Last Sunday, Audi Field in Washington, D.C., hosted what seemed a world-class soccer match: Red Bull Salzburg, a Union of European Football Associations Champions League regular, versus Al Hilal, one of Asia’s most decorated clubs. It was competitive, but the energy was flat, the players looked disinterested, and the fans who showed up mostly stayed quiet. It wasn’t just dull, but an indicator of the rampant sports fatigue seen around the world. The Fédération Internationale de Football Association’s approach to the Club World Cup isn’t helping.
The newly expanded competition, touted as a key step toward growing the “global game” in the United States ahead of the 2026 World Cup, landed with a thud. Meant to showcase elite international competition, it instead reveals how little organizing bodies understand the sports landscape. It also shows how far removed FIFA’s vision is from what actually makes sports meaningful.
Planning officials had suggested smaller stadiums to create intimacy and local buy-in. FIFA ignored them. Audi Field, while not enormous, still swallowed what little energy existed. Empty sections dominated the broadcast. No matter how many global sponsors or branding packages you attach to a match, you can’t engineer the atmosphere.
You can’t fake the stakes.
The players seem to know it too. Many have already played over 70 matches this season, and this tournament wasn’t high on their list of priorities. When the athletes themselves treat a match like a preseason friendly, fans respond in kind.
FIFA’s mistake wasn’t just timing. It assumed that American fans, presented with more soccer, would simply fall in line under the idea that bigger is better. But we’ve seen this before. The National Football League expands its regular season. The National Basketball Association rolls out in-season tournaments. College football bloats into a 12-team playoff with middling matchups. The result? Diminished value and fan burnout.
The Club World Cup was meant to be global and grand. Instead, it risks being labeled bloated and forgettable. Dozens of teams, few of them household names. Uninspired early rounds for the hope of one marquee final. Why not feature just the best four or eight clubs on Earth in a single-site tournament with real stakes?
Fewer games. Higher quality. Better memories.
What makes fans travel across the globe to follow clubs such as Al Hilal all the way from Saudi Arabia? It’s not the branding. It’s the bond between team, city, and supporter. In the U.S., that sense of rootedness made Major League Soccer clubs in places such as Cincinnati and Nashville successful; they’re not just franchises, but community symbols and organizations to rally around.
FIFA’s Club World Cup, by contrast, feels imported and not embraced. Americans, in increasing numbers, do love soccer when it’s convenient for them. But they’re definitely not going to show up for a tournament designed in a boardroom and phoned in as a spectacle.
Even ardent fans got the short end. Some supporters bought tickets early out of loyalty, only to see prices drop last-minute. This dynamic pricing model rewards casual indifference and punishes commitment, a fitting metaphor for the event as a whole.
But then again, this is the standard these days.
This isn’t just an indictment of one tournament. It’s a preview of the risks ahead. FIFA hopes to ride the momentum of 2026, with a record number of matches and cities across North America. But if it mistakes size for soul again, it’ll face the same problem: expensive seats and few willing to fill them.
SOUND THE ALARM! A TRUMP-HOSTED WORLD CUP
The Club World Cup will be touted as a competitive success without x factor. Without that, even the biggest names such as Lionel Messi and Kylian Mbappé can’t raise the tide.
So let this be a lesson for 2026 onwards: the world isn’t asking for more sports. They’re asking for sports that matter.