Why I (probably) won’t be watching the World Cup

My first memories of the World Cup are of Mexico 86; I was eight years old that summer. England made it to the quarter finals and ultimately bowed out in controversial circumstances to a Maradona-inspired Argentina. I don’t remember specifics about the matches – I think most of my memories of the exotic stadiums and kits were probably acquired by watching highlight compilations in later years. In fact, one of my most vivid memories of it was being terrified that my parents would send me to bed before the end of the decisive quarter-final. Nevertheless, Mexico 86 made an impression on me: although the nature of the defeat was heart-breaking, the heroic loser narrative was irresistible. How sad – nay tragic – to play so well but to be foiled by a cheat. Surely next time, we – the good guys – would defeat the baddies? I was hooked, and I spent the rest of the summer replaying the match in my garden in full England kit (including bandaged wrist). I was Gary Lineker.

Former England striker Gary Lineker at the 1986 World Cup (Peter Robinson/EMPICS Sport)

By the time Italy 90 came around, I was old enough to name the entire 22-man squad, I had the Panini album, and I was all in. England reached the semi-finals before, once again, losing in heroic fashion, this time to the Germans on penalties. Gazza cried, I cried, we all cried…

England and France both contrived to miss the following World Cup in the USA, and the time difference again made it difficult for me to follow it anyway – although I did enjoy watching highlights of the exploits of Gheorghe Hagi, Hristo Stoichkov, and Romario. Four years later, France 98 came at the perfect time for me; I was old enough to watch all the matches and fortunate enough to witness Zinedine Zidane emerge as a global star. Still living in England at the time, I wasn’t able to take part in the raucous celebrations on the Champs Elysées, but I bathed in the reflected glory of France’s victory with my magnanimous English friends.

Although I was unable to follow the subsequent World Cups as closely because of professional commitments, I usually feel a sense of excitement building months before it starts; I print out the tournament schedule and put England and France’s matches in my diary. Not so this year; the 2022 World Cup will be held in Qatar and, for me, the usual excitement is missing. The tournament starts at the end of the week, and I don’t even know who is in England’s group. Some of this indifference undoubtedly comes from the fact that the tournament is shoe-horned into the middle of the domestic season rather than being the usual end-of-season extravaganza. But there is something else.

Firstly, the stench of corruption is decidedly off-putting. Although an (internal!) investigation cleared Qatari officials of actions directly influencing the vote, there is ample evidence of bribery; according to the daily telegraph, former FIFA executive committee member Jack Warner was paid $1.2m by a Qatari company controlled by a fellow executive committee member; 15 of the people involved in the bid process have since been temporarily or permanently banned from football; France Inter and Complément d'Enquêtes even claim that Michel Platini only agreed to vote for Qatar following pressure from former French President Nicolas Sarkozy as part of an arrangement including the Qataris’ acquisition of PSG and a deal to buy French fighter planes. And this came off the back of Russia’s successful 2018 World Cup bid, which was also tainted by irregularities.

So this is all very distasteful, but we are where we are, right? The Qatari bid was successful. OK, the conditions of the bidding process were suspect, but maybe it’s a good thing that an Arab state finally gets to host the World Cup. It is, after all, one of FIFA’s stated goals to allow all nations to host the World Cup and end the previous Euro-Amero-centrism. After recent World Cups in East Asia and South Africa, why not the Middle East? It sounds legitimate.

The difference with the South African World Cup, of course, is that average temperatures in South Africa rarely exceed 17°C in June/July, which are actually ideal conditions for playing football, whereas in Qatar they routinely reach 40°C. It soon became apparent that the practicalities of hosting a World Cup in the Middle East had not been properly addressed in the bid. After initial talk of air-conditioned stadiums, it was soon announced that the 2022 World Cup would be moved to winter. This meant making the unprecedented decision of interrupting the European football season for six weeks. But again, although it wasn’t planned, it’s not as if having a winter break is a bad thing; Scandinavian leagues break for several weeks during the winter due to the extreme weather conditions, and various South and North American football leagues run from February to November. The difference here, however, is that there will be a one-off, six-week interruption as well as the summer break – which compresses the club football season – with no understanding of what impact it will have on athletes who go through a gruelling international competition before immediately resuming their domestic season in the middle of winter. And what of the players who do not go to the World Cup? These are elite athletes who are used to maintaining full fitness throughout a 10-month season, and many physios are sounding the alarm regarding the increased risk of muscular injuries this forced layoff and sudden return to competition could cause.

