There's a familiar feeling washing over me as we approach World Cup 2026, and it's not excitement—it's dread. The kind of dread you get when you know you're about to sit through 90 minutes of a team defending a nil-nil draw like it's the Treaty of Versailles.

FIFA, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that 32 teams just wasn't enough. No, we need 48 teams now. Sixteen more nations getting their moment in the sun. Sixteen more opportunities for "growth of the game." And sixteen more guaranteed snoozefests or absolute drubbings that make you question why you woke up at an ungodly hour to watch.

Let's look at what we already know from recent World Cups. In Russia 2018, we had several group stage matches that were essentially exhibitions in futility:

Qatar 2022 wasn't much better:

These weren't competitive matches. They were training exercises with stakes.

Now imagine adding 16 more teams to this mix. We're not getting 16 Denmark-level squads who can trouble the giants. We're getting teams that will park the bus for 90 minutes and pray for a 0-0 draw, or we're getting teams that will concede five goals and make us all wonder what we're doing with our lives.

Want a preview of what's coming? Look at the 2023 Rugby World Cup in France. Twenty teams. Six—maybe seven if we're being generous—realistic championship contenders. The rest? Cannon fodder or spoilers.

The pool stage gave us some absolute beatdowns:

Sure, there were some competitive matches and the occasional upset that made for great theater. But for every thrilling Japan performance, there were three matches where you knew the result before kickoff.

The rugby tournament at least has the decency to be shorter and more physical—there's something visceral about watching the collisions even in a mismatch. Football? Football gives us 90 minutes of one team camping in their own box while the other team completes 800 passes and creates two chances.

Here's what really concerns me: it's not just the blowouts. It's the matches that end 0-0 because one team has decided that going home without conceding is a moral victory.

In the 32-team format, we already see this. Teams know they might sneak through with three or four points. Now, with the expanded format and its complicated qualification scenarios from the group stage, the incentive to play not-to-lose becomes even stronger.

Imagine being a minnow nation in a group with Brazil and Germany. Your strategy isn't to win—it's to somehow scrape third place and hope it's enough. That means 180 minutes of 11 men behind the ball, time-wasting from the first whistle, and the kind of football that makes you appreciate a root canal.

FIFA will tell you this is about inclusion, about giving more nations the World Cup experience, about growing the game globally. And sure, there's something to that. I'm not completely heartless—I understand the value of a smaller nation getting to participate.

But let's be honest about what we're trading: we're trading quality for quantity. We're trading the guarantee that almost every match matters for the reality that a quarter of the tournament will be forgettable.

The group stage, once a tense and dramatic affair where every point mattered, will become bloated. The knockout rounds will start earlier, but they'll start with matches between teams that have no business being there, creating "Round of 32" fixtures that feel like glorified friendlies.

And let's talk about us, the viewers. The people who actually watch this spectacle.

We're going to have more matches than ever—104 total, up from 64. That sounds great until you realize you can't possibly watch them all, and more importantly, you won't want to. The World Cup used to be an event where nearly every match felt significant. Now it's going to feel like a slog, a war of attrition where we're all just waiting for the tournament to actually start once the serious teams meet in the quarterfinals.

I can already see it: waking up early to watch a match between two teams playing for third place in a group, knowing the winner gets to lose to France in the Round of 32. It's the football equivalent of watching the undercard at a boxing match—sure, it's boxing, but it's not what you came for.

Maybe I'm being too pessimistic. Maybe those 16 additional teams will include surprise packages that capture our hearts. Maybe we'll get our share of Morocco 2022-style runs that make it all worthwhile.

But I've watched enough football to know that for every Cinderella story, there are five teams that show up, get hammered, and go home having contributed nothing but a couple of highlight-reel goals against them.

The 2026 World Cup will still be the World Cup. I'll still watch. We'll all still watch. But let's not pretend that bigger is better. Sometimes, bigger is just... more slop.

And I already miss the compact brilliance of what we had.

Not all World Cups are created equal. For some teams, 2026 is just another tournament—a chance to add silverware, sure, but not a defining moment. For others, this World Cup in North America will be a reckoning. A referendum on a generation. A last chance to silence the critics or cement a legacy that's been crumbling for decades.

Let's be clear about one thing: France isn't one of those teams.

Les Bleus have already done the work. 2018 champions. 2022 runners-up. They've got Mbappé in his absolute prime, a squad full of Champions League winners, and Didier Deschamps who—love him or hate him—knows how to win when it matters.

Could they win in 2026? Absolutely. Would it elevate their legacy? Sure, a third star would be nice. But if they crash out in the quarterfinals, does anyone really hold it against them? They've already banked their generational success. This is bonus time.

France plays 2026 with the confidence of a team that's already proven everything. Win, and they're legends. Lose, and they're still one of the great national teams of the modern era.

