Exactly 100 days from now, at Azteca Stadium in Mexico City, the World Cup—the biggest ever—will kick off with a match between Mexico and South Africa.
Five weeks, 48 teams, 104 matches. One tournament spread across the United States, Canada, and Mexico, unfolding amid an especially turbulent geopolitical reality in an increasingly tense and polarized world.
Between Mexico's war on drug cartels and the conflicts shaking the Middle East, the 2026 World Cup is set to become a stage unlike any before. At the center of it all—or perhaps above it—stands one man: U.S. President Donald Trump. His final act at the end of his first term as the 45th president was fighting to secure hosting rights for this very tournament alongside his neighbors to the north and south.
Eight years have passed since then. Much has changed. Now Trump is president again—the central host of a World Cup after which, it seems, nothing will look quite the same.
"Trump's political statements often resemble a sports media event more than traditional politics," says Bar Umansky, a branding and stratefy consultant as well as a researcher of American politics and culture, speaking on the Goal to the World Cup podcast by Israel's public broadcaster Kan.
The way Trump announced last Saturday's strike on Iran illustrates exactly what Umansky means. He stood at the podium wearing a gray baseball cap with "USA" in classic navy-blue lettering—looking more like the first pick in the NBA Draft than a head of state. That's his style. Annexations, military threats, dramatic speeches: it's all a show.
Returning the Favor to FIFA
In recent months, Trump has threatened to annex Canada and spoken about striking cartels in Mexico—his World Cup co-hosts. He floated the idea of "purchasing" Greenland, detained Venezuelan migrants, triggered upheaval across the region, and most recently led a joint strike with Israel on Iran that resulted in the assassination of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei.
Throughout all of this, he has kept football and the World Cup firmly in his orbit. A replica of the World Cup trophy sits on his Oval Office desk. He lifted the Club World Cup trophy alongside Chelsea players, invited Cristiano Ronaldo to the White House, accepted FIFA's Peace Award, and even proposed renaming "soccer" to "football" in the United States—displacing American football. Such a shift would shake the foundations of American sports culture.
"The story here is Trump's relationship with the NFL and FIFA," explains Eden Roitfarb, BabaGol's North American football expert. "FIFA president Gianni Infantino gives him a global peace award, allows him to host the World Cup, and hands him a massive platform."
In a sense, football—the global game not invented in the U.S.—has become for Trump a perfect vehicle for amplifying his ideas. The constant media storm he generates is not only outward-facing; it is directed inward as well. The U.S. is grappling with multiple crises: the Epstein files revelations, inflation eroding the middle class, protests over immigration policy, and tensions surrounding ICE operations—all against the backdrop of upcoming elections.
A Defining Moment
"Trump thrives on tension and inconsistency," Umansky adds. "Trying to assign deep meaning to every move can sometimes give him too much credit. Much of it is designed to create noise that looks great on camera."
That doesn't mean every move Trump makes is calculated to perfection. Nor does it mean the upcoming World Cup is inherently "good" or "bad" for the sport. But it does mean that everything is unfolding within a distinct Trump consciousness—one in which ambiguity is a feature, not a bug, designed to keep everyone captivated.
With 75% of its matches set to take place in the United States, this World Cup will largely unfold in a country navigating a new phase of self-definition. In an era of chaos, football provides emotional order and collective meaning—and that suits Trump perfectly.
More broadly, in a tournament that is redefining the scale, pace, and commercialization of the game, a rare convergence is taking place with significant implications for football's future. In private conversations, a senior FIFA official told BabaGol that a World Cup host nation typically adapts to FIFA's rules—but based on preparations for 2026, this could be the first tournament where FIFA, even at its highest levels, operates under the influence of the sitting president, and perhaps even in his service.
How will all of this affect football's standing in the U.S.? Senior figures at U.S. Soccer and FIFA told BabaGol that after this World Cup, "there's no going back" when it comes to the sport's place in American culture.
Some even believe football could surpass hockey in popularity and potentially challenge baseball as the third most popular sport in the country. Whether that happens remains to be seen. But football is already embedded in American life—among younger generations, within Latino communities, in academies, on television, and among the millions following the Premier League and Champions League. If the U.S. national team makes a deep run, with Trump in the stands, it could become a defining cultural moment.
One thing is certain: the 2026 World Cup will unfold at Trump's pace—fast, unpredictable, filled with grand declarations, all in pursuit of shaping an alternative reality. Consider this scenario: Iran's national team—whether representing the Islamic Republic or a new, free Iran—arrives on American soil for its first tournament. One can only imagine what Trump would make of that moment.
At the same time, Trump carries a long-standing feud with the NFL, rooted in his failed attempts to purchase a franchise and the league's embrace of political protest, most notably Colin Kaepernick's kneeling during the national anthem. The renewed "football vs. soccer" debate is, in part, another way for Trump to jab at the NFL—and return the favor to Gianni Infantino.
Beyond that, football helps sustain Trump's own brand identity. "The world of sports, and the World Cup in particular, creates legitimacy around identification with flag and anthem," says Umansky. "It generates a very specific sense of belonging—and Trump uses that mechanism to 'launder' ideas of Americanization and the values of Make America Great Again. It fits him perfectly."
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