It's Called the World Cup for a Reason: Who Decided Who Gets In?

Every four years, football suddenly becomes everyone's main personality trait, turning even the most football-indifferent people into die-hard fans and everyone else into self-proclaimed sports analysts : The World Cup.

Suddenly, watching 22 millionaires chase a ball around a pitch becomes the only acceptable summer plan. National pride kicks in, flags appear everywhere, and a penalty decision somehow turns into a matter of national importance. The World Cup has never really been about just football; it is about the collective experience.

Which is exactly why the 2026 tournament, now underway, already feels different.

For the first time, the World Cup is being hosted across the United States, Mexico and Canada, but much of the conversation has shifted away from the sport itself. Instead, it is overshadowed by visa restrictions, travel uncertainty and US politics. The current Trump administration has created significant barriers for supporters of the event, including stricter entry regulations and travel bans affecting several countries. At a tournament built on the idea of bringing the world together, the message feels increasingly contradictory. The irony became even more apparent last week when German Chancellor Friedrich Merz presented Donald Trump with a personalised Germany football shirt at the G7 summit, calling them "the same team". Yet for thousands of supporters, journalists and officials from affected countries, the question isn't which team they'll be cheering for, but whether they'll be able to enter the country at all. A tournament that has always sold itself as the world's biggest celebration of unity is, for many, beginning with borders, paperwork and uncertainty.

The Iranian football team faces complex travel restrictions, where players and staff have to fly in and out of the US to attend their matches. A Somali referee was denied entry to the United States despite holding a valid travel visa, with no specific reason other than concerns over additional security checks. It's difficult to ignore that Somalia is one of the countries affected by the Trump administration's travel ban. The contrast is striking. For most Europeans, entry was straightforward. For many non-European participants, it meant delays, uncertainty and additional restrictions. For a tournament that calls itself the World Cup, it sure shows a clear segregation.

It has become symbolic of a much broader issue: when movement becomes political, so does sport.

One of the biggest impacts, however, is the fan experience. The World Cup only works because millions of supporters travel across borders to create the atmosphere that television cameras cannot. And for many supporters, the barriers don't stop at expensive flights or accommodation. In recent weeks, human rights organisations and journalists have warned that visa restrictions and travel bans could prevent thousands of fans from attending the tournament altogether.

Yet attending this tournament has become increasingly difficult. U.S. tourist visas can cost up to $435, while ticket prices have reached their highest levels yet, with category 1 seats for the final reportedly costing close to $11,000. Add flights and accommodation, and football's biggest celebration begins to resemble a luxury event rather than a global one. On social media, clips of fans revealing how much they have spent on tickets regularly go viral. One father jokingly declared "no college for him" after buying World Cup tickets for him and his son. The joke lands because it feels uncomfortably close to reality. Supporting your team at the World Cup has become a privilege that fewer and fewer people can afford.

European audiences also struggle with the significant time differences, making live viewing difficult for many of the tournament's traditional fan base. There is no real Sommermärchen fever when kick-off is at 3 am. on a Monday and staying up means committing to ninety minutes of football, interrupted every few minutes by another commercial break. The spontaneous public screenings, crowded living rooms and collective World Cup feeling suddenly seem much further away. The collective experience that defines the tournament is at risk before the first goal is even scored.

The World Cup is increasingly shaped not only by football and politics, but also by global conditions that determine how, where and for whom the game can be played. For years, we've repeated the phrase that sport is political. The 2026 World Cup proves something even bigger: politics doesn't just enter sport, it decides who gets to participate, who gets to watch, and ultimately, who gets to belong.

And even before this tournament is over, the next one is already making headlines for all the wrong reasons. Preparations for the 2030 World Cup in Morocco have sparked outrage over reports that up to three million stray dogs and cats could be killed in an effort to "clean up" host cities ahead of the tournament. It raises an uncomfortable question: what exactly are we willing to sacrifice in the name of football's biggest celebration?

The sport has always sold itself as a universal language, a place where class, nationality and politics momentarily disappear and everyone gets to belong. Yet with every tournament, that ideal seems to move a little further away. If you come from the wrong country, cannot afford the ticket prices or happen to be on the wrong side of a border policy, the world's game suddenly no longer feels quite so universal.

Perhaps the most uncomfortable part is how easily all of this becomes background noise. Brands, influencers and celebrities continue to post from VIP boxes and courtside seats, flown in to celebrate the spectacle, while the ethical questions surrounding these tournaments are quietly pushed aside. Because when the perks are good enough, having a conscience suddenly becomes a lot less convenient.

Football hasn't changed. The sport is still universal, but the barriers surrounding it have never been more visible. A tournament that is meant to bring the world together increasingly highlights who is allowed to cross borders, who can afford to be there and who is left watching from afar. And maybe that's the most uncomfortable truth of all: the world's game is starting to feel like it belongs to fewer and fewer people.

by Julia Petersen

Photos: Pinterest