South American football’s governing body CONMEBOL is pushing for the ​2030 World Cup to be expanded ‌to a record 64 teams, just a day after the conclusion of the ​first 48-team tournament in North ​America.

CONMEBOL President Alejandro Dominguez campaigned for ⁠the further expanded format on ​social media on Monday, urging FIFA to ​expand the centenary edition of the tournament.

“The next one is at home! In 2030, ​the World Cup is coming ​to Uruguay, Argentina and Paraguay,” Dominguez wrote. “It will ‌be ⁠a great opportunity for football, to celebrate the World Cup’s centenary with a 64-team tournament.”

FIFA was contacted ​for comment ​on the ⁠proposed expansion.

Under the existing approved plan, Spain, Portugal, ​and Morocco will serve as ​primary ⁠co-hosts, while Uruguay, Argentina, and Paraguay will host opening centenary matches to ⁠mark ​100 years since the ​inaugural 1930 tournament in Uruguay

-Reuters

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By Jude Dike, Canada

There are World Cups.

Then there are World Cups that leave future historians asking, “Did that really happen?”

USA-Canada-Mexico 2026 belongs squarely in the second category.

This wasn’t merely a football tournament. It was a Broadway musical with referees, a geopolitical summit interrupted by football, a Super Bowl that occasionally remembered there was a match to play, and perhaps the first sporting event in which the halftime entertainment had almost as many stars as the players.

FIFA promised the biggest World Cup ever.

For once, FIFA wasn’t exaggerating.

Forty-eight teams.

One hundred and four matches.

Three host nations.

Millions upon millions of spectators.

Enough hot dogs to feed a small republic.

The World Cup had become less a tournament and more a temporary United Nations with offside decisions.

The Good

Let us begin where every football romance begins, with the football itself.

The prophets of doom predicted that expanding from 32 to 48 teams would dilute quality.

Instead, football delivered its oldest lesson.

Never underestimate nations who have nothing to lose.

The so-called minnows arrived not merely to exchange shirts with football aristocrats but to steal points, reputations and, in some cases, entire headlines.

The giants discovered that wearing five stars above the badge no longer frightened opponents who had spent the previous decade watching tactical masterclasses on YouTube.

Gone were the days when traditional powers expected to stroll through group stages while deciding which luxury watch to wear for the knockout rounds.

Every match became an ambush.

Every underdog believed.

Every favourite perspired.

The expanded format did not kill competition.

It multiplied anxiety.

By the end of the group stage, calculators had become more valuable than centre-forwards.

The Bigger World Cup

Forty-eight teams sounded outrageous when FIFA announced it.

Traditionalists like me reacted as though football itself had been placed on life support.

“Too many teams!”

“It’ll be boring!”

“There’ll be too many weak nations!”

Instead, the larger format became football’s version of inviting the whole neighbourhood to dinner.

Yes, there were a few guests nobody remembered inviting.

Yes, a few arrived mainly to admire the furniture.

But some unforgettable newcomers reminded the old establishment that football belongs to everyone, not merely those with expensive academies and vintage World Cup medals.

Somewhere, FIFA executives were smiling.

More teams meant more television.

More television meant more sponsors.

More sponsors meant more meetings.

More meetings meant…well…more FIFA.

The Bad

Football has always insisted politics should stay out of sport.

Politicians, naturally, never received the memo.

Donald Trump seemed determined to become the tournament’s unofficial fourth host nation.

Every appearance generated headlines.

Every comment produced debate.

Every intervention reminded everyone why politicians should rarely be allowed near the beautiful game.

Reports of presidential interest in disciplinary decisions somehow transformed refereeing into another branch of international diplomacy.

One half expected the next FIFA circular to begin:

“Dear Member Associations,

Please note that offside decisions now require congressional approval.”

Football survived.

It always does.

Barely.

The Argentina Conspiracy Industry

Then there was Argentina.

Or, more accurately…

The internet’s Argentina.

According to social media detectives, FIFA had secretly written the script.

Apparently every favourable decision confirmed one universal truth:

“If Argentina benefits, FIFA planned it.”

The fact that Lionel Messi, one of the game’s greatest players, was on the pitch proved nothing.