Another difference with the Asian and African editions of the World Cup is the lack of football culture in Qatar. If the idea was purely to bring the World Cup to the Arab world, then it would have made more sense to host it in a country like Egypt or Morocco, where football is so important to the local population – or even to organise a regional World Cup (for which there is a precedent with Japan/Korea in 2002) – which would surely have been a huge success. Crucially, Egypt and Morocco are big countries that have existing stadiums to host matches, because this is the truly horrifying aspect of the Qatar 2022 World Cup. In the hurry to prepare for the World Cup, Qatari authorities recruited hundreds of thousands of people to build stadiums, roads, and hotels. These migrant workers, mostly from Southeast Asia, are often forced to work and live in deplorable conditions. Countless examples of human rights abuses have been reported, with workers’ passports confiscated, making them de facto slave labour. Tragically, an estimated 6,750 migrant workers have died since Qatar was awarded the 2022 World Cup. Qatar refused to release the actual statistics, but the death toll is certainly even higher since this estimation does not include all migrant populations. For an event apparently organised as a vast sportswashing operation, this is a massive own goal for Qatar.

And despite the massive humanitarian cost, the host nation was not even able to build the 12 stadiums promised in its bid. Likewise, Qatar’s transport infrastructure also remains inadequate for hosting a major international tournament, and it cannot accommodate the number of fans expected to travel. As a result, many will have to stay in neighbouring countries, and the authorities are planning to fly them in with 150 matchday shuttles. The carbon footprint surrounding such a logistic arrangement is obviously going to be catastrophic, further making a mockery of the bidders’ claim of hosting a carbon-neutral World Cup. However, given the nature of the repressive regime in Qatar, maybe fans will be better off not staying in Qatar anyway. Although the Qatari government is relaxing its stance on alcohol consumption, it does ask fans to refrain from such behaviours as “public displays of affection” and dressing “immodestly”, while blasphemy and homosexuality are criminal “offenses”. I suspect the party atmosphere that usually surrounds international football tournaments will likely be missing. No wonder the organisers have resorted to paying people to go.

Given that, what could have been done? FIFA was never going to admit its mistake (although former FIFA president Sepp Blatter seems to have done just that recently) and throw out the bid. Fundamentally, the problem is that FIFA is a black box, free to organise its flagship event as it sees fit in completely opaque circumstances. It is a hopelessly unethical organisation whose slogan, “for the good of the game”, is laughable such is their disregard for player welfare. FIFA is accountable only to itself, and it has become so obsessed with generating revenue at any cost that it is perverting our very societies. It should be reformed or dismantled and replaced with a governing body that really does act “for the good of the game”.

FIFA's member associations had no recourse, and boycotting the event could be very damaging for them. A few individual football associations have made their feelings known in a limited way; Norway and Germany protested obliquely about Qatar’s human rights record; Denmark will compete in a changed, toned-down kit as an act of protest, and Australia has published a fair but uncompromising statement on their position, but it seems unrealistic and unjust to expect footballers – young men for whom an international tournament is often a lifetime goal and the pinnacle of their sporting career – to boycott the event.

And what about the fans? Like many people, I have struggled with the ethical implications of tacitly supporting an event that is so tarnished, but what difference would it make if an individual fan refuses to watch the World Cup on TV? The competition will go ahead regardless. The damage is done, the broadcasting rights have been sold, and FIFA has had its payday. Although a mass boycott – as unlikely as that seems – would make advertisers and sponsors more wary about what they put their names on in the future, is it fair to expect people who had no say on where the World Cup would go, and who did not benefit in any way from this decision (on the contrary), to forgo an event that plays an important role in their lives? That's why, although I won't be following the World Cup as closely as in previous years, I don’t think I will actively “boycott” it. More than a sport, football plays the role of an important social glue; it is an opportunity to meet friends, and if someone asks me to go out and watch a match, I'm not going to refuse.

Hopefully, the scrutiny surrounding Qatar 2022 will lead both to reforms within both FIFA and Qatar. For now though, it does feel like my relationship with the World Cup has been damaged. For a time, I naively believed that international football was a safe-haven from the corrupting influence of money – a slightly jingoistic and archaic concept certainly, but an area where only sporting achievement mattered. Although the quality of the football was often inferior to club football, the passion and joy surrounding the World Cup made it somehow unique and purer. The absurdity and immorality of this edition, on top of the controversies surrounding the Brazilian and Russian World Cups, makes it very hard to retain my past enthusiasm.