In a stunning display of what can only be described as blindingly obvious foresight, a UK infrastructure group has today urged the government to start planning early for the 2026 World Cup. Yes, the same World Cup that is currently scheduled to be hosted across the United States, Canada, and Mexico, a trifecta of nations so vast and car-dependent that the very concept of 'public transport' is often treated as a commie plot. But fear not, dear reader, for the British have arrived to lecture them on queueing, punctuality, and the proper way to construct a temporary lavatory block.
Let us pause to savour the irony. The UK, a nation that cannot build a railway to the north of England without unleashing a plague of budgetary frogs and a seven-year delay, is now offering pearls of wisdom to the Americans. 'Early planning,' they cry, as if the phrase weren't a mythical beast, a unicorn grazing in the fields of feasibility, hunted to extinction by successive governments and their beloved PFI contracts. One can almost hear the collective guffaws echoing from the corridors of the Department for Transport, where staff are still trying to locate the 2012 Olympic legacy paperwork.
The report, penned by some earnest souls at the Major Projects Association, highlights 'costs and challenges' – two words that should be tattooed on the forehead of every single government initiative since the dawn of the welfare state. Costs? Yes, the World Cup is famously not a money-spinner. It's a colossal black hole into which nations pour their hopes, dreams, and entire GDPs. Just ask Brazil, or South Africa, or any host nation that ended up with a white elephant stadium named after a disgraced politician. Challenges? My god, where to begin? The time zones alone will require a small army of sleep-deprived referees and a pharmacopoeia of off-label jet lag remedies.
But let us not be churlish. There is a kernel of truth here, a nugget of sense buried under the usual pile of bureaucratic drivel. The 2026 tournament is indeed a logistical nightmare. It spans three countries, 16 cities, and roughly 47 time zones (if you count the ones that exist only in the minds of FIFA officials). The American infrastructure, for all its glitzy highways and neon-lit stadiums, is not built for the pedestrian hordes of football fans. They will be forced to rent SUVs, buy giant foam fingers, and queue for hours at suspiciously named fast food outlets. It is a terrifying prospect, and one that requires a firm hand on the tiller.
Yet the very suggestion that we, the British, should advise on such matters is a grand, self-aggrandising farce. We cannot sort out our own railways. Our airports are a symphony of chaos. Our roads are littered with potholes that could swallow a small hatchback. But by all means, let us export our expertise. Let us send a delegation of Highways England officials to consult on American highway gridlock. Let them bring their PowerPoint presentations and their risk registers and their 'lessons learned' from the last time we tried to build a cycle lane in Birmingham. It will be magnificent. It will be tragic. It will probably require a public inquiry.
And what of the cost? Ah, the sweet, sweet cost. Early planning, you see, is meant to save money. It is meant to prevent the panicked scramble that usually accompanies such events. But in the UK, early planning is merely a precursor to cost overruns. We plan early so we can spend more later, on consultants, on feasibility studies, on the inevitable U-turns when a minister decides that a monorail would be 'more iconic' than a bus lane. The 2026 World Cup is a perfect opportunity to showcase this fine British tradition. We can begin planning now, create a ministerial taskforce, issue a white paper, and then scrap the whole thing in 2024 when a general election looms. It is the British way.
So let the infrastructure group have its moment in the sun. Let them wring their hands and warn of 'challenges'. But know this: when the World Cup rolls around, with its three-host-nation logistical migraine, we will all be watching from the comfort of our sofas, clutching our gin and tonics, and smugly noting that at least we weren't daft enough to host it. Well, not this time. But ask again in 2034. The Football Association is probably already budgeting for a white elephant.