Some insisted Gianni Infantino remained emotionally incapable of watching an Argentine throw-in without shedding a nostalgic tear.

Others discovered invisible penalty-area magnets.

A few uncovered sophisticated global conspiracies apparently coordinated between Zurich, Buenos Aires and whichever basement still had reliable Wi-Fi.

The beauty of conspiracy theories is that they require no evidence.

Only Wi-Fi.

Argentina reached the final because they were brilliant and refused to be defeated.

Naturally, conspiracy theorists regarded this as their strongest evidence.

VAR: Video Assisted Religion

VAR continued its remarkable evolution.

It no longer merely reviewed football.

It reviewed human patience.

Stadium celebrations now came with a legal disclaimer:

“Goal pending confirmation from three officials, six camera angles and one philosophical debate regarding the meaning of deliberate handball.”

Children celebrated.

Parents celebrated.

Grandparents celebrated.

Then everyone waited.

Eventually, someone wearing headphones informed humanity whether happiness was still permitted.

Technology has certainly improved football.

Provided one enjoys the suspense normally associated with waiting for university examination results.

The Ugly

Social media.

Not football.

Social media.

Within minutes of every match, tactical experts emerged from nowhere.

The same people who couldn’t locate Paraguay on a map suddenly possessed intimate knowledge of inverted full-backs, false nines, hybrid pressing structures and the psychological implications of left-footed corner kicks.

Referees became villains.

Managers became fools.

Players became memes.

The internet remained undefeated.

The Bizarre

Nothing, and absolutely nothing, prepared football traditionalists for the first-ever World Cup Final halftime show.

For nearly a century, halftime had been sacred.

Players drank water.

Managers shouted.

Fans argued.

Then America happened.

Suddenly football discovered pyrotechnics.

Superstars.

Dancers.

Global pop icons.

Enough celebrity wattage to power Manhattan.

The halftime interval briefly forgot there had been forty-five minutes of football beforehand.

Some loved it.

Some hated it.

Everyone watched.

Football had officially entered the entertainment-industrial complex.

Next tournament, someone will probably suggest drone choreography for goal celebrations.

Please don’t give FIFA ideas.

The Celebrity League

This World Cup attracted kings.

Prime ministers.

Presidents.

Hollywood royalty.

Music legends.

Billionaires.

Athletes from every imaginable sport.

Sometimes television cameras seemed genuinely confused about whom they were covering.

The football?

Or Row Three, Seat Eight.

It occasionally resembled the Oscars with an offside trap.

Records, Records Everywhere

Attendance records collapsed.

Digital engagement exploded.

The tournament became the largest in football history.

Stadiums overflowed.

Fan parks overflowed.

Airports overflowed.

Hotels overflowed.

Even airport security queues qualified for the Round of 16.

The three host nations somehow managed to convince the world that sharing a World Cup wasn’t impossible after all.

Although customs officers probably deserve medals of their own.

The Stars

The established superstars reminded us why they became household names.

The young stars reminded us why football never stops reinventing itself.

Every World Cup crowns new heroes.

Unknown teenagers became overnight millionaires.

Veterans wrote final chapters worthy of cinema.

Golden Boots were chased with almost as much determination as the trophy itself.

Every generation handed the game to the next.

Football, unlike politics, usually gets succession planning right.

Finally…

Spain deservedly lifted the trophy after navigating the biggest and most demanding World Cup football has ever produced.

But perhaps the greatest winner wasn’t Spain.

It was football itself.

The sport survived expansion.

It survived politics.

It survived conspiracy theories.

It survived celebrity overload.

It even survived a halftime concert.

Barely.

The 2026 World Cup reminded us that football is no longer merely the beautiful game.

It is now the beautiful spectacle.

Part sport.

Part business.

Part diplomacy.

Part streaming content.

Part reality television.

And entirely impossible to ignore.

Years from now we may forget the scorelines.

We may forget some goals.

We may even forget who won the Golden Ball.

But nobody will forget the World Cup where forty-eight nations came to play football, half the planet came to watch, politicians came to campaign, celebrities came to be seen, conspiracy theorists came fully prepared, FIFA discovered Broadway, and football somehow emerged, bruised, bewildered, richer than ever, and still gloriously capable of making billions of otherwise sensible adults scream at a television because someone was two centimetres offside.

