscally unhinged tournament in human history. The numbers, as they say, are utterly barmy. Hosts USA, Canada and Mexico have collectively committed to spending a sum so vast it could feasibly be used to purchase a small planet, or at the very least a lifetime supply of artisanal gin for this correspondent.
Let us begin with the headline figure: $40 billion. That is forty thousand million sterling, give or take a few stray billions that have undoubtedly been siphoned off into the pockets of gentlemen in blazers who look as though they have never once broken a sweat in their lives. For context, that is roughly the GDP of a mid-sized European nation, or the amount of money your average football fan will spend on overpriced hot dogs over the course of four weeks.
But what, pray tell, does this gargantuan sum actually buy? Stadiums, of course. Sixteen pristine temples to the beautiful game, each one gleaming like a jewel in the crown of corporate avarice. Some of these are brand new constructions, rising from the earth like concrete behemoths with price tags that would make a Saudi prince wince. Others are existing venues that have been given a facelift so extensive one might question whether the original structure remains at all. The Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, for example, is being treated to a renovation costing more than the entire budget of the 1994 World Cup, which was itself considered a financial debacle at the time.
Yet it is not merely the stadiums that bleed money. The infrastructure required to host this three-ring circus is equally monstrous. High-speed rail links that will be used once and then abandoned. Airport expansions that will handle a month of chaos before returning to their customary state of chaotic disrepair. Security measures that would make a wartime dictator nod in approval. All of this paid for by taxpayers who, in a heartwarming twist, have been given precisely zero say in the matter.
But here is the kicker, the piece de resistance of fiscal insanity: FIFA itself is expected to rake in a cool $11 billion in revenue from the tournament. That is not a typo. The governing body will pocket nearly a third of the total spent, all while maintaining its hallowed status as a non-profit organisation. Non-profit, I say, with a straight face. The sheer audacity of this arrangement would be laughable were it not so tragically, grotesquely real.
Critics, of whom there are many, have pointed out that this model is unsustainable. Smaller nations will be priced out of ever hosting the tournament again, leaving the World Cup to become a rotating carousel of wealthy nations and dictatorships. The beautiful game, they argue, is being sold to the highest bidder. To which FIFA presumably responds: “Yes, and?”.
For the average punter, the consequences are already being felt. Ticket prices have been set at a level that ensures only the corporate class and their ilk will fill the stands. The working class fan, the lifeblood of the sport, is being priced out. Meanwhile, the players will continue to earn wages that beggar belief while slogging across three time zones in pursuit of glory.
The craziest part, perhaps, is that everyone involved knows this is a terrible idea. The economists know it. The journalists know it. The blazers know it, though they will never admit it. And yet the machine grinds on, because the alternative would be to stop. And stopping, in the world of global football, is not an option.
So raise a glass, dear reader. A glass of whatever cheap spirit you can afford after paying your share of the tab. Drink to the 2026 World Cup. The most expensive, most absurd, most gloriously nonsensical festival of football ever conceived. And know that in twenty years time, when they do it all over again, we will be right here, complaining about the cost, and still watching every single match.
