The FIFA World Cup 2026 is coming to the United States, and matches at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey and Lincoln Financial Field in Philadelphia sit only a few hours away from Maryland. That proximity should feel like an opportunity. Instead, it feels like a rip-off.

What the organizers promoted as a “World Cup for all” is looking more like a World Cup for those who can outbid everyone else. The promise of accessibility has quietly morphed into an unacceptable maze of price hikes, resales, lotteries, and misleading advertising that seems designed to exhaust fans before they ever reach the games.

Historically, World Cup tickets were categorized into four fixed-price tiers, with Category 4 seats reserved for residents of the host nation at lower rates. However, for the 2026 tournament, which will be hosted across the United States, Canada, and Mexico, FIFA has overhauled this system. Fans must now secure the right to buy tickets through lottery-style phases. Fans don’t just buy tickets anymore; they now have to gamble for the right to buy tickets. Once (or if) they win the right to buy, there are four categories. Most seats fall into Category 1 — the second-most-expensive category. Stadium maps shown to fans suggested equal odds of seating across the stadium’s large, desirable sections. Fans later discovered that many of the best seats had been withheld for hospitality packages, sponsors, national team allocations, and a new “Front Category.” That category pushes final match prices to a staggering $10,990. Buyers who expected a fair shot at better seats were misled.

The high prices have become the most visible flashpoint. FIFA leaned heavily on the idea of affordable tickets, including talk of lower-cost options, similar to past World Cups. In practice, the introduction of dynamic pricing, a system in which ticket prices fluctuate in response to real-time demand, has made prices higher than ever. Ticket “drops” create a sense of scarcity, even though no one knows how many tickets actually remain. The highly anticipated $60 seats account for less than one percent of seats in most stadiums.

And just when it seemed the system couldn’t be more stacked, FIFA found a way to profit further. Instead of limiting the resale market that runs rampant in America, FIFA joined in. FIFA made its own official resale platform that allows tickets to be resold without price caps. Under this system, buyers and sellers each pay a 15 percent fee, meaning FIFA can collect up to 30 percent of every resale transaction. 

All of this raises a bigger question: what exactly is FIFA’s mission anymore? The organization presents itself as a nonprofit dedicated to growing soccer internationally and ensuring its accessibility. But accessibility doesn’t mean much if the people who live closest to stadiums can’t afford to get in. When loyal fans are priced out, the idea of expanding the sport starts to sound less like a mission and more like a marketing slogan.