Beyond the football field

The World Cup is almost here again, and with it comes one of the strangest transformations in modern life. Perfectly reasonable people suddenly become football experts. Family dinners are rearranged. Weddings are checked against the fixture list. Sleep becomes optional. Somewhere, a sensible adult will decide that watching a late-night match is more important than feeling awake at work the next morning. Nobody questions any of this. It is just what happens.
When I was a child, I thought the World Cup was simply about football. Twenty-two players, one ball, two goals, and the rest of us shouting at the television as if the manager could hear our advice. I was always convinced that I knew exactly what the team should do, despite the small detail that I had never managed a football club in my life. Looking back, I suspect millions of us had the same confidence.
This year's tournament, which runs from June 11 to July 19 across the US, Canada and Mexico, will be no different. Billions will watch. Millions will celebrate. A similar number will be convinced that the referee has ruined football forever. That is all perfectly normal. The more interesting question is why governments become almost as invested as the supporters. If football is only a game, somebody forgot to tell the politicians.
People often say politics should stay out of sport, but I have never been sure what that really means. The flags are already there. The national anthems are already there. Political leaders attend opening ceremonies, governments compete to host tournaments, and public figures are quick to congratulate the winning team. Politics in sport may be the elephant in the room. Everybody can see it, but every four years, we pretend to be surprised that it is there.
I think instead of asking why politics became interested in football, maybe we should ask why football became important enough for politics to notice. What fascinates me is not the game itself. It is what the game does to people. During the World Cup, people who spend the rest of the year disagreeing about politics, economics, or almost anything else suddenly discover they are all hoping for the same result. Complete strangers celebrate together. The person sitting next to you in a café may be hugging you thirty seconds after a goal. Under normal circumstances, you would probably take a small step backwards. For ninety minutes, though, it all seems reasonable.
That shared feeling helps explain why governments care so much. Creating a sense of unity is difficult. Football seems to stumble into it naturally. A speech may be forgotten by next week, but people remember where they watched a famous World Cup match, who they were with, and what they shouted at the referee. I can still remember some of those moments from my own childhood, even though I have forgotten plenty of things that were much more important.
It also explains why countries work so hard to host the tournament. Spending billions on stadiums, airports, transport, and security for an event lasting only a few weeks sounds slightly mad when you first hear it. Yet countries compete for the privilege because they are not only organising a football competition. They are introducing themselves to the world. Yes, television cameras show the matches but also show cities, traditions, music, food, and life in the streets. Host countries are rolling out the red carpet. We call that “soft power”, something that sounds as though it was invented at a conference just before the coffee break, but the idea is simple. People are more likely to visit, study, work, or invest in places they admire. The World Cup gives countries a chance to leave a good impression.
The tournament also creates opportunities away from the pitch. While supporters are discussing substitutions and arguing about referees, government officials, business leaders and diplomats are often meeting behind the scenes. I do appreciate that football is not a substitute for diplomacy, but it can help break the ice. Sometimes a conversation starts with a shared love of the game.
The 2026 World Cup will be yet another good example because it is hosted jointly by the US, Canada, and Mexico. At a time when headlines often focus on borders and disagreements, three neighbouring countries are working together to organise one of the largest events on the planet. The teams will compete, the supporters will debate every decision, and somebody will still blame the referee, which is one of the few traditions shared by football fans everywhere.
The older I get, the stranger the whole thing seems. Children kick a ball around in parks every afternoon without giving it a second thought, and somehow that same game ends up being discussed by presidents, economists, historians, and political scientists. I believe that is what makes the World Cup so fascinating. We still call it a game, but one that shapes memories, builds national pride, opens diplomatic doors and captures the attention of billions of people. Indeed, it is doing an astonishing amount of work for a game.