Rising costs, visa restrictions and political tensions threaten to keep fans, and the culture they bring, out of the world’s biggest sporting stage.
On June 11, 2010, the FIFA World Cup tournament was brought to Africa for the first time, as South Africa hosted Mexico in the opening match at a packed Soccer City Stadium in Johannesburg. Fans from all over the world filled the streets and stadiums with the sound of vuvuzelas echoing across the country and defining the atmosphere of the tournament.
Exactly 16 years later, the World Cup will kick off again in North America for the first time since 1994, this time with Mexico’s El Tri hosting South Africa at the historic Estadio Azteca in Mexico City, a fixture that will mirror that moment in 2010 and open a new chapter for the tournament.
Today that same global movement may look very different. Many of those same fans may never make it past the airport.
A History of Unity Through Soccer
Since its inception in 1930 in Uruguay, the FIFA World Cup has been about more than just crowning a champion: It has been a global celebration of culture, identity and community. From early tournaments in South America to massive festivals in Europe and Asia, the World Cup has brought together fans from every corner of the world.
In recent tournaments such as the aforementioned South Africa 2010 as well as Brazil 2014, the cultural footprint was as loud as the matches themselves. Streets, bars and town squares transformed into collective fan zones where drumming and singing were the soundtrack of the event and waving national flags became symbols of pride and unity. The songs, symbols, colors and sounds of the fans encompass the culture of a World Cup where everyone is welcome; Everyone is invited. It is not only a tournament, but also a celebration of life and unity that for 32 days people from all walks of life could be a part of. From kids playing barefoot in dirt roads of Cameroon to the streets of Croatia or the beaches of Brazil, they are all engulfed in the spectacle of the world’s game.
Historically this event has allowed casual viewers and die-hard supporters alike to be a part of the spectacle, making the beautiful game a shared experience and more than just a competition every four years.
The World Cup in North America
The World Cup hosted by the United States in 1994 is often seen as a major turning point for football, or “soccer” in the cultural context of America.
It effectively brought the game to the shores of the U.S. Americans who may have never seen a soccer ball in their life were suddenly captivated by the spectacle of the international competition being hosted on their home turf. Over 3.5 million people attended the matches, still the highest attendance in World Cup history. Along with the USA’s now iconic uniforms of ‘94, the World Cup highlighted immigrant communities’ deep connection to soccer, helping blend global fan traditions into American sports culture.
The 2026 tournament, co-hosted by the United States, Canada, and Mexico, will be the largest ever, expanding from 32 to 48 teams. Smaller nations, including Cape Verde, Curaçao, and Haiti, will finally have a chance to showcase their talent on a global stage.
For local fans like Sandro Louis, a Brookdale Community College graduate born in Haiti, the expanded World Cup on home soil should have been a dream come true. “To see my country in the World Cup is everything to me,” Louis said. “But there’s no way I can afford to go, and for some people, they might not even be allowed in.”
The combined cost of tickets, travel, and accommodations already puts the event out of reach for many working-class fans. Premium matches can cost thousands of dollars, and even budget-conscious options may require months of income to attend.
“It’s becoming a World Cup for the rich,” Louis said.
The Border Before the Game
However, money is only the first gate.
Beyond it, there are others, quieter, less visible, but just as unforgiving. Policies written far from the pitch and systems that decide, long before kickoff, who gets to cross a border and who is stopped before the journey even begins are now garnering as much attention as the sport itself.
In the United States, immigration rules have become another filter on the game. Visa bond requirements, expanded in recent years, turn movement into a transaction. A price placed not on a ticket, but on a person. Under the Trump Administration, the U.S. Department of State has put in place a visa bond program requiring citizens from 50 different countries to place deposits from $5,000 up to $15,000 as demanded as proof that they will leave when required to. The deposit is only refundable if the traveler fully complies with the visa conditions, specifically their timely departure.
For many, that number is not a safeguard. It is a wall.
And like most walls, it does not fall evenly. It rises higher for some than others across parts of Africa, the Caribbean, and Asia, where the cost is not just high, but impossible. Places where passion for the game is abundant, but access to it is conditional.
Nate Elson, a soccer player himself from Woodbridge, whose family roots are Jamaican, said these barriers make attending the tournament complicated even for those who can afford tickets. He can imagine the conversation, “You want to tell people, ‘Come, we’ll go to a game,’” he said. “But it’s not that simple.”
A ticket is no longer a promise. It does not guarantee entry, or presence, or belonging.
It is the uncertainty of inclusion.
For Louis and Elson the central question is simple: Who gets to be part of the World Cup?
“You grow up thinking it’s for everyone,” Louis said. “But it doesn’t feel that way anymore.”
Elson echoed the sentiment. “It’s supposed to bring people together. But for a lot of people, for me personally, I think the opposite is happening in a lot of places.”
The game exists alongside paperwork, approvals, waiting and doubt. The journey to the World Cup now passes through checkpoints that have nothing to do with the game itself.
And so the exclusion begins long before the first whistle. Not in the stadium, but at the border. Not in the stands, but in the decision of who is allowed to arrive at all.
For a tournament built on the idea of the world coming together, these barriers do more than inconvenience. They redefine who “the world” gets to be.
Even then, once in the country, the financial burden does not stop there.
A second gate has been built; one that sits inside the host country itself. A reminder that even
within reach of the stadium, access is still being filtered, still being narrowed, still being defined
by what someone can pay.
Once a fan arrives, even once the ticket is in hand, there are still costs waiting to be added.
