A recent Financial Times editorial, “Football will eclipse politics at this World Cup,” exemplifies the complacent, upper-middle-class liberalism that has long provided ideological cover for the abuses of global capitalism. Its main argument—that the 2026 World Cup’s “goals, talent and diversity are set to drown out controversy off the pitch”—is not just naïve; it’s a reactionary move to suppress public awareness amid the growing tensions of world capitalism, which are now affecting every aspect of social life, including sports.
The editorial board’s stance is based on a flawed and
strongly ideological divide between “politics” and “the beautiful game.” The
authors briefly admit that the tournament has been “tainted by events off the
pitch,” mentioning the troubling scene of FIFA giving a “peace prize” to Donald
Trump, the exorbitant ticket prices that make supporters pay nearly $7,000 just
to watch their team, and the blatantly discriminatory visa policies excluding
fans from non-European countries and even “a match referee from Somalia.”
Despite these issues, they are dismissed as minor problems—mere background
distractions that do not detract from the overall spectacle of goals and
celebration.
This is a common ideological tactic of the bourgeois media.
While the FT notes the symptoms, it avoids examining the underlying issue. The
World Cup is not corrupted by politics; rather, it exposes itself as a large
commercial and geopolitical venture, where football acts as a front for the
interests of governments, corporations, and oligarchic elites.
The FT’s depoliticisation of sport is itself a political
act.
The editorial’s claim that “World Cups are ultimately about
what happens on the pitch” exemplifies ideological mystification. Because the
World Cup is a worldwide media spectacle watched by billions, ruling classes
aim to manipulate it. The FT’s suggestion to concentrate on “goals” and
“serendipity” is not harmless; it urges the public to ignore the harsh
realities of the global system.
The editorial downplays the extraordinary fact that “this is
the first World Cup where a host nation is at war with one of the participating
countries," viewing Trump’s decision to deny the Iranian team overnight
stay in the US as a minor curiosity instead of a stark example of how
militarism and xenophobia are now openly influencing international sports.
The FT’s lack of coverage on the wider issues—the escalating
US–Iran conflict, the growing trade war between the host countries, the global
surge of authoritarian regimes, and the worsening crisis of global
capitalism—is deliberate. It mirrors the class interests of the publication,
which represents the financial oligarchy that benefits from commodifying sport
and militarizing geopolitics.
The editorial celebrates the very inequalities it
pretends to lament.
The FT criticizes the “extortionate pricing” of tickets but
celebrates the expansion to 48 teams as a sign of “worldwide representation.”
This presents a cynical contradiction. What does “representation' truly mean
when the working-class populations cannot afford to attend? When the editorial
mentions that Curaçaoans, Cape Verdeans, Uzbeks, and Jordanians will “watch
from home with pride,” it unintentionally exposes the class divide: the global
poor may provide the players, but the stadiums are owned by the wealthy.
Likewise, the editorial highlights the “vibrancy of
international cultures” that will be showcased as fans move between 16 North
American cities—yet it concedes that only those “who can afford it” will be
able to participate. This is not true diversity; it amounts to luxury
multiculturalism catered to the wealthy.
The fetishisation of individual stars masks the
structural rot.
The FT devotes significant space to Ronaldo, Messi, Mbappé,
and Lamine Yamal, suggesting that the star power of individual players can
compensate for corruption in the sport's governance. This focus on personal
charisma illustrates bourgeois ideology by transforming systemic issues into a
spectacle of individual achievement. Additionally, the editorial characterises
Roberto Lopes' recruitment to Cape Verde via a 'LinkedIn message' as charming,
disregarding its indication of the chaotic, unregulated, and exploitative
global labour market that shapes modern football.
The World Cup cannot “eclipse politics” because it is a
product of politics.
The FT’s conclusion that the tournament’s “enduring
power" is rooted in its ability to “entertain” regardless of politics
essentially accepts the logic of spectacle. It suggests that the audience
should be kept distracted, pacified, and depoliticized by sport’s spectacle
while the ruling elite pursues its predatory interests unnoticed. In reality,
the opposite is true. The 2026 World Cup is not an escape from the global
capitalist crisis but a vivid reflection of it. The militarized borders, corporate
profiteering, sky-high ticket prices, geopolitical tensions, exploitation of
migrant workers, and authoritarian displays by host governments are not
external to the event—they are integral to its nature.
Claiming that football will “eclipse politics” demands the
public accept a world that's unequal, violent, and ruled by oligarchic
interests. Socialists must reveal this falsehood, expose the material forces
behind global sport, and insist that the working class—whose labor, passion,
and creativity make football possible—should not be passive spectators in a
spectacle that hides their exploitation.
