A tournament too big for the ticket-holders
World Cups are sold to the world as a month-long, borderless street party. In reality, only a tiny fraction of supporters ever cross the turnstiles. Tickets are scarce, travel costs are punishing, and the logistics of moving hundreds of thousands of people across host cities are often beyond the reach of ordinary fans.
That is why the real measure of a World Cup’s cultural footprint is frequently found outside the stadiums: in public squares, parks, riversides, markets and the improvised viewing spots where supporters create their own version of the event.
Fan zones as the beating heart
Recent tournaments have shown what happens when large-scale, accessible fan spaces are allowed to flourish. Germany 2006 became synonymous with packed city centres, where fans watched matches on giant screens in historic town squares and along riverbanks, turning entire neighbourhoods into shared living rooms.
South Africa 2010 carried a different texture but the same principle: supporters gathered wherever there was a screen and a sense of safety — in parks, open-air markets, hotel lobbies and informal pop-up bars. Brazil 2014 leaned into the country’s existing football rituals, with spectators spilling out of beachside bars around Copacabana, restaurants filling to capacity, and streets effectively pausing during Seleção kick-offs.
Russia 2018, too, defied expectations. Visitors spoke of an unexpectedly welcoming atmosphere as spontaneous celebrations spread beyond official sites. The crowds weren’t confined to curated zones; they flowed into the everyday fabric of host cities.
Qatar 2022 and the limits of a “made-for-TV” World Cup
Qatar 2022 highlighted what can be lost when those organic gatherings don’t materialise at scale. Even with modern infrastructure and premium facilities, the tournament often felt self-contained — an event you entered rather than one that took over public life.
The shortage of roaming supporter crowds, the relative absence of improvised viewing parties, and the sense that much of the celebration was funnelled into designated areas contributed to a perception of a World Cup that looked vibrant on broadcast but struggled to replicate the familiar, chaotic togetherness on the ground.
The legacy question for future hosts
As FIFA expands the World Cup and hosts promise long-term benefits, organisers face a basic test: can they make the tournament accessible to the many, not just the lucky few with match tickets?
The most durable legacy may not come from stadium architecture or sponsor activations, but from the infrastructure of togetherness — fan fests that feel genuinely public, training-camp access that invites communities in, and pre-tournament friendlies staged in cities that won’t host games but still want to participate.
Because if the World Cup is meant to belong to everyone, then its most important venues might be the ones without seat numbers.
