Ad slots disguised as “hydration breaks,” $10 tickets for FIFA FanFests that were once free to the public, and surge pricing that restricts locals and working-class fans from attending matches have made the football federation an enemy of many across the globe.
The host countries are not being received any better in the public eye. Revoked visas, stagnant union negotiations, thousands of missing individuals, and an ongoing war, among new controversies that continue to pop up each day, have led the 2026 FIFA World Cup to feel like a hostile event only in reach for a limited few.
Too many harrowing decisions by these governing bodies have added up, turning people away from the sport. Watching and following along as if the last year of political turmoil in this country alone hadn’t happened feels like complacency and betrayal.
Despite this, I decided to spend my hard-earned money on a game: Exactly $423 for a nosebleed, because every match in this year’s tournament feels more political than ever.
In a world where forms of escapism become harder to find and maintain, how can fans reason their love of the game with the moral complications the Cup has presented? Being excited for the games while doling out criticism has been a difficult balance for me. Attending matches was not in my plans, much less attending one that almost wasn’t allowed.
Even more inconceivable: attending a game where one of the participating parties is at war with one of the host countries and on the verge of a possible peace deal. And yet, it happened.
Dozens of green, white, and red flags bearing a lion and a sun greeted me when I jumped off the bus and walked over to the stadium. This flag, Iran’s pre-revolutionary flag, was proudly carried through a huge crowd surrounding a stage.
While at first glance it seemed like a supporter section, a closer look showed the atmosphere was more complicated than that. U.S. and Israel flags waved in unison. A giant makeshift billboard displayed images of Donald Trump, Benjamin Netanyahu, and Reza Pahlavi, calling them the “Best” and urging Trump to “Finish the Job.”
To the side, someone dragged the national flag of the Islamic Republic of Iran while others stomped on it. Additional crowds filled the street on the opposite end and lined the entry, calling attendees “terrorists” while security tried to remove them.
Before arriving, my main concern had been how long it would take to enter the stadium. With two sets of security gates, the walk through the first entry was a breeze, since the activation area was accessible only to ticket holders.
Inside, the atmosphere was completely different. Pop music blared, and people cheered. Even less than an hour before kickoff, fans lingered at various activation zones and took photos with World Cup memorabilia.
The spirit of the tournament was alive and well. The playing teams might have had the majority of fans behind them, but many attendees repped their own home countries. Mexico was largely represented by dozens, but so were countries that did not make it to this World Cup, like, the Philippines, Guatemala, and El Salvador. Japan, Germany, and Argentina were among the other countries making an appearance.
New Zealand fans showed up proudly wearing the team jersey and flying the country’s flag, but were heavily outnumbered by Iranian supporters. Iran’s fans filled the stadium wrapped in flags, wearing printed t-shirts, and sporting face paint.
Given the number of lions and suns waving around, it was easy to miss the flag ban imposed by FIFA. Even more confusing was the applause and cheers when the starting lineup was announced, followed by the overwhelming boos by the crowd when Iran’s national anthem played.
In my section, the crowd chanted “I-ran, I-ran” over, and over, and proudly applauded their team any time they made a shot on goal or completed a pass. The passion of everyone in attendance was hard to ignore. It was as though the outside world didn’t exist.
Unlike many passionate fans who claim a lifelong love for football, my love and appreciation for the sport didn’t come until adulthood. I’d say it makes me appreciate the sport more and allows me to continue discovering the wonders of the game. It also makes me clueless in the most comical way.
There are two things that have made me fall in love with the sport, and continue tuning in past my cluelessness. One is the fans. The American family sporting New Zealand gear, and still cheering for Iran, an Iranian child drinking from an Estrella Jalisco can, and a man in a Mexican jersey hugging and jumping with joy alongside a man holding an Iranian flag. The energy is contagious, and the possible connections are endless.
The second thing is the players. Nothing highlights the incredibleness of it all as much as the 22 people on the field. As a non-stakeholder, it's possible to appreciate the players on that field who are giving it their all on the world’s biggest stage. Despite unprecedented circumstances, the Iran team showed up, and put up a fight. The beautiful game does what it does, and it forced me to get out of my head and enjoy the athleticism. The New Zealanders were just as incredible, and made the nail-biter worth every penny taken from my savings.
Was the game worth the splurge? Yes, it was. After spending four years dreaming of attending a game in each country, it stung being priced out of a tournament practically in my backyard. Affording just one game was a privilege. Experiencing through a critical lens makes it all that more worthy.
Is it fair that Iran’s team had to be bussed back to Mexico right after the game? No. But it’s impossible for the players not to pay attention to the ardent chants in support from the country that has been bombing them to remind them that a country’s sitting president does not always represent the country.
