XXIII World Cup
by Tom Woods
The World Cup
is coming to the United States, a country that
has finally agreed to host football, provided
everyone agrees to call it “soccer,”
add timeouts, and possibly a halftime show
featuring a man dressed as an eagle firing T-shirts
into the crowd.
Organisers say
it will be the biggest tournament ever, which in
American terms means everything will be larger:
the stadiums, the portions, and the confusion
about why the clock counts up instead of down.
Millions of fans will travel across vast
distances, experiencing the unique thrill of
watching a 0–0 draw after a six-hour
domestic flight and a hotdog the size of a
toddler.
The US crowds
are expected to bring enthusiasm, even if they
occasionally applaud a good tackle as though it
were a touchdown. Commentators will patiently
explain that “nil-nil” does not
indicate a technical fault, and that a “pitch”
is not something you throw.
FIFA,
meanwhile, is delighted. A World Cup in America
means lucrative sponsorships, premium pricing,
and the chance to introduce new traditions such
as the VAR review presented by a major insurance
company. There are even rumours of a two-minute
warning, just in case the last two minutes weren’t
already long enough.
Players are
preparing for heat, travel, and the possibility
of being interviewed mid-game by someone asking
how it feels “out there.” European fans
are preparing for kick-off times that suggest the
match is happening either very late or very early,
depending on your relationship with sleep.
Still, it
promises to be spectacular: the world’s game,
hosted by a nation that will absolutely give it a
go and possibly rename it by the final.
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