Cod Almighty | Article
by Lee Partis
8 June 2026
There will be sportswash at the White House. Run by fools, frauds and cowards, watched by the credulous, compromised and committed, it's football but not as Lee Partis knows it Jim.
Gianni Infantino: a man who carries with him at all times that oddly alluring sense of complete conviction in his own inauthenticity (Barney Ronay)
The men's football World Cup has always been more than a tournament. It's a global ritual; a soft power battleground; a marketing bonanza; a mirror held up to the political and economic forces shaping the world. It's a celebration of the most important of all the unimportant things. To pretend otherwise is to ignore the way football has been used repeatedly as a tool of national projection and corporate expansion. The bit on the pitch is only a bit of the story.
From its beginning, the World Cup has been entangled with politics. Mussolini's Italy used the 1934 tournament to showcase fascist strength. Argentina's military junta hosted in 1978 while dissidents were being disappeared. Maradona's 1986 Hand of God was apparently symbolic revenge for Las Malvinas. More recently, Russia 2018 and Qatar 2022 developed the idea of sportswashing, and even more recently the Orange Authoritarian was presented with a replica trophy. When I watched Geoff Hurst lead us to think it's all over, this either hadn't happened or the possibility had not yet occurred to me.
FIFA operates as a trans-national power centre with influence to rival a small state. Its decisions on hosting, governance and disciplinary action have worldwide consequences. When countries bid for the World Cup, they are not just seeking tourism revenue, they are seeking legitimacy and visibility. The tournament becomes a stage on which nations present their preferred version of themselves behind a smiling mask of achievement and superlatives.
The political story of the World Cup is inseparable from its economic one. It's estimated this tournament will generate almost £60 billion. The modern tournament is a product of global capitalism at its most expansive: sponsorship deals worth billions, broadcasting rights that shape media landscapes and infrastructure projects that transform cities, sometimes permanently, often disastrously. Profits flow upwards and costs flow downwards. Private wealth and public squalor as the 'best' tickets for the World Cup Final are going for around £24,000 (although I'm not sure how many are actually being purchased).
This mirrors a broader trend: the capitalist capture of football itself. What began as a working class pastime has become a global entertainment industry dominated by corporate interests. Grounds are stadiums and stadiums have corporate boxes with hospitality (and prawn sandwiches). Gone are the days when the star striker travelled to the match on the bus. The World Cup is the zenith of this transformation but the same logic permeates domestic football. Community clubs, once social hubs and anchors of identity, increasingly find themselves squeezed by financial pressures, commercial priorities and the gravitational pull of elite football. Speaking of Town, a lifetime fan recently told me how wary he was of a successful playoff campaign, as the financial implications could severely and negatively impact the club.
Meanwhile, the top of the pyramid grows ever more absurdly lucrative. In the gap between elite and grassroots football the financial is philosophical. It is the triumph of commodity and capitalism over community, and the two coexist uneasily.
The World Cup typifies this tension. On one hand it inspires millions, encourages national pride, boosts pub takings, and creates shared memories that can last a lifetime. On the other it reinforces a model in which football's cultural value is secondary to its commercial potential. The tournament's global reach is monetised through sponsorships, advertising and branding. Identity becomes a marketable asset.
When decisions are driven by profit, community needs are sidelined. Ticket prices rise. Fan voices are marginalised. Local clubs become feeder systems for global brands rather than autonomous institutions with their own traditions.
Yet there are examples of the push-back against this. Around the world, supporters' trusts, fan-owned clubs and community initiatives are pushing back. Football's social value (belonging, solidarity, joy) can't be captured in a bank balance. They challenge the idea that the game must be governed by the logic of the market. Their efforts remind us that football is not just a product; it is a cultural common space.
The World Cup will always be political. Football is tribal. Allegiance to tribe presumes 'the other’' Us implies them. It reflects the world as it is: unequal, contested, globalised, emotional, often irrational and, at its worst, hostile. But it also reflects the world as it could be. Every time a community club survives against the odds, every time fans organise to protect what they know to be theirs, every time a child is taken to their first home game and falls in love with the occasion and the atmosphere, the possibility of a different future remains alive.
And, despite all the above, and despite me being one of the least jingoistic, nationalistic and patriotic of English men, come kick-off, I'll be watching England. Sometimes shouting, sometimes cursing, and sometimes from behind the sofa.