The World Cup brings an excitement to me, undeemed since my first world cup in 1982. Unlike now when we are looking to put the GOAT (Greatest of all time) debate to rest, the star of that world cup for me was the football -- the Tango Espana.
For months or was it years after, that ball, whose design was a
break from the alternating black and white pentagons of a previous Adidas balls,
was enough to ensure everybody was your best friend if you owned one.
True that was the World Cup that served as Paolo Rossi’s redemption,
announced Diego Maradona – he was red carded in his last match against Brazil when
he planted his studs in Brazilian Batista’s groin and Cameroon’s unbeaten run
at their debut. But the Tango was it for me.
As I have grown older I have added another layer to my
appreciation for the biggest sporting event in the world – the business of football.
Every four years
the World Cup reminds us that football is not just 22 men chasing a ball. It is
organisation, money, logistics, culture, psychology and national ambition
compressed into 90 minutes.
The 2026 edition makes the point even louder. For the first time, the tournament is being hosted by three countries — the United States, Mexico and Canada — with 48 teams playing 104 matches across 16 cities. FIFA expects the tournament cycle to generate about US$11 billion (approximately Shs40 trillion) in revenue, making it the richest World Cup in history. Broadcasting rights alone will generate more than US$4 billion, while ticketing, hospitality and sponsorships are expected to contribute several billion more.
That is not
merely a football tournament. It is a global business enterprise.
To host a World
Cup, you need airports, roads, hotels, stadiums, security, television
infrastructure, immigration systems, medical support, volunteers and the
capacity to move hundreds of thousands of people across cities without the
whole thing collapsing. Hosting a World Cup is a feat.
Qualifying for
one is also a feat.
There are no
flukes.
A country may get
one lucky goal. It may benefit from one refereeing decision. It may have one
golden generation. But to arrive at the World Cup requires years of youth
development, coaching, administration, player welfare, medical support,
competitive exposure and the ability to manage pressure over a long qualifying
campaign.
That is why some of the most interesting teams to watch this year are not necessarily the traditional giants. Japan, Norway and Morocco may not all win the tournament, but they demonstrate the point that football success is built long before the first whistle.
Japan is perhaps
the clearest example. Three decades ago, Japanese football was still finding
its place in the global game. Then came the J-League in 1993,
professionalisation, academies, coaching structures and a deliberate national
football philosophy. Today, Japan is no longer treated as a tourist at the
World Cup. Its players are scattered across Europe’s top leagues. Its teams are
technically brave, tactically disciplined and psychologically unfazed by the
big names. That is not luck. That is a 30-year plan paying dividends.
Norway tells a
slightly different story. For years, it produced talented players but lacked
the depth and system to consistently trouble the biggest nations. Over the last
decade, however, Norwegian players have broken into world-class leagues in
numbers and with impact. Erling Haaland and Martin Ødegaard are the obvious
poster boys, but the real story is not just two stars. It is a system that has
improved talent identification, coaching and pathways from domestic football
into Europe’s elite game.
Morocco may be
the most fascinating of the three. Its 2022 semi-final run was treated by many
as a miracle. It was not. It was the result of infrastructure, federation
strategy, diaspora scouting and national ambition. The Mohammed VI Football
Academy and Morocco’s deliberate courting of players of Moroccan descent abroad
have given the Atlas Lions a depth that many African countries envy.
This year Morocco
has pushed that idea even further. It has reportedly become the first national
team to field a side whose players were all born outside the country they
represent. Some may frown at that. But diaspora talent is still national
capital.
This is the
lesson for Uganda.
We want
qualification without the boring work of pitches, academies, nutrition, school
competitions, transparent federation finances, local league marketing, coaching
certification and player development pathways. We want the final whistle
without the 20-year pipeline.
The World Cup
punishes that thinking.
More importantly,
it exposes the difference between administrators who are custodians and those
who are consumers. The Japanese football administrators who professionalised
the J-League in the early 1990s knew they would probably never enjoy the full
fruits of their work. The architects of Morocco’s football renaissance knew the
biggest rewards would come years after they had left office. They planted trees
whose shade would be enjoyed by future generations.
That is the
mentality Uganda’s football administrators have too often lacked.
As long as football leadership is viewed primarily as an opportunity to line pockets rather than build institutions, Ugandan football will remain trapped in mediocrity. A football nation is not built in a four-year cycle. It is built over decades. It requires leaders willing to invest in systems whose rewards they may never personally enjoy.
Uganda’s World
Cup dream will not be born in one qualification campaign, one foreign coach or
one talented generation. It will be born in schools, academies, district
leagues, better coaching, proper pitches, credible administration and a sports
economy that rewards excellence.
The uncomfortable
truth is that we do not lack talent. We lack systems. Talent occasionally wins
matches. Systems consistently qualify for World Cups.
There are no
flukes. Not in football. Not in development. And certainly not at the World
Cup. The scoreboard eventually catches up with the quality of the system behind
it.
