Every four years, politicians rediscover football, only to threaten taking it away from fans. With the 2026 World Cup approaching, calls for a boycott over President Trump's policies are resurfacing, but such gestures are more performative than effective.
The Historical Failure of Sporting Boycotts
History demonstrates that sporting boycotts seldom achieve their political aims. The 1980 Moscow Olympics saw a US-led boycott of around 65 nations protesting the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, yet the conflict persisted for nine more years. In retaliation, the Soviet Union boycotted the 1984 Los Angeles Games, highlighting how such actions often devolve into mutual sulking.
The 1976 African boycott of the Montreal Olympics made a moral stand against apartheid by protesting New Zealand's rugby tour of South Africa, but it failed to immediately sway Pretoria. Real change required decades of combined economic, cultural, and diplomatic pressure, with sporting isolation playing just one part in a broader strategy.
Without sustained follow-through, boycotts primarily harm athletes and fans, while denting host cities' revenues and prestige. As one MP stated, "The USA should not be able to participate in the World Cup, let alone be part of hosting it, so yes I support those calling for a boycott." Yet, such rhetoric overlooks the practical futility of these gestures.
Why Fans and Governments Won't Support a Boycott
Politicians advocating for a boycott are profoundly out of touch with public sentiment. Football enjoys immense popularity, whereas politicians often face public scepticism. Asking fans to skip the World Cup is akin to requesting they sit out Christmas—a demand that would spark widespread backlash.
Imagine a UK leader, mere weeks before kick-off, explaining to millions of England supporters that Harry Kane cannot play to make a point about American foreign policy. Scottish fans, celebrating their first World Cup in 30 years, or Welsh supporters hoping to join them, would not tolerate such deprivation. Voters who dismiss government scandals would fiercely defend their right to watch the tournament as a fundamental freedom.
No European government is likely to deprive its football-mad citizens of the year's biggest event for a symbolic stance against US policies. The political cost would be untenable, especially with tabloid media ready to amplify public outrage.
The 2026 World Cup as a Diplomatic and Commercial Prize
Hosting the 2026 World Cup alongside Canada and Mexico represents more than a logistical feat for the US; it is an exercise in sport as diplomacy. In a region often marked by trade disputes and border tensions, the tournament serves as a rare symbol of cooperation.
For President Trump, a successful event could offer a political boost, with packed stadiums and national pride on display. Beyond politics, the World Cup holds immense commercial value for FIFA. The US remains the final frontier for men's football—a wealthy, sports-obsessed nation where the game has yet to fully dominate.
While the 2022 Qatar World Cup attracted nearly 3 billion global viewers, the US audience peaked at 20 million for the USA vs England match. With games in American time zones and heightened local interest, viewership could double, potentially marking a cultural tipping point for football in the States.
Football's Unbreakable Bond Defies Political Manipulation
Football inherently carries political dimensions, with stadiums as stages for national identity and shirts as symbols of pride. However, this very essence makes boycotts ineffective. The sport unites people in ways that politics cannot sever, creating a shared global experience from Sao Paulo to Sunderland.
Attempting to weaponise this unity only reveals politicians' limited control over the game. As one German FA official noted, "I really wonder when the time will be to think and talk about [a boycott] concretely. For me, that time has definitely come." Yet, such calls often amount to little more than viral clips and self-righteous social media threads.
Come June, when anthems play and the first ball is kicked, critics will likely be watching and posting about it online to showcase their populist credentials. Football has grown too vast, profitable, and integral to our collective identity to be boycotted successfully.
In the end, while Donald Trump may divide nations, the World Cup will continue to unite them—at least for 90 or 120 minutes at a time. The tournament's power lies in its ability to transcend political squabbles, making any boycott attempt a futile gesture that underscores politicians' disconnect from the public's passion for the beautiful game.
