This is a column that, like most these days, will criticize FIFA, but it must begin with a defense of soccer’s governing body.
It’s a column about 2026 World Cup ticket prices, which fans have described as “extortionate” and “absolutely despicable,” and which will put rich Americans in stadiums at the expense of passionate supporters.
But, there’s a reasonable argument to be made that the prices are both shrewd and not entirely FIFA’s fault.
To illustrate, let’s play out an alternate reality where the prices are what they were in 2022: $69 to $220 in the group stage, $206 to $425 for a quarterfinal, and so on.
In this alternate reality, millions upon millions of people apply for tickets in FIFA’s lotteries; a small minority of applicants actually get those tickets; and the majority of fans are left to stare at exorbitant resale prices — the same exact prices they’re staring at now.
That brings us to the crux of the issue: America’s unregulated secondary market. It’s somewhere between an excuse and a reason for FIFA’s unprecedented sales strategy. And it’s the reason many 2026 World Cup tickets were inevitably going to cost ghastly sums, no matter FIFA’s initial price point.
Lower prices attract scalpers — who, if they’re paying $100 and confident somebody else would pay $500, are certain they can turn a profit. In many other countries, including Mexico, laws restrict scalpers; cheap tickets, therefore, mostly get used by their original buyers. But not in America, where everyone from Average Joes who run sketchy solo operations to corporate giants like StubHub can flourish.
They, and more so the laws that enable them, are just as blameworthy as FIFA.
Even at FIFA’s “astonishing” actual prices, these scalpers have infiltrated lotteries. Thousands of tickets are available on StubHub, SeatGeek and elsewhere. Facebook groups and Reddit threads have been dotted with enterprising people offering to sell tickets — or even to sell entire “FIFA ID” accounts. Most innocent fans, meanwhile, have struck out in FIFA’s first two lotteries, and might soon have to choose between staying home or paying something beyond FIFA’s “extortionate” prices.
On popular resale sites, for every single 2026 World Cup game, prices are currently higher than FIFA’s. A ticket sold by FIFA earlier this fall for $155, and now being offered by FIFA at $265, is listed on Stubhub for $1,032. The seller of that ticket, in theory, would make more than $500. And FIFA’s argument, essentially, is: Why should that $500 go to a random individual instead of to soccer?
It’s a valid point.
There’s a contrarian view of World Cup pricing that places FIFA as the good guy, milking America’s absurd private wealth and redistributing billions of dollars to poorer countries around the world to further football development.
Where the argument falls flat, and where FIFA went wrong, is with a lack of specialized offerings for loyal fans — or for potential fans who could use a cheap ticket to soak up an unforgettable experience and get hooked on the sport.
Gianni Infantino will oversee his third men’s World Cup as FIFA’s president (Daniel Duarte / AFP / Getty Images)
Where FIFA went wrong with World Cup ticketing
There is nothing wrong with selling some World Cup tickets at the “despicable” prices. Sure, they exclude many working-class fans — the lucky ones who’d win FIFA’s lotteries, if affordable prices encouraged them to enter; but, in theory, per FIFA, the revenues from these sales help make the game accessible to other working class kids around the world. The prices are a tradeoff.
There is something wrong, however, something cold, something enraging, about making everyone pay those prices — even the ones who’ve demonstrated, month after month, with their voices and actions and wallets, that they care more than others.
“We think FIFA should also reward the loyalty [of] people that are really, from the bottom up, building the game, and building support, and building the atmosphere in the stadium,” Whitney Zaleski, a staffer and longtime member of the American Outlaws, the largest U.S. soccer supporters group, told The Athletic last week.
FIFA, many fans argued, wasn’t doing that.
On Tuesday, it responded to backlash and carved out around 1,000 tickets per game to sell for $60 to those “loyal fans who are closely connected to their national teams.” But “the revisions do not go far enough,” as Football Supporters Europe said. American Outlaws president Brian Hexsel called it “too little too late.” FIFA could, and should, do more.
There are various ways to ration a scarce resource like World Cup tickets. There are lotteries (based on randomness) and prices (based on wealth). There are also systems that would allocate tickets based on passion or merit — to the fans who’ve traveled to World Cup qualifiers, or who’ve supported local MLS, NWSL and USL clubs, or who run grassroots soccer organizations.
To choose the optimal system, “I guess we have to decide if the goal of the World Cup is maximizing revenue for FIFA, or if the goal of the World Cup is giving the most passionate fans, the most enthusiastic fans, the opportunity to see a game — or giving local fans the opportunity to see a game,” Lindsay Owens, executive director of the Groundwork Collaborative, an economic policy think tank, told The Athletic.
The answer should be a mixture of all that and more.
Fans have been subjected to multiple lotteries in order to be able to buy World Cup tickets (Carl De Souza / AFP / Getty Images)
But FIFA’s choice — to layer high prices over lotteries, and even over its “supporter tickets” system, so that every avenue to tickets screens for wealth — “really reveals a lot about their goals here,” as Owens said.
Their primary goal, it seems, is to make money. As discussed above, that’s perhaps not as sinister as it sounds — if you trust FIFA as a steward of the money.
But it sends an awful message to the grassroots soccer volunteer who’ll have to watch from home while a soccer-agnostic hedge fund partner gets to go to MetLife Stadium and take a selfie. It sends an awful message to the supporters who’ve been supporting domestic soccer since the days when doing so was deeply uncool. It sends an awful message to the fans who, week after week, spend hard-earned money to fill stadiums and make this sport what it is. The message should be: Yes, please, come share your passion with the world. The message is, instead: Thanks, but please stay home and enjoy our lucrative show.
On Tuesday, FIFA implicitly acknowledged its error. Around 500 supporters per team and per game will now get $60 tickets. But the rest still must pay $400 for a mid-tier ticket to Uruguay vs. Cape Verde, or Belgium vs. Iran, or Panama vs. Croatia — just like their boss’ boss, and just like the parent who needs a Christmas gift for their privileged son.
If there were more systems or discounts to reward the worthy, FIFA’s baseline prices, however high, would be defensible; they will, in theory, do good.
But as things stand, even after Tuesday’s concession, they will also reinforce the perception that soccer in America is exclusionary. And this World Cup, no matter how it ends, will leave millions of longtime fans with bitter tastes in their mouth.
