D-DAY FOR WORLD CUP BID
Canada, Mexico and U.S. find out today whether they’ll co-host in 2026,
MOSCOW— The Krasnopresnenskaya Embankment isn’t easily pronounced at 8 o’clock on a Tuesday morning.
Doesn’t get much easier as the afternoon goes on, for that matter.
But on a frenetic day in the Russian capital when Canadian, American and Mexican voices were trying to find all the right words, the tongue-twisting, rapidly transforming business district on the banks of the Moscow River was an oasis of morning calm.
All was quiet outside the Expocentre, a slightly fraying-at-the-edges sprawl of convention space which will host the 68th FIFA Congress on Wednesday. It is here where the destination of the 2026 World Cup will be decided. The combined clout of North America’s joint bid will go up against Morocco, vying for the votes of 211 delegates from across the world’s game.
And amid the surprising solitude of Krasnopresnenskaya, there was some last-minute divine inspiration for the power brokers behind the United 2026 bid.
Incongruously, an ornate and oh-sosmall Russian Orthodox Church sits in the Expocentre’s parking lot, towered over by newly-sprouting skyscrapers. It’s not under historic protection. It didn’t get there first.
In fact, in spite of its Byzantine finishes, it was built in 2008. Hey, maybe even convention attendees need an altar to escape to.
It’s named in honour of St. Seraphim of Sarov, one of the most hallowed figures of the Eastern Orthodox Church. One of his preferred creeds is inscribed nearby: “Faith without works is dead.” To paraphrase in more modern parlance (with apologies to the saint and all in Sarov): “Ain’t no point just hoping.”
Canada, the United States and Mexico are indeed hoping that Wednesday will be their day. But they weren’t going to leave it at that. So it was that across Moscow on Tuesday they gave it the works, canvassing and campaigning every daylight minute. Plenty after nightfall too.
They were working overtime for every vote that could get the United team to that magic number of 106, the total that would secure the delivery of the world’s biggest sporting event to Canada for the first time, the U.S. for the second and Mexico for the third. For so long it seemed like such work would be unnecessary.
Up until August of last year, it seemed world soccer’s governing body would be asked a question with just one answer when it came to the 2026 World Cup. But then Morocco entered a two-horse race in which they have somehow yet to tail off.
Even two weeks ago, when FIFA’s own bid inspection reports were released and scored the Morocco bid a 2.7 out of 5 compared to 4 out of 5 for North America on a range of infrastructure, financing and security factors, the North Africans, who have failed with four previous bids, haven’t lost sight of the front-runner.
Why? Because this is FIFA. And in spite of all the lofty talk of cleanups and reforms and rebirths, it remains an utterly unpredictable entity. But still, why? Because sport is politics and sport has never been more politics. And because … Trump.
Whatever about less-than-friendly time difference with Europe’s huge TV markets and whatever about soccer culture and legacy and all the other factors that some argue work in Morocco’s favour, the United bid’s biggest hurdle was likely erected in the White House.
Eighteen months and more of Trump’s bloated boasts and bigoted blasts have left the rest of the globe feeling less than enamoured with handing the United States such a huge, prestigious prize on a platter. And while Canada and Mexico are partners, this is very much a U.S.-led and identified bid, with 60 of the 80 games designated for the country and 10 each fed out to each of their neighbours.
In the final months of campaigning, United team figureheads have tried to fight the association, emphasizing that a second Trump term would come to an end in 2025 anyway and stressing that sport can breed more unity than politics ever could.
Desperate times called for more desperate measures. The New York Times reported Tuesday that U.S. Soccer president Carlos Cordeiro, Canada’s chief Steven Reed and their Mexican counterpart Decio De María have in recent months carried copies of letters signed by Trump promising no visa restrictions on any team, officials or fans, to every corner of the planet and presented them to try to placate countries with concerns.
How those letters held up in recent days, as Trump and his team promised Justin Trudeau a place in hell as they cried over unspilled milk, remains to be seen.
Yet as the clock ticked down Tuesday, the United campaign sounded like a team sensing success. “We feel we have a path to victory,” Cordeiro told reporters in Moscow earlier this week.
Confidence, though, can be a risky thing to convey before FIFA folks take themselves to the polling booth and pull the curtain.
Eight years ago, this reporter was working for a newspaper in Australia when the country was vying to become host of the 2022 tournament. The vote took place in the middle of the night local time.
The selection format was different back then with FIFA’s all-powerful executive committee deciding; the vote day electorate was actually 22, as two members had already been suspended after accusations of selling their votes.
Australians had been buoyed by the strength of their bid, enthusiastic endorsements of prominent FIFA folk and the public confidence of their own bid leaders.
“I believe Australia has the best bid,” the Australian bid chief Frank Lowy said. “We have convinced many of the FIFA executive committee that we have the best bid. But will we have the critical 13 votes? In my heart I really believe so.”
At stupid o’clock, the results of the first round came through. Australia had been eliminated. They’d gotten one vote. One.
This being FIFA, there was more than enough national mortification to go around as the favourites, the United States, also lost out. Qatar was the victor.
That same morning, Russia was given the keys to the World Cup that kicks off here on Thursday. Those dual decisions sparked investigations that led to the unprecedented corruption scandal which turned FIFA into a scalding dumpster fire of scandal, its reputation indelibly scorched.
Newish president Gianni Infantino insists this is a body that has changed for the better. Perhaps in some small ways it has. But dollar signs still light up those 211 sets of eyes like nothing else.
On Wednesday, duelling financial projections will flash across delegates’ screens. Morocco has projected profits of $6 billion (U.S). The United bid has promised $11 billion (U.S.). Math, folks. New FIFA can’t be all that different from old FIFA.
The location might be hard to pronounce but money, as it has a habit of doing, might ultimately speak most clearly of all.