The World Cup, a global celebration of unity and passion, has always been more than just a sporting event. It’s a festival of cultures, a reminder that despite our differences, we can come together in joy and camaraderie. But as I reflect on the 2026 World Cup hosted by the United States, I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve missed the point entirely. Personally, I think this was a golden opportunity for the U.S. to redefine its global image, to show the world its best self—open, inclusive, and welcoming. Instead, what we’ve seen is a masterclass in missed opportunities, fueled by greed, hostility, and a startling lack of self-awareness.
One thing that immediately stands out is the treatment of Iran’s team. What many people don’t realize is that hosting a global event like the World Cup isn’t just about logistics; it’s about embodying the spirit of the game. Forcing Iran to relocate its base camp to Mexico, denying its fans tickets, and treating its players like second-class participants is not just shameful—it’s a betrayal of the tournament’s core values. If you take a step back and think about it, this isn’t just about Iran. It’s about the U.S. using its power to dictate who gets to participate and under what terms. That’s not hosting; that’s gatekeeping.
The denial of entry to Somali referee Omar Artan is another glaring example. A detail that I find especially interesting is how this decision was justified under the guise of national security. But let’s be honest—a referee who’s officiated at the highest levels of the sport is hardly a threat. What this really suggests is that the U.S. is more interested in controlling the narrative than in fostering inclusivity. And that’s a dangerous precedent for a country that prides itself on being a global leader.
Then there’s the issue of ticket prices. From my perspective, the World Cup should be a celebration accessible to all, not just the elite. Soccer’s beauty lies in its universality—anyone, regardless of background, can play and enjoy the game. But with ticket prices sky-high, the U.S. has effectively priced out ordinary fans, turning the tournament into another exclusive event for the wealthy. This raises a deeper question: Who is this World Cup really for? The fans, or the corporations and politicians looking to profit?
In my opinion, the U.S. has failed to understand the essence of the World Cup. It’s not just about hosting matches; it’s about creating a space where the world can come together, where differences are celebrated, and where the love of the game transcends politics. Instead, we’ve used this platform to showcase our worst tendencies—greed, division, and a stubborn refusal to embrace the global community.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how this contrasts with the World Cup’s history. Think of the Japanese fans cleaning up stadiums, the Dutch painting streets orange, or the Brazilians chanting in unison. These moments remind us of the tournament’s power to unite. But the U.S. has chosen to be the outlier, the host that forgot what hospitality means.
If you ask me, the real tragedy here isn’t just the missed opportunity—it’s the message we’re sending to the world. Instead of showcasing our capacity for unity and goodwill, we’ve reinforced stereotypes of the “ugly American.” And that’s a legacy that will outlast any goals scored or matches won.
As I reflect on all this, I can’t help but wonder: What if the U.S. had approached this World Cup with humility and openness? What if we had used it as a chance to bridge divides, to show the world that we’re capable of more than just dominance and profit? Personally, I think we would have gained far more than we ever could from ticket sales or political posturing.
But here we are, with a World Cup that feels more like a missed opportunity than a celebration. One thing is clear: the U.S. may host the matches, but it’s already lost the spirit of the game. And that, in my opinion, is the biggest loss of all.