Obituary for the Beautiful Game:
Once, football was a pastime of the working class, not just
a game but a shared expression of solidarity and human creativity. Played in
factory yards, slag heaps, crowded streets, and muddy fields, it only needed a
ball, a small space, and the imagination of its players. That era has passed.
Today, what remains of “football” is a distorted imitation:
a worldwide commodity, a tool for marketing, a pawn in geopolitics, a means to
clean oligarchic wealth, and an entertainment designed to pacify a population
losing political influence. The “beautiful game” has been embalmed, packaged,
and sold to the public at a cost they can no longer bear. This isn't an
obituary for a sport that has merely evolved; it's for a sport that has been
completely extinguished.
The Expropriation of a Working‑Class Inheritance
Football originated among the industrial working class,
whose labour established the very time and social environment for collective
leisure. Clubs were established by railway workers, dockers, miners, and
textile workers. The terraces served as the one space where the working class
could emerge as a unified social force, expressing their collective voice and
purpose. However, late capitalism has undermined this foundational aspect.
Stadiums have transformed into luxury zones, with even the
cheapest tickets exceeding the financial reach of the original community that
built the sport. As the FT editorial notes, tickets for the 2026 World Cup will
start at nearly $7,000 before travel costs—an extraordinary figure a generation
ago. This change has pushed the working class out of the stands, making room
for corporate sponsors, tourists, and wealthier elites. The vibrant,
spontaneous atmosphere has been replaced by curated fan experiences, and the
organic culture of the game has been replaced by branded content. Overall,
football has become privatized, financialized, and disconnected from its social
roots.
The Oligarchic Capture of the Global Game
The modern football economy highlights the stark
inequalities of today. Clubs serve as investment tools for petro-monarchies,
hedge funds, and billionaire investors. FIFA and UEFA act as transnational
corporations mainly focused on generating profit.
The World Cup, originally a showcase of international
sporting spirit, has now transformed into a spectacle marred by corruption,
authoritarianism, and geopolitical drama. The editorial highlights FIFA's
decision to give a “peace prize” to a sitting US president, a move so
ridiculous it might be funny, if not for revealing the organisation’s complete
submission to state influence.
Visa bans, militarised borders, and political vendettas now
determine who can attend, participate, or even enter host countries. For
example, a Somali referee was refused entry; entire national fan groups are
excluded; and a nation participating in an event is prevented from staying
overnight in the host country. These are no longer exceptions but reflect a
broader world order where sport is manipulated to serve the interests of
powerful nations. Football has evolved into a diplomatic tool, a means of propaganda,
and a way to legitimize political agendas.
The Commodification of the Player
Players—originally local heroes developed through community
clubs and youth initiatives—have transformed into commodities in the
international market. Their bodies are traded like financial derivatives, and
they are pushed to perform at higher levels to accommodate a growing number of
matches designed to increase revenue.
The editorial emphasizes Ronaldo, Messi, Mbappé, and Yamal,
yet this concentration on star players signals a decline in the sport. The
fixation on superstars masks harder truths: the exhaustion, injuries, and
exploitation faced by young players from Africa, South America, and Eastern
Europe, who are trafficked through academies and often discarded if they fail
to meet commercial expectations. The so-called “beautiful game” now functions
as a labor market where human beings are reduced to mere brand assets.
The Spectacle as Social Pacification
The ruling class recognizes the political role of football.
In a time marked by increasing inequality, declining living standards, and
rising geopolitical tensions, sports serve as a pressure release. The
editorial’s claim that “World Cups are ultimately about what happens on the
pitch” is not just a statement but a demand: urging the masses to divert their
attention from global crises and become absorbed in entertainment.
The World Cup is promoted as a celebration of “diversity,”
“vibrancy,” and “international culture”—but only accessible to those who can
afford it. The working class is left watching from home, passively absorbing
the spectacle and cheering for a world they are becoming more excluded from.
Football has shifted from a shared act of solidarity to a tool for distraction.
The Death of the Beautiful Game
What made football beautiful was not its commercial
spectacle but its simplicity, accessibility, and universality. It was a game
that belonged to everyone because it required almost nothing and reflected the
creativity, spontaneity, and collective spirit of ordinary people. Under late
capitalism, that world has been dismantled.
The “beautiful game” is not dead because people no longer
love it, but because capitalism has consumed it. It was destroyed through
privatisation, financialisation, militarised borders, oligarchic ownership, and
the transformation of sport into a commodity, turning fans into consumers. What
is left is a shell driven by marketing, broadcast rights, and geopolitical
agendas.
However, the obituary concludes with a contradiction: while
the game is considered dead, the desire that birthed it remains alive. The
working class that originally invented football continues to exist, along with
its ability to reshape the world—and the sport—on a new basis. The revival of
the beautiful game will not originate from FIFA, billionaires, or corporate
media, but from the same force that created it initially: the collective
strength of the working class.