The pressure? It's somewhere else entirely.

Twenty-four years.

That's how long it's been since Brazil won a World Cup. For the five-time champions, for the country where football is religion and the Seleção are the high priests, this is approaching crisis territory.

An entire generation of Brazilian fans has grown up without seeing their team lift the trophy. They've watched Ronaldinho, Kaká, Neymar—world-class talents all—fail to deliver. They've endured the humiliation of 7-1 on home soil. They've witnessed their team become also-rans, capable of beautiful football but seemingly cursed when it matters most.

2026 isn't just another World Cup for Brazil. It's a test of whether this golden football nation can still deliver when the stakes are highest. Neymar will be 34—likely his last realistic shot at the trophy that's eluded him. Vinícius Júnior is supposed to be the next savior, but we've heard that story before.

If Brazil wins, they reclaim their place at the top of world football. If they don't? That drought extends to 28 years by 2030, and we start having serious conversations about whether Brazil's golden age is over for good.

The weight on their shoulders is enormous. And unlike France, they haven't earned the right to play freely.

Euro 2024 was supposed to be a feel-good story—and it was. Spain looked revitalized, playing with flair and purpose, dispatching England in the final with a performance that screamed "we're back."

But here's the thing about momentum: it cuts both ways.

Spain now enters 2026 as one of the favorites, with expectations sky-high. They're supposed to build on Euro success. They're supposed to prove that 2024 wasn't a fluke but the start of a new era. They've got the young talent—Pedri, Gavi, Williams, Yamal—and the blueprint for success.

But World Cups aren't Euros. The competition is fiercer, the spotlight brighter, and the margin for error smaller. Spain won the Euros in 2008, too, remember. Then they went on to dominate the world. But they also won it in 2012... and crashed out of the 2014 World Cup in the group stage.

Spain has everything to prove in 2026. That Euro win raised expectations through the roof. Anything less than a semifinal appearance will feel like failure. And if they stumble early? That "golden generation" label starts looking awfully premature.

They're not playing with France's security blanket. They're playing to prove the hype is real.

And then there are the hosts. Three of them. USA. Mexico. Canada.

Let's start with the obvious: hosting a World Cup is both a blessing and a curse. The home crowds, the familiarity, the energy—it can propel you to heights you've never reached. Just ask France in 1998 or Germany in 2006.

Or it can crush you under the weight of expectation. Ask Brazil about 2014.

For the USMNT, 2026 is everything. They failed to qualify for 2018—a disaster that shook American soccer to its core. They underperformed in 2022, bowing out in the Round of 16 to the Netherlands without ever really threatening.

Now they get a home World Cup, automatic qualification, and a golden opportunity to prove they belong among the world's elite. They've got young talent—Pulisic, Reyna, Dest, Musah—and a growing footballing infrastructure. The investment is there. The potential is there.

But potential isn't results. And in 2026, on home soil, with tens of millions watching, the USMNT needs to deliver. A quarterfinal appearance should be the floor, not the ceiling. Anything less will be viewed as a catastrophic failure for a program that's been promising to break through for two decades.

The pressure on Mauricio Pochettino—or whoever's coaching by then—will be suffocating. The American public, newly energized by hosting the tournament, will expect fireworks. And if the team can't deliver? The backlash will make 2018's failure to qualify look quaint.

El Tri has an even bigger problem: they've been stuck in the same spot for 40 years.

Mexico always qualifies. Mexico always makes it out of the group stage. Mexico always loses in the Round of 16. It's like clockwork. It's become a punchline.

In 2026, at home, with passionate crowds in Mexico City and Guadalajara, they have a chance to finally break that curse. But the pressure is absolutely crushing. Mexican fans don't just want to make the quarterfinals—they expect it. They demand it.

And if Mexico stumbles at home? If they somehow fail to escape the group or lose in the Round of 16 yet again in front of their own people? The reckoning will be brutal. Coaches will be fired. Players will be vilified. The entire program will face an existential crisis.

For Mexico, 2026 is about finally proving they can be more than a good CONCACAF team. It's about showing they can compete with the world's best when it truly matters.

Canada is in a different position. They're the plucky upstarts. After missing the World Cup for 36 years, they qualified for Qatar 2022 and, while they didn't advance, they showed they belonged.

In 2026, at home, the expectations will be higher—but still manageable. Nobody expects Canada to win it all. But a knockout round appearance? That's the dream. That's what would turn this into a golden era for Canadian football.

The pressure on Canada is the lightest of the three hosts, but it's still there. They've got star power in Alphonso Davies and Jonathan David. They've got home crowds in Toronto and Vancouver. They've got momentum.

If they capitalize on it, this could be a transformative moment for football in Canada. If they flop at home, it'll feel like a massive missed opportunity.

