The 2026 World Cup kicks off Thursday across 39 days, 104 matches, and three countries. It will end July 19 in New Jersey. Between now and then, it will cost a lot of people a lot of money — and not just the ones buying tickets.
We gathered reactions from football fans around the world. The responses were mixed in the way only a World Cup can be: genuinely excited people who also feel genuinely disgusted. That combination shouldn't work. Somehow it always does.
The ticket problem nobody is pretending doesn't exist
Tony Mason, 60, from Louth, put it in the starkest possible terms. He's holding a 1986 World Cup final ticket in his profile photo. The combined cost of England v Argentina (quarter-final), the semi-final, and the final that year? $100. Less than a bus from New York to MetLife Stadium in 2026.
Jose C from Massachusetts lives 45 minutes from Foxborough, where several group games are being played. He still can't justify the prices. "Tickets hovering around high triple digits or low quadruple digits have put me off," he said — though he's been watching prices drop and hasn't given up yet.
Ian McCann in Toronto got his Canada v Switzerland ticket through a friend's work contact. Without that, he wouldn't be going. "Resale and even face value prices are extortionate," he said, before adding: "I will watch every game I can and I will attend my one Canada game, but I don't feel great about any of it."
That sentence might be the unofficial motto of this tournament.
Trump, ICE, and the politics nobody asked for
Christy, 62, now living in Portugal, left the US four years ago. She won't be going back for this. "The travel cost, the unknown at US immigration. We don't want to get stuck in the US." She's been watching since Trump's re-election and fears the administration's indifference will damage the tournament — and the sport.
Campbell McGill travelled from Auckland. His group of friends making the trip has shrunk because of the political atmosphere. He printed stickers to share with fellow fans in the stands — a small, stubborn act of optimism against a backdrop of ICE concerns, price gouging, and geopolitical noise.
Shelley from Vancouver is attending Australia v Turkey on June 14 and is relieved ICE won't be operating in Canada. "My fingers are crossed that no one will be jailed and/or deported," she said. That sentence would have been unimaginable around a World Cup ten years ago.
Abhi Goyal, 34, from New York, got cheap tickets and will go. But he's clear-eyed about what this tournament represents: "I'll rue this summer as a missed opportunity for our country to be and do more." He spent years imagining this World Cup as a chance for the US to prove it could host on this scale without the ethical disasters that surrounded Qatar and Russia. That hope is gone.
And yet — the football itself
Fraser, 38, from Clackmannanshire, is Scotland's id given voice. He runs through Scott McTominay's overhead kick, Kieran Tierney's thunderbastard, Kenny McLean scoring from his own half — every moment that ended 28 years of hurt and put Scotland back in this tournament — and concludes that he will absolutely be watching at 2am, buying Panini stickers at nearly 40 years old, and feeling that particular brand of hope that Scotland fans know is probably going to destroy them.
William, 32, from Oslo, is 27 years removed from the last time Norway qualified. He's spent his whole life supporting surrogate teams. Now he gets to watch his own country — drawn into a group with France and Senegal, which is either thrilling or catastrophic depending on your perspective. He called it "a baptism by fire, which might incidentally also become literal" given the American summer heat. Fair point.
Jose C from Massachusetts, despite the ticket frustrations, put it simply: "You never know when Turkey or South Korea might make it to the semi-finals, when James Rodríguez might come out of nowhere." That's the thing about the World Cup. It earns its own mythology. Every four years it creates moments that didn't exist before and can't be scripted afterward.
Hugo from Argentina wants another star for his country — but wishes Argentine players would speak with the courage of Maradona, Cantona, or Ibrahimović. "I hate seeing Messi smiling with Trump," he said. Argentina's odds of winning a fourth title are strong on paper. Whether the squad has the character to match the talent is a different question entirely.
Alfredo from Panama summed up the mood for millions: his country just wants to score against England. Not win. Score. "It's the World Cup," he said, "and for a month we can all dream of a win." He tried to get tickets. The prices and the political atmosphere stopped him. He'll watch on TV — selectively, because even that has become expensive.
The tournament starts Thursday. The matches will be good. Some will be extraordinary. The problems around them — the pricing, the politics, the administration — will still be there when the final whistle blows in New Jersey on July 19.
