Even Qatar isn't getting what it wants from FIFA's grotesque showcase
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There is no redeeming FIFA’s decision to hold the 2022 men’s World Cup in Qatar, the tiny, terror-sponsoring, rights-abusing, fun-hating monarchy on the Persian Gulf whose official tally of migrant-worker deaths on tournament-related projects is 400-500. (Unofficial estimates are many times higher.) There is definitely a silver lining, however: Qatar doesn’t seem to be getting what it wanted from this estimated-US$300 billion monstrosity.
If this was attempted “sportswashing” — “the practice of … governments using sports to improve reputations tarnished by wrongdoing,” as Wikipedia defines it — then it has surely failed. On-pitch competition aside, it’s difficult to recall a single positive headline to go with the myriad negative ones: Qatari officials have banned symbols of LGBTQ allyship, threatened to smash journalists’ equipment and detained at least one, and reneged on a beer-sales agreement at the 11th hour.
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Indeed, sportswashing failures sure seem to outnumber successes. The House of Saud’s LIV Golf Tour created a lot of controversy over its existence, but its first season of actual golf was a hilarious flop. Whatever Vladimir Putin achieved in his successful pursuit of the 2014 Winter Olympics and 2018 FIFA World Cup, it sure isn’t helping him now.
Some argue “sportswashing” is too simple a concept to attribute to the crafty Qataris. “They are so small and so vulnerable, they can’t afford to antagonize anyone. So they have to remain visible and present, and appear constructive, trustworthy, and legitimate,” Simon Chadwick, global professor of sport at Emlyon Business School in Lyon, recently told Irish online news outlet The 42. “The World Cup is part of that narrative.”
Trustworthy? What fans would and wouldn’t be allowed to do in Qatar was a constant back-and-forth, right up until the last minute. That beer renege wasn’t just annoying for fans; it put FIFA in breach of contract with Budweiser. The Sun reported earlier this month that Bud wants a 40-million-euro discount ($65 million) on its contract with FIFA for the 2026 World Cup.
Talking of the 2026 tournament: There is every reason to believe the 16 cities currently slated to host — three in Mexico, 11 in the United States and two in Canada — will put on a good show. Fun will be legal. Zero worker deaths is an entirely reasonable expectation. Overconsumption of alcohol might be an issue, but not underconsumption . Contracts will be honoured. Journalists will be free from harassment.
This does not explain, however, why Toronto and Vancouver — the two Canadian cities currently slated to host 10 group-stage matches between them — are interested. The price tag is outrageous to the point of riot-incitement, and if history is any guide, sure to rise.
In Toronto, city staff’s best estimate currently stands at $300 million. For a maximum of five soccer games. That’s net, not gross: FIFA pockets both the ticket and broadcasting rights. And as it stands, the city is on the hook for the whole bill. “Every day this cost keeps going up and up and up,” Ontario Premier Doug Ford accurately lamented earlier this month. (The city staff estimate ticked up to $300 million from $290 million between April and June alone!) “We’ll look at the finances and hopefully we’ll be able to come up with an answer sooner than later.”
That doesn’t sound too promising.
Earlier this month, a city spokesperson told the Toronto Star that absent provincial and federal funding, Toronto would have to “evaluate its options in terms of raising other revenues, as well as looking for options to reduce the cost and scope of the overall event.” That’s not how it works: FIFA tells host cities how high to jump, and those unwilling to clear the bar don’t get to host.
“The city has signed agreements with FIFA that outline the requirements for hosting, such as condition of the stadium, identifying team training sites, and support of city services to deliver a world-class event,” a city spokesperson told me.
Yikes. Toronto is currently on its knees imploring senior level governments to fill a massive budget hole that’s approaching $1 billion. Bailing out the country’s least popular city while subsequently building it a 10-day circus for $300 million will not go down well.
The latest price tag out of Vancouver, meanwhile, tops out at a mere $260 million for a maximum of five games. B.C. Place will need a natural-grass pitch for the World Cup games; BMO Field in Toronto already has one, but needs 17,000 extra seats to pass FIFA muster — bringing the stadium to a capacity completely unnecessary for its major tenants, the CFL’s Argonauts and MLS’s Toronto FC.
Vancouver’s still seems like an absolutely insane cost. Other major North American cities walked away for that and other reasons long ago: Montreal, Edmonton, Minneapolis and Chicago are among them. British Columbia at least sounds semi-enthusiastic about partnering for the event. Vancouver has proposed a hotel-room tax hike to partially fund it. But Vancouver and Toronto are major tourist destinations in high summer to begin with. The idea that adding a World Cup or other mega-event to the mix will “pay for” the costs those cities incur is a long-ago-discredited fallacy.
Indeed, from Toronto’s and Vancouver’s point of view, the 2026 World Cup isn’t a mega-event at all. It’s five soccer games, for roughly $60 million each, with ticket prices miles beyond the grasp of the vast majority of residents. The potential for blowback is enormous. If they can still walk away, they really ought to try.
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