When Argentina lifted the World Cup in Qatar in 2022 , millions of supporters celebrated in the streets.
Four years later, as the country heads into the 2026 tournament as defending champion — and possibly Lionel Messi's final World Cup — thousands of those same fans are watching the dream of attending slip entirely out of reach.
Flights, accommodation, and match tickets, all priced in US dollars, now add up to an estimated US $69,500 for two Argentine supporters to follow their team through the tournament — among the highest figures in the world, according to a report by AceOdds ' specialised website.
For fans earning in pesos and living under President Javier Milei's austerity programme, that figure is prohibitive.
The result is a paradox that cuts to the heart of Argentine identity: the country that made football its national religion is producing a World Cup generation that cannot afford to be there. A religion, not a sport In Argentina, the homeland of Messi, Diego Maradona, and the reigning world champions, football is far more than a sport. It is a shared identity, almost a religion, even celebrated by the late Pope Francis himself.
Mariano Verrina, a 41-year-old journalist, struggles to explain the country's devotion. "When you think about it rationally, it shouldn't mean so much. But that's part of the magic," he tells The New Arab . "For Argentines, it defines us, describes us, and identifies us."
Miguel Ángel, 70, and his daughter Sheila, 31, share that sentiment. The family lives in La Boca, a working-class neighbourhood in Buenos Aires and home to Boca Juniors' iconic stadium, La Bombonera, where Maradona played in the 1980s. For them, football is "an inexplicable passion carried inside."
Yet none of them plans to attend the 2026 World Cup, to be held across the United States, Mexico, and Canada.
Widely considered the most expensive World Cup ever , the tournament has become financially out of reach for many supporters of the Albiceleste, the Argentine national team, named for the sky-blue and white stripes of its jersey, who will largely be watching from afar. From the Potrero to the world stage Football arrived in Argentina in the 19th century with British immigrants and quickly became embedded in popular culture.
Over time, the sport evolved from a rigid game imported from abroad into one shaped by the culture of the potrero, the vacant lots and neighbourhood spaces, often unpaved and unmarked, where children play at any hour, inventing their technique outside any formal structure.
For many Argentines, football is first encountered on the street or at a local club, long before they ever step inside a stadium.
Today, Argentina's jersey carries three stars representing its World Cup titles: 1978, 1986, and 2022. The first came during the country's last military dictatorship . The second, in Mexico, after the return to democracy, with Diego as its central figure. The third came in Qatar with Messi as captain.
But the Portrero fans can no longer go.
Miguel Ángel grew up loving football in Chaco province, though he began working at age ten and never had the opportunity to play competitively.
His daughters were raised around the sport. Sheila played professionally for major clubs, including San Lorenzo and Independiente, before putting her career on hold to help care for her mother. She now coaches girls' and women's teams at the neighbourhood club Bohemios, whose crest she proudly wears.
"I was on track to become a professional… If I had achieved it, I could have helped my family financially," says Sheila. One of her goals was to take her family to the World Cup.
Mariano managed to attend the 2014 World Cup in Brazil , where Argentina reached the final before losing to Germany.
"The most beautiful thing about experiencing a World Cup from the inside was everything happening around it," he recalls. "The cultures, the nationalities, the different ways of living life beyond football."
But attending 2026 was never seriously considered. "It didn't even cross my mind," he says.
His personal circumstances, the country's situation, and the tournament's structure across three countries are all very different from 2014.
Back then, his salary as a journalist at Clarín , one of Argentina's largest newspapers, allowed him to save. The World Cup was close by, "a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity" that became a trip among friends.
Now, with a baby less than a year old, travelling is simply not part of his plans.
Belén Zayas, 31, has attended four World Cups: South Africa 2010, Brazil 2014, Russia 2018, and Qatar 2022. Having lived abroad for several years, she found that football helped her maintain a connection to Argentina.
Brazil 2014 was the most accessible, the first she experienced as an adult, alongside a group of nearly a dozen friends who try to repeat the experience every tournament.
