Why is the World Cup the greatest sporting event of them all?

Football touches us in different ways, often worming its way into our souls when we least expect it, writes Hamish McRae

It reminds us that we are pretty much the same under our skin (Getty)

The superlatives abound. The World Cup is the greatest sporting event of them all, and by a huge margin. Back in 2018, more than half of the world, 3.572 billion people, watched it in some way or another. That compares with 3.05 billion for the Tokyo Olympics in 2020, and 2.01 billion for the Winter Olympics in Beijing this year.

Football has more regular followers than any other sport: 3.5 billion, compared with 2.5 billion for cricket, 2 billion for field hockey, and 1 billion for tennis. And while we won’t know the final tally for the World Cup this year for a while, we know that the 0-0 draw between England and the US was the most-watched men’s football match on US television ever.

We had an estimate earlier this year from Fifa’s president, Gianni Infantino, that 5 billion people would watch this year’s tournament, and if that proves right then it will indeed have been the largest sporting event of all time, by a huge margin.

Why? That might seem like a silly question. As Bill Shankly, the great manager of Liverpool, put it: “Some people believe football is a matter of life and death. I am very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that.”

But that does not answer the question of why. Why has one game, that was around in the Middle Ages but happened to be standardised in 19th-century England, become more important than all the other games that have developed around the world? And why does a game, as opposed to any other form of entertainment – such as a Hollywood (or Bollywood) movie, for example – attract such a vast audience?

I think it is the result of several elements coming together. There is the spectacle. The green turf, the gorgeous stadiums, the fluid movements of elite athletes, the extraordinary juxtaposition of ordinariness and the perfection of top footballers, the unpredictability of the outcome of a match, and so on.

Then there is the surprise. Football, like any sport, is not scripted. It is not written by skilled copywriters in California, test-marketed to audiences, tweaked to appeal to the largest possible number of punters. The imperfections of the players, and of the game itself, are part of the appeal. The fact that it is a form of nationalism that is not just socially acceptable, but almost universally celebrated, is a further lure. It is about money, but not only about money. The small countries (and small clubs) can sometimes beat the big ones, and that gives us all a good feeling, doesn’t it?

That leads to something else. Football touches us in different ways, often worming its way into our souls when we least expect it. Confession: I don’t particularly follow football, but for odd reasons I happened to be in a bar in Mulhouse in eastern France two weeks ago when Les Bleus beat Poland.

It was an easy win, and there was quiet comfort rather than jubilation. I would not have watched the match had I and a friend not been looking for somewhere to have a beer, but the magic of football turned the evening into something quite memorable. We were welcomed into a warm and convivial club. (Good thing the England/France match was the following weekend!)

That leads to a final thought. Football is about the community of nations, of the world’s different peoples. It reminds us that we are pretty much the same under our skin. We have our different aspirations, hopes and fears, but these differences are just as large within communities as they are between communities. Football is a global glue, binding us together, and we know the world needs that more than ever – whoever happens to win Sunday afternoon’s final.