Fifa's World Cup sell-off: the case for the defence nobody is making

Gianni Infantino spent the weekend watching his boldest gamble collapse under a wave of ridicule. The Fifa president's proposal to sell equity stakes in a new World Cup commercial vehicle was met with near-universal derision, accused of everything from secrecy and greed to heresy against football's most prized asset. Yet beneath the noise, two arguments, one psychological, one structural, suggest the idea was neither irrational nor necessarily fatal to his presidency.

The behavioural context

The road to the top of any international sports federation is a decades-long exercise in transactional relationship-building. Candidates crisscross the globe for one-on-one meetings where promises of development funds are traded for votes. Once elected, the incumbent enjoys near-total job security, a lifestyle of five-star hospitality, and a circle of members whose loyalty is reinforced by the fear of losing access to the patronage network.

Infantino has occupied that seat since 2016. The behavioural excuse, such as it is, rests on a simple observation: power of this magnitude, sustained over years, erodes proportion. The sycophancy becomes the air you breathe. That does not excuse misjudgement, but it explains how a plan this controversial could reach the table without internal alarm bells ringing.

The commercial logic

Strip away the clumsy rollout, the tight deadline, the Josh Kushner connection, the promised payouts to member associations, and the core concept aligns with a clear industry trend. Leagues and federations from Formula One to the Premier League have welcomed private capital to fund growth, improve presentation, or enter new markets. Fifa, despite a balance sheet swollen by broadcast and sponsorship revenue, argues that outside investors would bring a risk appetite and operational discipline that a bureaucratic governing body cannot.

The trend across the sport's industry in recent years has been to bring in outside money to event hosting, both to get new ventures off the ground and to enhance existing competitions.

The execution was almost certainly flawed. The secrecy invited suspicion; the linkage to development funds looked like vote-buying; the involvement of a Trump-adjacent figure guaranteed political toxicity in Europe. But the principle, hybrid public-private ownership of major sporting events, is gaining ground, not receding.

What happens next

Infantino's survival now depends on the arithmetic of the 211-member congress. Uefa and its allies are furious, but they represent a minority of votes. The president's power base lies in Africa, Asia, the Americas and Oceania, regions that benefit most from Fifa's redistribution model. Unless European federations can rally a single unity candidate by the mid-November nomination deadline for the March 2026 election, the arithmetic favours the incumbent.

Even if Infantino goes, the genie is out of the bottle. The next president, whoever that is, will face the same pressure to unlock new revenue streams. The World Cup equity concept, in some form, will return.