The applause was deafening, but you could barely hear it over the silence of those who had been left behind. As the UK government threw its weight behind a radical expansion of the World Cup, the forgotten hosts of yesterday were suddenly thrust back into the spotlight. They are the Canadian families, the ordinary citizens who opened their doors and their hearts to a global event that promised glory but delivered something far more complex.
I watched the press conference from a cramped pub in Manchester, where a group of middle-aged men, their faces lined with the weather of years, stared at the screen with a mixture of pride and sadness. They were among the thousands of ‘Canadian hosts’ who had volunteered to billet players and officials during the 2015 Women’s World Cup. For them, the experience was transformative. They spoke of late-night conversations, of cultural exchange, of the quiet joy of sharing a home with someone from halfway across the world.
But now, as the UK champions a plan to expand the men’s World Cup to 48 teams, these hosts are being held up as proof of concept. “Canada proved that ordinary people can carry the weight of a global tournament,” declared a minister, his words echoing through the room. The irony was not lost on the pint-drinkers around me. “They used us,” muttered one former host, a retired teacher named Clive. “We gave everything, and they forgot we existed until it suited them.”
The expansion, if approved, would see the tournament balloon to 80 matches, requiring a vast army of volunteers and host families. The UK, it seems, is banking on the goodwill of its citizens to replicate Canada’s success. But the social psychology here is tricky. In Canada, the hosting experience was a source of national pride, a unifying force in a country often divided by language and geography. Yet, as the memory fades, so does the willingness to repeat it.
What the minister failed to mention was the human cost. The Canadian hosts, many of whom are now in their 60s and 70s, were not prepared for the emotional toll. They spoke of sleepless nights, of strained relationships, of the difficulty of returning to normal life after the circus left town. “They think we’re heroes,” said another host, a woman named Margaret. “But we’re just tired. And we’re forgotten again until someone needs a picture for a press release.”
This is the cultural shift we are witnessing: the commodification of altruism. The idea of ‘citizen diplomacy’ is being repackaged as a cost-saving measure for mega-events. The UK’s backing of the expansion is not about sport; it is about leveraging the generosity of the public to avoid spending on infrastructure. It is a cynical move dressed up in the language of inclusivity.
Yet, there is hope. In the pub, as the press conference ended, the conversation turned to what could be done differently. “We need to be paid, or at least have our expenses covered,” said Clive. “And we need support, not just a thank you card.” The debate is just beginning. As the World Cup expands, so too must our understanding of what it means to host. The Canadian hosts are heroes, yes. But heroes deserve more than a fleeting moment in the sun. They deserve a legacy of care.