If this is the future of the World Cup, then buckle up.

By 2030, don’t be surprised if VAR is sponsored by artificial intelligence, halftime features astronauts, and FIFA introduces “premium stoppage time.”

After all, in football, as in life, the bizarre has stopped being the exception.

It has become the format.

Jude Dike, PhD, is a public affairs analyst and writes from Canada

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By Kunle Solaja, New York

The FIFA World Cup 2026 has taken me across North America, from bustling stadiums in Vancouver, New York, Atlanta and Boston to fan zones and media centres spread across the United States, Canada and Mexico. Yet, amid the football frenzy, one destination in New York City beckoned with a different kind of allure.

This is the legendary Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.

Known globally as one of the most famous streets in the world, Fifth Avenue is more than a shopping district. It is a showcase of American history, wealth, architecture and influence, stretching through the heart of Manhattan like a grand boulevard of ambition.

Stepping onto Fifth Avenue felt like entering a living postcard. Towering skyscrapers rise on either side, while streams of tourists, office workers and shoppers create a constant flow of energy. Every block seems to unveil another iconic landmark.

One of the first landmarks commanding attention is the imposing Trump Tower, the 58-storey skyscraper that has become synonymous with U.S. President Donald Trump.

This is where FIFA also has its American office. Its gleaming glass façade reflects the surrounding cityscape, while visitors gather outside to photograph one of Manhattan’s most recognisable buildings.

Just a short walk away stands one of Fifth Avenue’s most striking sculptures — Atlas, the massive bronze figure created in 1937 and located opposite St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

The muscular titan appears to shoulder the weight of the heavens, symbolising strength, endurance and responsibility.

At the base of the massive bronze object is a write-up that explains. It depicts a famous figure from Greek mythology. Atlas was a half-man, half-god giant known as a Titan. It reportedly led a war against the Olympic gods, but was defeated.

Thereafter, Atlas was condemned by Zeus to carry the world on his shoulders as punishment. During the period of the World Cup, the globe Atlas was carrying was in the form of the tournament official ball, Trionda.

As I stood before the statue, I could not help but draw parallels with the athletes that carried the hopes of entire nations at the World Cup. Just as Atlas bears the celestial sphere, players like Lionel Messi and Spain’s emerging stars shoulder the expectations of millions of supporters.

Directly across from Atlas rises the magnificent St. Patrick’s Cathedral, its Gothic spires offering a dramatic contrast to the modern skyscrapers surrounding it. The cathedral’s serenity amid Manhattan’s bustle makes it one of the city’s most treasured landmarks.

Further along the avenue are some of the world’s most prestigious retail stores and corporate headquarters. Luxury brands occupy grand storefronts, their displays drawing visitors from every corner of the globe. The avenue’s reputation as a symbol of style and affluence is well deserved.

Most of the global sportswear manufacturers have their outlets along the 5^th Avenue.

Yet Fifth Avenue is not merely about commerce. It is a corridor of history. Generations of presidents, business magnates, celebrities, athletes and world leaders have walked these same pavements.

Parades celebrating championship victories have passed through nearby streets, while New York’s influence on global culture has often radiated from this district.

For a football reporter immersed in the drama of the World Cup, the visit offered a refreshing change of scenery. It temporarily took one away from analysing tactical formations or post-match statistics; I found myself reflecting on the broader stories that define great cities and great nations.

The World Cup itself mirrors Fifth Avenue in many ways. Both bring together people from different cultures, backgrounds and aspirations. Both represent excellence, competition and the pursuit of dreams.

As the tournament approached its final chapter, Fifth Avenue stands as a reminder that sporting journeys are enriched not only by what happens inside stadiums but also by the places encountered along the way.

From the towering presence of Trump Tower to the enduring symbolism of the 1937 Atlas statue, Fifth Avenue remains one of New York’s most captivating landmarks — a place where history, power, culture and architecture converge spectacularly.

For this World Cup reporter, it was a memorable detour from football’s grand stage, yet one that perfectly complemented the experience of covering the world’s biggest sporting event in one of the world’s greatest cities.

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