In 2018, Russia was facing economic challenges; she spent US $800 on a ticket purchased through fan networks on social media. Qatar 2022 raised the bar further still. Despite the expense, she describes it as unique.
"It's a nonstop celebration. You go outside, and everyone is wearing their country's jersey. There's a very particular energy. If you're not watching your national team, you're watching another one," she told The New Arab. Yet she doubts she will attend in 2026.
For many fans like Belén — those who once planned and saved for each tournament — the possibility of attending has quietly been reframed.
The World Cup, for this generation, is increasingly something to be won rather than planned: brand-sponsored sweepstakes, surname-based promotions tied to national team players, and corporate giveaway campaigns have proliferated, becoming for many the primary imaginable route to the tournament.
"I have many economic privileges. I work for foreign clients and earn in dollars. And even so, it feels extremely difficult," she says.
"It's very contradictory that something so popular has become so inaccessible. I have friends who finish one World Cup and immediately start saving for the next one." The numbers behind the dream According to the AceOdds.com report, the average cost of following a national team throughout 2026 is about US $62,000 for two people.
For Argentine supporters, the estimate rises to nearly US $69,500. The calculation includes flights, transportation between host cities, accommodation, and match tickets.
Group-stage tickets alone can cost around US $700, while flights from Argentina range from roughly US $890 to US $2,800, depending on the destination.
Santiago Reina, an economics journalist, notes that World Cups have never been affordable for most Argentines. But he cautions that exchange-rate comparisons across tournaments are more complex than they appear.
"This World Cup arrives with an official wholesale exchange rate of around 1,440 pesos per dollar. During Qatar 2022, the dollar was equivalent to almost 1,590 pesos. In Russia 2018, it was around 1,860," he explains.
"In terms of real exchange rates, this is the cheapest World Cup for Argentinians."
The bigger question, he says, remains: who can actually afford it?
Since taking office in December 2023, far-right President Milei has promoted an economic program focused on reducing inflation and achieving fiscal balance.
While the government argues that Argentina "is emerging from a century of decline," various studies show that a significant portion of the population continues to face a sharp loss of purchasing power.
A report by the Institute of Interdisciplinary Political Economy (IIEP-UBA) found that the minimum wage lost 39.3% of its purchasing power between November 2023 and April 2026.
CEPALSTAT data ranked Argentina as the Latin American country with the worst wage performance, showing a cumulative decline of 18.8% in average purchasing power between 2018 and 2024.
Economist Eduardo Lucita estimates that formal private-sector wages have lost around 3.5% of their purchasing power since Milei came to power, while public-sector wages have fallen by more than 18%.
The country, he argues, is becoming increasingly divided between expanding sectors linked to exports, energy, mining, and technology, and labour-intensive sectors that continue to struggle.
For Reina, the 2026 World Cup reflects that divide precisely.
"If you belong to one of the sectors that have grown and maintained good salaries, you are probably in a better position to travel," he says.
"But there is another large group that has lost that possibility." When football became an industry Lucita also notes that football itself has changed.
"FIFA today functions as a large multinational corporation. Worldwide, football has ceased to be primarily an amateur activity and has become a major industry driven by multinational companies, sports brands, and large corporations," he said.
Sheila, from La Boca, agrees. Attending a World Cup, she says, is now more than ever for "people with money." Looking around her neighbourhood, where murals of Maradona still cover the walls alongside images of Messi, she reflects on what has been lost.
"A lot of that old football from the Potrero has disappeared. Now everything is about money."
In 2026, when Argentina plays, Sheila's family will set up a street stand in front of the Bohemios club so neighbours and passersby can watch the matches on a big screen.
Mariano will do the same, holding his young, nearly one-year-old child in his arms, continuing a passion passed down from his father.
For ninety minutes, football will offer a brief escape from everyday political and economic worries. Daniella "Ella" Fernández is a Cuban independent journalist, photojournalist and filmmaker. Her work has been published by outlets including Europa Press, The Guardian, El Pais, Le Temps, Mediapart, The Times UK, ABC, L’Humanité, among others. Based in Buenos Aires, Argentina, she focuses on issues related to feminism, migration, and social movements across Latin America