So let's tally it up:

Least Pressure:

Moderate Pressure:

Maximum Pressure:

2026 won't be remembered equally by all teams. For France, it might just be another chapter. For Brazil and the United States, it could define a generation—for better or worse.

And that's what makes this tournament fascinating. It's not just about who lifts the trophy. It's about who handles the weight of expectation, who rises when their nation demands it, and who crumbles when the pressure becomes too much.

Welcome to 2026. Some teams are playing for glory.

Others are playing for survival.

***P.S. - It would be impossible to write an article like this and not mention England. Here are England's results in major tournaments over the last 8 years:

World Cups:

European Championships:

The Pattern: England has made two consecutive Euro finals (2021, 2024) and lost both. They've been consistently reaching the latter stages but can't get over the line. The "it's coming home" hope keeps building, and they keep falling short at the final hurdle. With the Euro 28 being hosted in England, safe to say the Lions will have their fair share of pressue.

I've got good news and bad news about World Cup 2026.

The good news? It's happening right here in North America—no transatlantic flights, no jet lag, no converting currencies in your head while trying to figure out if that hotel room is a steal or highway robbery.

The bad news? FIFA has decided to spread this thing across 16 cities, three countries, and what feels like half a continent. And here's the kicker: some of these cities are set up beautifully for a tournament like this. Others are about to absolutely fleece you.

So let me save you some money and a whole lot of frustration. Because I've looked at every host city, and I can tell you right now: where you choose to watch matches will determine whether you have the time of your life or spend half your trip in surge-priced Ubers cursing stadium planners.

(By the way—if you’re already mapping your route, our World Cup Fan Zone Trip Builder can help you compare host cities by cost, lodging zones, and transit access before you book anything.)

Let me be blunt: if a stadium doesn't have rail access in 2026, someone screwed up. We're not talking about the 1994 World Cup here. This is supposed to be the future of the game, and yet we've got billion-dollar stadiums sitting in parking lots 20 miles from downtown with no train service.

You know what happens when 70,000 fans all need to leave a stadium at the same time and there's no train? Rideshare prices go through the roof. We're talking $60, $80, even $100 for a trip that should cost $15. And you'll be standing there with 10,000 other people all trying to summon an Uber at the exact same moment.

So here's my rule: if the stadium has good rail access, the city immediately jumps up the rankings. If it doesn't, you better have a really good reason to go there.

Seattle is damn near perfect. You can walk to Lumen Field from downtown. Actually walk. Like, on your own two feet. Five to ten minutes from Pioneer Square and you're there. Or take the Light Rail if you're feeling lazy—it's a two-minute ride. You can stay downtown, see Pike Place Market, walk to the stadium, watch the match, and grab dinner in Capitol Hill without ever needing a car. This is how you host a World Cup.

Atlanta gets it. Mercedes-Benz Stadium has three—count them, three—MARTA stations right there. You can hop on the train in Midtown, be at the stadium in 10 minutes, and the fare is $2.50. Not $25. Not $50. Two dollars and fifty cents. And Atlanta's giving you eight matches to choose from. The value here is incredible.

Houston surprised me. I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting much from Houston's transit, but NRG Stadium has direct METRORail access on the Red Line. Eight to ten minutes from the Museum District, and the fare is $1.25. You read that right. A dollar twenty-five. And Houston's hosting seven matches. You can stay in the Museum District, visit some world-class museums during the day, hop on the train for eight minutes, and you're there. No stress, no surge pricing, no problem.

Vancouver gives you a downtown stadium you can walk to, plus the SkyTrain running every three to five minutes. And yes, it's expensive—Vancouver's going to see massive price spikes because they don't have enough hotel rooms—but if you book early, you're getting a World Cup experience in one of the most beautiful cities on the planet.

Toronto has that seven-minute GO Train from Union Station straight to the waterfront stadium. Fast, efficient, and you're staying in downtown Toronto with all of its multicultural glory right there. Canada's opening match. Historic moment. Great transit. What's not to like?

Now let's talk about the cities that are going to make you regret your travel decisions.

Dallas is the worst. There, I said it. AT&T Stadium is 20 miles from Dallas in Arlington, and there is no train. None. Zero. The DART rail system in Dallas is actually pretty good—except it doesn't go to the stadium. So you're paying Dallas hotel prices to take $30-80 surge-priced Ubers each way to a stadium that's sitting in a suburban parking lot. This is the poster child for everything wrong with American stadium planning.

Miami makes you choose between South Beach and sanity. Hard Rock Stadium is 17-20 miles from Miami Beach. No rail. You either stay on South Beach and pay $350-700 a night for the privilege of taking $60+ Ubers for an hour each way, or you stay near the stadium in Miami Gardens where there's no beach, no nightlife, and none of the "Miami experience" you're paying for. It's the worst value in the entire tournament.

