"Simply, my impression is 'this is America' — the ultimate capitalism." That's Tomonori Akutsu, a Tokyo-based fan attending his sixth consecutive World Cup, and even he's not sure it was worth it.
The 2026 tournament, spread across 16 stadiums in the US, Canada, and Mexico, is shaping up to be the most expensive and logistically punishing World Cup in the modern era. And the people feeling it hardest aren't casual observers — they're the lifers who fill the fan zones, sing in the bars, and give the tournament whatever soul it has.
The numbers are genuinely staggering
Category 3 group stage tickets — the cheap seats — cost $69 four years ago in Qatar. FIFA is charging up to $265 for the same tier this summer. That's nearly a fourfold increase, before you've booked a flight, a hotel, or a single journey between host cities.
Unlike Russia 2018 and Qatar 2022, which offered free intercity transport for ticketholders, fans in 2026 are covering those costs themselves across a continent-sized footprint. FIFA has also introduced a resale policy that lets fans flip tickets at any price — with FIFA taking a 30% cut. The governing body called it a response to "record-breaking" demand. The fans living with the consequences have another word for it.
Emiliano Becerra, a 64-year-old Argentine ophthalmologist, paid $1,100 to watch Argentina beat France in the 2022 final. This year he paid $1,200 for a resale ticket to see Argentina play Jordan in a group stage match in Dallas. He's flying home before the knockouts. "It's absolutely crazy — it's just a group stage match," he said.
It's not just the money
Peter Bergakker, a Dutch finance manager who flew to South Africa for the 2010 final, won't be making the trip regardless of how far the Oranje go. He's worried that his criticism of Donald Trump on social media could create problems at the border — a concern the White House has dismissed, stating that a CBP proposal to screen visitors' social media accounts was never enacted. Bergakker isn't reassured. "As long as Trump is president, this Oranje fan won't be visiting," he said.
US visa requirements are adding another layer of friction. Until last month, ticketholders from several African nations were required to post bonds of up to $15,000 to enter the country. Uruguay's travel agency association president reported booking roughly 3,000 fan packages — a sharp drop compared to recent tournaments — citing visa requirements as a direct factor. Hotel bookings across US host cities have also been lighter than anticipated.
Mike Wilson, an IT worker from London who has attended four World Cups over 20 years, never paid more than $200 for a match ticket. That sum now barely gets you a back-row seat for a group stage game between mid-table nations. He and his friends booked a trip to Portugal instead.
Mark Doidge, a sociologist at Loughborough University, identified exactly what's being lost: "Most of those buying expensive tickets are not those passionate fans, but wealthy people paying for an experience." The atmosphere that makes the World Cup worth watching — the Chileans who've taken over a bar, the random conversation with a stranger at a hostel — doesn't come from wealthy experience-buyers. It comes from the people FIFA just priced out.
The notable exception is Scotland, back at a World Cup for the first time in 28 years. Campbell Lewis started booking refundable accommodation the moment Scotland qualified, expecting exactly this surge. Tickets for Scotland's second match have started to drop, and he's secured two. The opener against Haiti outside Boston is a different story — cheapest resale ticket was above $600 as of Thursday. He and his 10-year-old son are still waiting.
"For a lot of Scottish people of my generation, this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing," Lewis said. "We were all kids the last time we qualified."
That's the one group with enough emotional leverage to absorb the cost. Everyone else is doing the math — and the math isn't working.
