Gianni Infantino took to Instagram this week to offer a "heartfelt thank you" to the 2026 World Cup host cities. Most of them would almost certainly prefer the $1 million they were reportedly promised and haven't seen.
The FIFA president posted a video of himself smiling, signing autographs, and flashing thumbs up at every tournament venue — a greatest hits reel of a man who loves a camera. Beneath it, a caption praising the hosts for their "world-class venues and extraordinary hospitality." No mention, of course, of the payments allegedly pledged verbally by FIFA's senior management to each of the 11 U.S. host cities for legacy projects. Nearly a month after the tournament ended, those funds have reportedly yet to arrive.
There's no contractual obligation because nothing was put in writing. Which means the cities have no legal mechanism to force FIFA's hand. The governing body is on course to pocket $15 billion from the tournament. The hosts are chasing a combined $11 million. The math on who has the leverage here is not complicated.
The cracks are getting harder to paper over
The unpaid cities are one problem. The bigger picture is messier. Infantino is simultaneously dealing with fallout from his proposal to privatize the World Cup and sell commercial stakes to associates of Donald Trump's family — a plan that drew a rare unified front of opposition from UEFA, Concacaf, and the Asian federations.
His African support base, long considered the bedrock of his presidential coalition, is starting to fracture. Isha Johansen, former Sierra Leone FA president and ex-FIFA Council member, publicly called for his resignation this week. "Clearly it seems that he has crossed the line and there has been a breach of trust here," she told ESPN. "It's not about the person. It's about the act, the deed, the ethics behind the proposal."
CAF president Patrice Motsepe moved quickly to reaffirm the confederation's backing, issuing a statement about "governance, due process, and transparency." But Johansen's words landed anyway — and they get at something the pro-Infantino camp keeps sidestepping.
The privatization deal would have funneled up to $40 million to each participating nation. Johansen understands why cash-strapped federations struggle to say no to that number. She also understands why nobody wants to ask where the money is actually coming from. "Nobody wants to talk about the ethical aspect of how we're getting that money," she said. "Nobody wants to ask how ethical that is."
What this means ahead of the presidential election
FIFA's presidential election is next year. Infantino arrived at this moment with what looked like an unassailable coalition — South America, Africa, and chunks of Asia locked in. That picture is shifting. His base isn't collapsing, but a public call for resignation from within African football, combined with a trans-continental alliance opposing his commercial agenda, is not the position he wanted to be defending twelve months out from a vote.
The host city payments story, meanwhile, sits in a different but equally uncomfortable category. If verbal promises from FIFA's senior leadership carry no legal weight and go unfulfilled, that's not just a PR headache — it's a signal to any future host about exactly what a handshake deal with this organization is worth.
Johansen put it plainly: there's a breach of trust. On current evidence, it's not limited to the privatization proposal.
