Big Bad World Cup?
While at the risk of sounding like a curmudgeonly old git, rather like the guy next to Rik in the queue at the Post Office in The Young Ones(1982), this isn’t a rant that merely harks back to the good ol’ days when things ‘certainly were better before all these new-fangled changes.’
It’s rather a protest. Not against change per se – although sometimes change is very ‘overrated really’ - but at the incessant sense within football that everything needs to become bigger if it is to become better?
If less is more, than more must be less, no? But no one seemingly read the memo (1982 was a time when people did still write and send memos. On paper. Try to imagine an email – or maybe a WhatsApp if that’s still too 2015 - but written by hand. With a pen).
It was also a time when this expansion culture really took hold. One that has never really stopped since.
1982 saw the jump in the World Cup from 16 teams to 24. The competition – notwithstanding a few drop outs in the early years when it took weeks to sail from Europe to South America – had always had 16 nations. That made for a neat and tidy format; four groups of four, then either a knockout stage or, sometimes, another group phase.
It was probably too small, certainly for a world that also grown with the break-up of the Soviet Union and Yugoslavia in the 90s, and that saw many more countries within FIFA but for Espana 82, the era of expansion was already well underway.
The European Championships (the Euros for today’s young ones, Darling) had already expanded too, in 1980, from a finals that contained 4 teams to one with 8. The first edition of the bigger tournament – held in Italy – was almost the last. An awful two weeks of terrible football, hardly any goals and lots of violence amongst fans, as well as a bonkers decision to do away with semi-finals, left it on the brink. The previous competition in Yugoslavia had only consisted of two semi-finals, a third-place play off and the final, but they’d been a delight with goals galore and knife-edge matches that were finally decided by a Panenka.
The Panenka.
After five 4-team versions, the 8-team one was already being questioned. It needed something special in France in 1984 to establish it as a worthwhile part of the footballing calendar. It got more than that; it got Michel Platini. At a time when he was the world’s best footballer, and let someone else take care of his invoices, he lit the fortnight up with 9 goals in five games (including two hat-tricks) while a fast-emerging Denmark and surprise-package Spain played their part too. UEFA also, thankfully, reinstated the semi-finals, and ended up with two classics; one that might just be the best of all time.
That cemented the Euros, and they stuck with 8 teams for twenty years. But the growth of European nations led – inevitably – to another increase in competing nations and it was in England (1996) that they doubled the number to sixteen, and now, much like the aforementioned World Cups, that number was ideal in that it created jeopardy in all of the four groups, then a tight, short and often exciting knockout phase.
But you’ll see a theme developing here. Namely, not knowing when to stop.
If it ain’t broke, break it.
By 2016, someone decided that we needed more. More teams, more games, more venues.
More everything.
Back in France, twenty-four nations (almost half of Europe) were now present. That’s like having a World Cup with a hundred countries. But don’t say that too loud in case someone takes it seriously.
What was completely ludicrous was that, after a bloated group phase that lasted two and half weeks and saw 36 matches played, only 8 teams actually exited. It was much harder to get knocked out than to progress; Northern Ireland proved this by losing two group games without scoring and still finding themselves in the Round of 16.
The World Cup itself had long stumbled down the same path. Regular expansion was becoming the norm, not something that only happened from absolute necessity.
After the seemingly sensible idea of shedding half the teams in the group phase in 1982, the 12 remainers went into yet more groups, but within four years - in Mexico - they’d adopted the ‘best third place finishers’ approach that saw Uruguay lose 6-1 to the Danes, while drawing their other two games, and still progressing.
By France 98 - why always there? – it had grown again. Now at 32 teams, the game count had risen to 64 but at least there was some jeopardy in the group stage again, and some matches were a de facto knockout match in themselves. At this point, with over 200 nations now a member of FIFA, we might just have reached the perfect size.
It couldn’t last though. There was no real call, or need, for any more expansion, but of course that’s never stopped anyone.
Once In Every Lifetime
For this year’s tournament, we’ve got 48 teams taking part. That’s over a hundred games, twelve groups (and so many letters it looks like Countdown) and what feels like about fifty venues.The group phase alone has 72 games in it; just to get rid of the 16 teams that arguably didn’t need to be there in the first place.
And that’s not a slight on any of them. But the World Cup used to be the pinnacle, a competition where entry had to be earned. England, after winning in 1966 didn’t qualify again until 1982 (although they were there as holders in 1970 of course).
Now it’s almost automatic. Even Italy might qualify this time.
The quality control has been removed. So have any really big matches in the group phase. They were a rarity as it was, but I’ve just looked at the 2026 schedule and couldn’t find a single one. Not a genuine heavyweight clash, such as Argentina v Netherlands (2006), Brazil v Portugal (2010), Italy v England (2014), Portugal v Spain (2018) and Spain v Germany (2022). There are plenty of intriguing clashes, and maybe some potential surprises, but the dreaded third-place qualifier is back, and with two-thirds of them getting through, this will be the hardest World Cup to be knocked out of in the first round since 1950 when Uruguay ended up in a two-team group with Bolivia and won 8-0.
And before anyone shouts Iceland, and argues that their involvement in the finals of both the Euros and World Cup was only because of these ongoing expansions, it wasn’t. In 2016, they would have qualified for the 16-team version, finishing seven points ahead of The Netherlands in qualifying. Teams make it because they improve to the required level, not because the ladder is lowered enough to let everyone in.
So, after almost a month in the summer, and those 72 games, we’ll be left with the same number of teams who started the final tournament in the previous seven World Cups.
And a knockout phase that looks more like the FA Cup than the business end of an international competition.
A team will play five games before the quarter-finals. Eight games will have to be negotiated to win it. That’s almost a quarter of a league season. No wonder Harry Kane is always knackered by the final. But this could also be the first World Cup where a manager picks a team to get through the group, and a team for the knockouts. Sounds daft? It’s what I’d do.
There was talk of the 2030 World Cup going up to 64 teams. It might yet happen. It’s already spread across three continents. And it might not even stop there if the organiser’s chequered past is anything to go by. And I’d be amazed if the Euros hasn’t grown to 32 before we get to 2040.
And that’s just two international competitions.
The Champions League is also in danger of becoming a big, over-inflated mess with – let’s face it – one quite exciting gameday at the end. But before that, it’s just lots of games for games sake, between teams who meet every year, and with almost no danger of getting knocked out if they are anything above average. Or Ajax.
By the way. that’s up to seventeen games if you want to win it. At a time when we’re being told players need to play less games.
As ever, it’s not always what’s gone before, but where it might end up.
Shouldn’t be afraid? We really should.