Movement itself becomes priced. Reports from the New York Post and other outlets have
highlighted how transportation to matches at MetLife Stadium is expected to surge dramatically,
with New Jersey Transit considering round-trip fares rising from roughly $12.90 to over $100 for
World Cup match days.
Parking near the venue has also been reported to reach extreme levels, with prices at nearby lots and facilities reportedly climbing into the hundreds of dollars per vehicle.
Political Tensions and Unprecedented Challenges
The Islamic Republic of Iran, which has qualified, has raised the unprecedented possibility of refusing to play matches in the United States due to political tensions and security concerns, instead requesting that its games be moved to Mexico. Even the possibility of that shift is something rarely seen in the modern history of the World Cup.
For those who vouch to keep politics separate from sports, there comes a point where it is impossible to separate the two entities. A reminder that this specific tournament in 2026 does not exist outside of politics, no matter how much it may say it tries to.
In Mexico, the concerns are more immediate and more visible. Violence tied to powerful criminal organizations, including the Jalisco New Generation Cartel (CJNG), has escalated in recent months. Military operations and retaliation have disrupted public life in certain regions, including Jalisco, where World Cup matches in Guadalajara are scheduled to be played.
Authorities have promised a heavy security presence, with military deployment and surveillance
systems intended to protect teams and fans.
Presence, however, does not always translate into reassurance.
For fans, the question is not whether the tournament will be held, but what it will feel like to be there.
A tournament built to bring the world together now sits inside a collection of tensions that pull it in different directions. Political conflict. Security uncertainty. Financial strain.
Underneath it all, the same question remains to be answered: How open can a global celebration really be, when the world around it feels increasingly divided, restricted and uncertain about who gets to move freely?
Culture and Fan Experience at Risk
The World Cup was never just about the matches.
It was the sound of it. The flags in the streets. The songs that turned strangers into a crowd, and a
crowd into something that felt like the world was coming together. That energy could not be planned or controlled. It existed because people were there to create it.
Now, that feeling feels uncertain.
Alex Konov, an avid soccer fan from Monmouth County, with Filipino and Bulgarian roots, said the 2026 edition may lack that cultural energy.
“The World Cup is about the fans, the flags, the music. I remember in South Africa with the Wavin’ Flag song and the one from Pitbull in Brazil, those became like anthems for the game. I don’t think we’ll feel that with this (World Cup)” he said.
If fewer people can be part of it, the basis of the event changes to something less meaningful, more exclusive to those it was aimed to be for.
Josh Terry, also from Monmouth County, is not a soccer fan but follows sports broadly. “I’m pumped the World Cup is coming to the U.S. for the first time in my life. It’s something you can feel from just seeing on TV even if you don’t normally watch soccer” he said, “and all I know is you kick the ball in the goal and that I just understood what offsides is” he joked.
It is a huge failure if the next generation’s first encounter is shaped by barriers and politics.
It is a profound failure if the game’s biggest stage, arriving here for the first time in a generation, does not allow the opportunity of a fully open door for new fans, if those fans cannot experience everything it historically has had to offer.
This is the sport’s best chance to grow in this country, to take root in people who may be discovering it for the first time. That beginning should feel unforgettable.
In addition, tailgating has been a staple of American sports culture for generations.
It is more than parking lots and open trunks. It is a ritual of gathering before the game, where fans share food, music and anticipation. A space where strangers become a community, and where the experience begins long before kickoff.
At the 2026 World Cup, that tradition is set to be banned from the event.
With reports indicating no on-site parking at venues like MetLife Stadium and security and transit systems designed to move fans directly into the stadium, the space that makes tailgating possible is effectively removed.
What replaces it is movement instead of gathering. Transit lines instead of shared lots. A direct path to the gates, rather than the open spaces where fans typically come together.
Something familiar to American sports culture is lost in that shift, because tailgating is not just convenience. It is part of how fans, especially American fans, experience sports together before they ever reach their seats.
I keep coming back to what the World Cup is supposed to be. Not the contracts. Not the sponsorships. Not the layers of security, policy and pricing that now surround it like walls. But the feeling; the one that lives in households, in the streets, in the chants, in the flags carried for miles by people who may never get another chance to see their country on this stage, to feel the pride of representation.
For generations, this tournament has belonged to them. To us. To the fans who saved for years just to sit in the upper rows. To the communities that turned city blocks into stadiums. To the millions who didn’t need a ticket to feel like they were part of something bigger than themselves. The World Cup isn’t just watched, it’s lived.
And now, in 2026, that feeling is fragile.
A larger tournament promises inclusion, but the reality tells a different story. Prices rise beyond reach. Borders tighten. Entry becomes conditional—not just on passion, but on wealth, paperwork and luck. The very people who give the game its life are being pushed further from it.
What does it mean for the world’s game to be out of reach for the world?
Remember this isn’t just about soccer. It’s about who gets to gather, who gets to celebrate, who gets to belong in a space that was never meant to be exclusive.
The danger isn’t that the World Cup will disappear. It will go on. Stadiums will fill. Matches will be played. A champion will be crowned.
The danger is quieter than that.
It’s that the soul of it: the noise, the color, the humanity, will be dimmed. That the tournament becomes something you watch, instead of something you feel. That it shifts, slowly but unmistakably, from a global celebration to a controlled experience.
And if that happens, then something essential will have been lost.
The World Cup was never meant to belong to institutions, or governments, or corporations. It was meant to belong to people.
The outcome won’t just be decided on the field, but in who is able to stand in the crowd, raise their voice and be part of the game. Because the question now isn’t just who will win. It’s whether the world’s game will still belong to the world.
