As the 2026 World Cup kicks off across North America, back home in the UK the talk is not of goals and glory, but of the cost. A bid for the 2030 tournament is gaining momentum. But for millions of working families, the question is not whether we can host the world's biggest sporting event. It is whether we can afford it.
Let's be clear. I am not a football writer. I am a labour reporter. I look at the numbers behind the headlines. And I see a familiar pattern. A grand stadium, a corporate sponsorship deal, and a government cheque. But what about the bus driver who needs to get to work while roads are closed? What about the care worker whose shift is cut because the city is gridlocked? What about the young man stacking shelves in a supermarket who cannot afford a ticket to a single match?
This is not a rant against football. It is a plea for realism. The UK bid for 2030 is being sold as a national celebration. A chance to show the world our industry, our passion, our unity. But the last time we hosted a major tournament — the 2012 Olympics — the cost overran by billions. The stadiums were built. The legacy? A mix of regeneration and white elephants. Some communities thrived. Others were priced out.
Now, the bid leaders promise a leaner, greener tournament. They talk of using existing infrastructure. Of minimising disruption. Of creating jobs and boosting the economy. But I have heard that before. Every major event promises a jobs bonanza. And every time, the work is temporary, low-paid, and often goes to people who already have options. The real wages of the average worker have been stagnant for years. Regional inequality is widening. The North gets a fraction of London's transport investment. A tournament spread across the UK could widen that gap.
Take the cost of bread. It is a simple measure. A loaf that cost £1 a few years ago now costs £1.30. That is a 30 per cent increase. Wages have not kept pace. For a family on Universal Credit, that extra 30p is a choice between a sandwich and a bus fare. Now imagine that family's street is turned into a fan zone. Their local shop is closed for 'security reasons'. Their rent goes up because landlords smell money. That is the real economy of a World Cup.
There is also the question of who pays. The government is likely to underwrite the bid. That means taxpayers' money. And if costs spiral — and they always do — it is the public who foot the bill. The same public who cannot afford to go to the matches. The same public whose schools are crumbling, whose hospitals are understaffed, whose wages are squeezed.
I am not saying we should not bid. Football is a unifier. It brings joy. It can inspire. But we must be honest about the trade-offs. If we are to host the 2030 World Cup, we need guarantees. Guarantees of well-paid, secure jobs for local people. Guarantees of affordable housing for those displaced by stadium construction. Guarantees that the cost of living will not rise for those who can least afford it.
And we need to ask a bigger question. Why do we always seek validation from the outside? Why must we host a global event to feel good about ourselves? What about the everyday things? A decent wage. A safe home. A future for our children. Those are the trophies worth pursuing.
So as the 2026 tournament begins, and the UK bid gains momentum, I will be watching. Not for the score. But for the balance sheet. For the impact on kitchen tables from Manchester to Middlesbrough. Because the beautiful game should not come at the cost of a decent life.
