The Beautiful Game ... or the bloated game?

PELE has famously been credited for calling football “The Beautiful Game,” but even the Brazilian legend will be hard-pressed to find anything beautiful about the biggest sporting event on the planet.

It’s only a week to go before the World Cup begins, but where’s the excitement?

Something feels off. Seriously, I do not recollect any other World Cup that felt least anticipated. And I am including the last edition in Qatar, which was the most controversial.

The first Middle East World Cup in 2022 was also the first to be held in November as opposed to traditional June kickoff. It was also the most expensive games ever staged – at a mind-boggling US$170bil (RM677.8bil).

Very few countries in the world would have been able to spend such vast amounts. But because of this knock-on effect, fans complained about the high price of accommodation and F&B.

Qatar was also the first games to have an expanded 32-team tournament. Previous editions had 24 of the world’s best teams playing for the right to be called the best of the best.

Politics and money (lots of it) have ensured that this year’s edition features a bloated 48-team tournament. That means a fatigue-inducing 104 matches in the group phase alone.

As the 2026 FIFA World Cup unfolds across stadiums in the United States, Canada, and Mexico, it has struggled to capture the electric anticipation that defined previous editions.

Where once the world paused in collective excitement, this year’s event feels more like an endurance test than a festival of football. Has the Beautiful Game lost its sparkle?

I have personally been to three World Cups – Germany in 2006, South Africa in 2010 and Qatar in 2022 – but I have little inclination in paying over the odds to travel halfway across the world to watch this bloated format.

Expanding from 32 to 48 teams was sold as a way to democratise the competition and bring joy to more nations. Admirable in theory, but unwieldy in practice.

Twelve groups of four teams mean a group stage stretched over weeks, with far too many matches that pit powerhouses against minnows in predictable mismatches. The knockout phase balloons, accordingly, turning what was once a sharp, intense tournament into a marathon.

Critics, including former players and analysts, have pointed out that the real drama only begins in the round of 32, leaving fans wading through filler games.

Quality suffers when quantity rules. The calendar is already punishing for elite players juggling club seasons, and this expansion adds more fixtures without adding proportional prestige. Many games risk feeling like exhibition matches rather than World Cup classics.

The pure spectacle – those rare, high-stakes encounters that live in memory – gets lost in the noise of 104 games. FIFA may celebrate breaking records, but for purists, it is a case of less being more.

Compounding this is the hosting challenge in North America, particularly the United States.

Trump’s immigration policies have created significant headwinds for international travel.

Strict visa requirements, travel bans affecting fans from several participating nations (including Iran, Senegal, Ivory Coast and Haiti), heightened border scrutiny and a broader sense of unease have deterred many supporters from making the journey.

Add to this soaring costs for tickets, travel, and accommodation – making this potentially the most expensive World Cup yet (after Qatar, that’s saying a lot) – and it’s no wonder excitement levels have dipped.

Fans who once saved for years to attend now question the value amid a format that promises volume over vintage moments.

So, is the Beautiful Game no longer beautiful?

Not quite. Football’s enduring appeal – the skill, the drama, the underdog stories – remains intact at its core. The knockout stages will likely deliver the thrills we’ve come to expect.

But FIFA’s relentless commercialisation, combined with geopolitical realities and logistical sprawl, risks turning the World Cup from a pinnacle event into just another overextended spectacle.

The tournament can recover its luster, but it requires reflection. A more compact format in future editions, smarter hosting that prioritises accessibility, and policies that welcome rather than deter the global family of fans would help.

Otherwise, we may look back on 2026 not as the biggest World Cup, but the one that exposed how easily the beautiful game can be made ordinary.

As for me, this World Cup will be bittersweet because it is probably the last major tournament that we will see the two veterans Argentina’s Lionel Messi or Portugal’s Cristiano Ronaldo play.

Both are past their sell by dates but can still produce moments of magic. Both epitomise “Jogo Bonita” – the Beautiful Game in Pele’s original language.

Argentina and their genius footballer lifted the cup in 2022; no one will begrudge Ronaldo doing the same at the MetLife Stadium on July 20.