"This is supposed to be a global party," Mehran Rowshan says. "That's what the World Cup is."
For the Dubai-based football coach and founder of Alliance Football Club , the tournament has always been about more than the 90 minutes on the pitch. It is the walk to the stadium, the flags in the streets, the children seeing their heroes for the first time, the strangers becoming friends because they happen to love the same team.
But this year, Rowshan says, something feels different. "This is a World Cup without the world," he tells The New Arab . "FIFA decided that they no longer want the vibes. They want the revenue."
The expanded 2026 World Cup in the United States, Canada and Mexico was billed as the biggest tournament in football history. More teams, more matches, more cities, more money.
But for many fans and players, it has also become a tournament of politics, borders, visa restrictions, soaring ticket prices and political realities that football can no longer pretend to escape.
Rowshan is careful not to dismiss the football itself, noting that the games have delivered, that quality has improved, that smaller nations have competed fearlessly, and that the tournament's emotional pull remains intact.
Yet the broader experience, the one that once made the World Cup feel like the most accessible global celebration on earth, is being priced out and fenced off.
"If you're a father of two and you want to take your kids to the stadium, right now in the US, you probably have to spend $3,000 or $4,000," he says. "For the average family, that's impossible."
The result is a tournament increasingly split in two — a version followed on television and online, that remains accessible everywhere, and another in stadiums, involving fewer ordinary supporters and more those able to pay for it.
For Rowshan, that shift alters the meaning of the event itself.
"The biggest part of football is the fans," he says. "When you limit the fans or make it less affordable, it’s no longer the same." For Iran, the biggest challenge came off the pitch No team embodied the contradictions of this World Cup more sharply than Iran.
Team Melli arrived in North America under restrictions no other squad had to navigate. They were based in Tijuana, Mexico, rather than in the United States, and had to cross the border to play matches before returning.
Iranian officials said several staff members were denied US visas, while winger Mehdi Torabi was initially given a single-entry visa that expired after Iran's opening game, but the issue was later resolved.
Iran eventually exited unbeaten, after three draws and a painful late twist elsewhere in the group ended their hopes of reaching the knockouts for the first time.
But for Rowshan, the football only tells part of the story. Iran had to fly in and out of the US from Mexico within 24 hours of the games, while captain Mehdi Taremi described the conditions as a "logistical disaster".
"Recovery matters the most in football," Rowshan says. "The team that recovers better has a better chance of winning."
After a match, elite players are not meant to be sitting on buses, crossing borders, changing hotels and managing stress, he says. They are meant to be sleeping, eating, receiving treatment, taking ice baths, working through recovery protocols and preparing their bodies for the next game.
"In football, we have something called the accumulation of fatigue," he says. "You're tired today, then you train, so tomorrow you're a bit more tired."
For Iran, he argues, fatigue was not just physical but also emotional and political.
"These players were worried," he says. "Every time you go through border control, even if everything is fine, you feel stressed. This team had to go through that twice for every game."
The political weight around Iran followed them into the tournament.
The players were competing as their country was at the centre of global tension, while US officials openly defended the restrictions placed on them.
After Iran's elimination, Tehran's football federation accused the US of "lies and mistreatment" following remarks by Homeland Security Secretary Markwayne Mullin, who said he was pleased by their exit.
For many Iranian supporters, the campaign became less about results and more about endurance.
"This World Cup for Iran will always be remembered as a sign of resilience," Rowshan says. "Despite everything that happened, we went there, we played, we performed, and we came back."
Iran was not the only example of a tournament shaped by politics before a ball was kicked.
Somali referee Omar Abdulkadir Artan, named Africa's best referee, was denied entry to the United States and missed his chance to officiate at the World Cup.
US authorities cited vetting concerns, while Somalia's football federation expressed disappointment and sought an explanation.
For Rowshan, the issue was not only the visa refusal but also a lack of planning.
"If you have a referee from Somalia and you know the US will have issues with the visa, why don't you put him in charge of a game in Canada or Mexico?" he says. "It's unorganised."
That question sits at the heart of his criticism of FIFA.
The governing body plans World Cups years in advance and knows where teams will be based, where matches will be played and where political complications may arise. To Rowshan, claiming helplessness is not enough.
"The president of FIFA is stronger than the president of most countries," he says. "They have the power." 'Your roots will always call you' Identity has also been inseparable from football.
Watching Senegal face France, Rowshan saw more than a match — he saw colonial history, migration and belonging.
"You could see how much it meant to the Senegalese players," he tells The New Arab .
"Ten of them were born in France, but still chose to play for Senegal. Your roots will always call you."
That, for him, is why football remains powerful even as the structures around it change. It carries memory. It carries politics. It carries the places people come from, the places they live, and the places they are told they do or do not belong.
"Football is part of society," Rowshan says. "You cannot just focus on football and ignore everything else."
As the tournament moves deeper into the knockout stage, only Morocco and Egypt remain to carry Arab hopes after Algeria, Tunisia, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Jordan and Iraq all exited.
Egypt reached the last 16 after beating Australia on penalties, while Morocco also advanced after defeating the Netherlands in a shootout.
For Arab fans, their progress offers something familiar — a reason to gather, argue, hope and stay awake for one more match.
That, Rowshan says, is why the World Cup still matters, despite everything.
Even now, amid ticket prices, visa disputes, political tensions and late-night kick-offs, people are still watching. They are still finding cafés, fan zones and living rooms. They are still building small worlds around the game.
"We're going to enjoy it despite everything," he says.
A World Cup can have more teams, more games and more money than ever before. It can dominate screens and produce unforgettable moments.
Yet if ordinary fans are priced out, if players are treated differently because of passports, and if politics decides who can fully take part, football's biggest party begins to lose the very thing that made it global.
It may still be called the World Cup, but for Rowshan, it no longer feels like the whole world is invited. Sarah Khalil is a senior journalist at The New Arab