Are we gluttons for punishment? We're already embroiled in the 2012 Olympics—isn't one mega sporting event in an economic crisis enough? It seems not; through the year to come, the England bid for the 2018 football World Cup will be building up steam. Three questions occur to me. Can we afford to bid? If we do bid, can we win the hosting rights? And if we do win, what kind of World Cup do we want we put on?
Enormous as the task would be, it needn't be as pricey as the Olympics. No venues for minority sports are required, no Olympic village needs to be built (there are fewer than 800 athletes compared to more than 10,000 at the Games) and thus security costs are lower. The new Wembley is ready as a centrepiece and we have no shortage of stadiums that meet Fifa criteria. There's already a creaky but adequate transport and tourist infrastructure. And, while the London-centred nature of the Olympics has made national support for them difficult to generate, almost everyone everywhere in England wants to host the World Cup.
So what are England's chances? In December 2010, Fifa's executive committee will vote on the 2018 and 2022 World Cups. The 2014 tournament has been given to Brazil under a now-abandoned policy of rotating the games around the six Fifa confederations. The policy was dropped because it meant that Europe, the sport's economic heartland, only got one world cup in six—the same as Oceania. Mindful of the financial times Jérome Valcke, Fifa general secretary, has said that "a rich European country would be well suited to hosting the 2018 tournament." The 2022 World Cup will probably go to one of the non-European bidders, likely to include China, Qatar, Mexico, Australia and potentially the US.
England has three likely competitors for 2018: Russia, Spain (possibly in a shared bid with Portugal), and a joint bid from the Netherlands and Belgium. Russia's commodity and football booms allowed it to host the 2008 Champions League final and secure the 2014 winter Olympics, but that party is over. However, the Iberian and Low Countries bids have solid claims and facilities. England's going to have to run a great campaign.
So far, the FA under David Triesman is—to mix one's sporting metaphors—playing it with a straight bat. In a recent Times interview, he emphasised that the bid would be "very clean"; in contrast to the disastrous 2006 bid during which Graham Kelly, the FA chief executive, was forced to resign after subsidies to the Welsh FA were linked to voting intentions. (He was later exonerated.) That said, the bid was sunk before it started because England reneged on a deal with other Europeans to support the German bid in return for hosting Euro '96.
Given that the bid team has five politicians, we can expect a little more savvy this time. Triesman has been dealing quietly with the emotional Jack Warner—president of Concacaf and Fifa vice president—on the matter of an outstanding loan to the Jamaican FA. He is building bridges at home with the Premier League, toning down its triumphalism. And the FA seems ready to spread the tournament right around the country.
But to win a bid like this, there has to be a narrative, a pitch about what kind of World Cup it would be. The choice of David Beckham and Prince William as the first ambassadors for the bid does not augur well. Once again, the tribunes of the nation are drawn from the nexus of celebrity and royalty. It's a real if ugly strand in our public life—but it does not reflect the nation's football cultures.
The World Cup is an extraordinary event. Not even the Olympics can offer the simplicity of its narratives, the fervour of support and the demotic cast of its atmosphere. It is a moment when the world surrenders to the pleasures of play. I was lucky enough to go to a game at the 2006 World Cup in Germany. I spent the afternoon at the Hanover fan park waiting for the France-Spain match. It was a great space to watch Brazil vs Ghana and have a drink. A huge beachball appeared and 500 people took turns at flipping it from bench to bench. It was the most fun anyone had that day. So, do we want to host a conference, a charity ball for corporations or are we going to throw a party?
I propose that we commit to holding the most cosmopolitan and playful World Cup yet. We could make an effort to bring fans from the global south who could not otherwise make it, and mobilise our immigrant communities from every qualifying nation. In fact, the whole of Britain should be invited. The bid should ensure that alternative world cups, local football events and five-a-sides are organised alongside the tournament. The fan zones should be enlarged and the space allocated to sponsors should not be. The nation's parks should be filled with music to occupy the days between the quarters and the semis, and the semis and the final. Above all there needs to be more to do than drink and watch football—although there should be plenty of that as well.
England did not simply provide the world with its most popular sport. It catalysed the creation of a global public playground, owned, claimed and dominated by no one, which expresses our diversity and is attuned to the uncertainty of our strange times. And if that doesn't make Fifa want to party here, what will?
