How European Complaints Miss the Point Ahead of 2026 World Cup

The World Cup must be right around the corner, because the great tradition of European whining has begun.

The French national team is pleading with FIFA to change its tournament travel arrangements because of what it sees as an unexpectedly arduous itinerary.

This despite a group stage agenda that only takes Les Bleus through the northeast corner of the United States to Foxborough, the Meadowlands and Philadelphia, AKA the kind of terrain NBA teams might knock out over the course of four days.

Then there was the chorus of voices -- including that of Arlo White, a former Premier League announcer in the United States -- lamenting Italy’s failure to qualify for the World Cup while other debutants like Curacao and Uzbekistan take part.

Nevermind that Italy lost two matches by a combined six goals to Norway, a nation that until 2026 hadn’t reached a major tournament of any kind since 2000. Or that the Azzurri also failed to qualify for the 2018 and 2022 tournaments. Or that Curacao qualified from its group ahead of a Jamaica squad packed with English-born talent, including a handful of Premier League regulars.

There are lots of legitimate reasons to attack the 2026 World Cup, which will be the largest ever, with the most exorbitant ticket prices, hosted by arguably the least cooperative host nation in history.

The 48-team format feels unnecessarily cumbersome, and with eight games now required to win the title, adds even more strain to an overly crowded calendar

The decision to schedule an afternoon final at the Meadowlands in late July is stupidity of a colossal level, and could marr the whole tournament if temperatures that day are even slightly above average.

And don’t even start with the whole FIFA Peace Prize mess now that Donald Trump has not only attacked another competing nation for spurious reasons and openly questioned whether the safety of their team could be guaranteed.

But the most disappointing part is that European nations that supposedly set the standards for the sport only really raise hell when directly inconvenienced, continuing a tradition as old as the World Cup itself.

After all, Europe only sent four teams to the inaugural 1930 event in tacit protest of staging the event in Uruguay, requiring teams to make a three-week-long journey by boat.

It surfaced on the field in 1966 when, fully convinced they could not stop Brazilian sensation Pele through legal means, Bulgaria and Portugal fouled him into submission and created the need for yellow cards to be added to the laws of the game.

In 1982, there were whispers of conspiracy when Germany earned an uninspiring 1-0 victory over Austria in the final group game, a result that saw both teams advance at Algeria’s expense.

And as recently as 2022, the world’s biggest clubs complained about the selection of Qatar as host not because of a dodgy human rights record, but because it meant interrupting the European season in November and December.

We should all be dubious of so many of FIFA’s decisions. But the only real way to manage its worst instincts is for other institutions to use their leverage, even if it occasionally adds to their own burdens.

Until that happens, the soccer world may be stuck with the governing body it deserves.