San Francisco Bay Area requires a two-stage, multi-hour journey just to get to Levi's Stadium in Santa Clara. To cover the 45+ miles, you must take Caltrain from San Francisco to Mountain View, then transfer to the VTA Light Rail—a minimum two-system, two-hour transit slog that requires separate fares and precise timing. You're paying the highest hotel prices in the country to be shuffled onto commuter trains for up to four hours of travel time round trip. The region is beautiful, sure, but the stadium location is a logistical disaster for any fan depending on public transit.

Kansas City has Arrowhead Stadium 8-10 miles from downtown with no rail access. If you've got a car, great—you'll love the tailgating culture. If you're depending on transit? Good luck. Budget $40-80 per day for rideshares and accept that this is a car-dependent experience.

Boston has Gillette Stadium 25-30 miles away in Foxborough—closer to Providence, Rhode Island than to Boston. There are event trains from South Station, which is better than nothing, but you're still looking at 60-75 minutes each way and paying Boston hotel prices for the privilege.

Here's what really gets me: the difference in cost between a "good" host city and a "bad" one isn't marginal. It's massive.

Stay in Seattle for a week, walk to matches, use transit: you're looking at $150-300 per night in lodging, minimal transportation costs. Total budget impact: reasonable.

Stay in Miami Beach, take surge-priced Ubers to Miami Gardens twice for matches: $350-700 per night, plus $120-160 in rideshare costs per match day. You're paying an extra $1,500-2,000 for the week just because of stadium location.

That's not a rounding error. That's a whole additional trip you could take.

Houston's hosting seven matches. You could stay for ten days, catch multiple matches, pay $70-140 per night, take the train for $1.25, and still spend less than someone staying in Miami for three nights and seeing two matches.

Some cities fall into the "acceptable but not amazing" category.

Philadelphia has decent Broad Street Line access—20-25 minutes to the stadium—and the city itself is walkable and historic. They're hosting a Round of 16 match on July 4, 2026, which is legitimately cool. But the stadium is still three miles from Center City, so it's not quite as convenient as Seattle or Atlanta.

Los Angeles is hosting the USA's opening match on June 12, which is a big deal. But SoFi Stadium has no rail access, you're looking at 30-60 minute rideshares, and hotels are $300-600 per night. You're paying for the LA experience and the prestige of that opening match, but logistically it's a pain.

New York/New Jersey is hosting the final on July 19—the biggest match of the tournament. But MetLife Stadium is in New Jersey, 60-75 minutes from Manhattan via NJ Transit. Here's the pro tip: stay in Hoboken, New Jersey. You're 20-25 minutes from the stadium, hotels are $120-250 per night instead of $400-800 in Manhattan, and you can still easily visit New York City.

Mexico City has the opening match of the entire tournament on June 11, which is historic. Estadio Azteca is hosting a World Cup for the third time. But the transit is complex—Metro plus Tren Ligero, 40-50 minutes with two transfers—and the altitude (7,350 feet) will kick your ass if you're not prepared. Still, it's the opening match. That counts for something.

If you want the best overall experience: Seattle or Atlanta. You can't go wrong. Excellent transit, walkable cities, affordable, no car needed, multiple matches to choose from.

If you want the best value: Houston, hands down. Seven matches, eight-minute train ride, hotels under $150, world-class museums and food. This is the smart play.

If you're on a tight budget: Monterrey or Guadalajara in Mexico. Hotels are $40-150 per night, the culture is authentic, the food is incredible, and you'll save thousands compared to U.S. coastal cities.

If you must see the big matches: Accept the logistical pain. Mexico City for the opening match, Los Angeles for the USA opener, New York/New Jersey for the final. These are worth the hassle, but go in with eyes open about the costs and transit challenges.

If you're transit-dependent: Avoid Dallas, Kansas City, Miami, and San Francisco at all costs. You'll be miserable. Stick with Seattle, Atlanta, Houston, Vancouver, or Toronto.

World Cup 2026 is going to be incredible. …

Before you lock in your flights and lodging plans, visit World Cup 26 Fan Zone for free guides, the full travel planner, and live updates on lodging and transit for every host city.

Because no one wants to get fleeced on match day.

See you at the World Cup—I’ll be the one taking the train.

Coming up next week:
- One last hurrah - Messi, Ronaldo and the other players with one last chance at glory
- World Cup records - which records could be broken in 2026?

If you have any ideas that you would like to me include in future editions, please drop me a line at [email protected]

The man behind the curtain:

Oh, hi — I’m Eric, a football fan and tech enthusiast who loves experimenting with new ideas and tools to build things people actually need (and hopefully enjoy).

I’m an American expat living in France — an unabashed Mbappé and Bleu-Blanc-Rouge 🇫🇷 supporter, excited to see if France can extend their World Cup success… though definitely not looking forward to those 3 a.m. kickoffs