The American laboratory

The Club World Cup is progressing amidst the unpredictable climate, both meteorologically and politically, that the United States is experiencing, which is facing its first major heat wave of the year. Around 40 million people will be affected in the coming days by stifling temperatures exceeding 40 degrees Celsius.

Most of the teams participating in the tournament are victims of inhumane conditions, with matches played in full sunlight at midday or early afternoon, in stadiums that are nowhere near full, with no other objective than to satisfy Gianni Infantino's greed.

American businessmen have detected the immense pie that football has in store.

The creeping FIFA president is strutting these days alongside Donald Trump, just as he strutted alongside Vladimir Putin at the 2018 World Cup in Russia, or the Emir of Qatar at the 2022 World Cup. Now he's equally solicitous of Saudi Prince Bin Salman, savior of the Club World Cup with his $2 billion injection, half to broadcast the matches after buying a significant stake in DAZN and the other half to entice the owners of the clubs competing in the competition with a shower of petrodollars. Just in case, Saudi Arabia will host the 2034 World Cup.

This World Cup, minor in every respect except financially, is being played in the United States because all football paths these days lead to North America, where it has suffered a resounding historical and cultural rejection for more than a century. In the 1970s, a chic adventure was attempted, briefly sustained by the signings of Pelé, Beckenbauer, Cruyff, and George Best. The attempt failed, although it left lasting moments, such as the joyful nights of the Cosmos players at Studio 54.

Two decades later, the United States hosted the 1994 World Cup. It was marketed as the perfect opportunity to definitively boost soccer in a country refractory to the charms of the ball. The game was played, the stadiums were packed, the heat was stifling, and Brazil beat Italy in the final on penalties, the ugliest final in living memory. It was played in the ancient Rosebowl in Pasadena, California, in the middle of the day, in 40-degree heat, in the shade. The problem is that there was no shade, nor is there any now. It's the same open-air bowl in which PSG and Atlético de Madrid played seven days ago, a match that offended reason.

You can't play football in those conditions, but who cares about common sense and health? Not to Infantino, not to club officials, not to the interests of the company that owns the television rights, and not to us, football fans, obsessive consumers and, at the same time, consumed by an addiction that makes us behave like junkies. Apparently, the ratings in Spain are magnificent.

Addictions always promise business. American businessmen, who so disdained soccer, have realized the immense profit that the most popular sport on the planet has in store. They've decided to buy soccer, and no one is going to stop them. They will have the help of the Persian Gulf countries—Saudi Arabia, Abu Dhabi, Qatar, etc.—determined to take advantage of the political advantages afforded by governing the major professional sports, soccer at the forefront of them all.

Thirty-two percent of the clubs in the four professional tiers of English football—including 11 of the 20 Premier League teams—are owned by American capital. Their goal is none other than to break away from traditional football models and establish their own business codes. The Super League embodied their entire ideology. It didn't work because English fans prevented it, but the assault continues: this World Cup and the occupation of the big European clubs are inherent to the exclusivist model already proposed by the ambitions of Gianni Infantino, whose commitment to power and money knows no bounds.