To be fair, Donald Trump isn’t directly involved in the massive rip-off going by the name of the World Cup. However, his indirect influence is easy to discern.
The Donald’s view of life is based on exculpating six of the seven deadly sins (he doesn’t approve of sloth), with greed singled out as actually being the ultimate virtue.
Life is a transaction, and commerce is amoral. Things like fairness, honour, equity, underlying morality need not apply. Only legality matters, well, after a fashion. Legality is defined as not being caught.
If you can get away with it, it’s legal. And if it’s legal, it’s moral, if you insist on dealing in such antiquated notions. What’s there not to understand?
It goes without saying that, since America is explicitly devoted to the advancement of the common man, it has to be defined by commercial activity. What else can galvanise those huddled masses yearning to be upwardly mobile?
The common, average man is the same everywhere – average, after all, is synonymous with mean (spare me pedantic quibbling about the minor mathematical difference between the two). America holds no patent for mass materialism. But she is one of very few countries that have built their whole ethos on the low foundations of high economic dynamism.
Still, there are degrees to everything, as Trump’s presidency shows. He is perhaps the most culturally influential president in my ridiculously long lifetime. And Trump has laid his hands not on the Bible but on The Art of the Deal.
For those Americans who deify Trump, naked acquisitiveness has been raised to the highest virtue, with only legal statutes setting some barriers – and, if one is smart, even those can be scaled. I may be wrong: after all, my US passport is long since out of date and I haven’t even visited America in decades. But the heartbeat of America sends out pulses, and sensitive fingers can palpate them even from a distance.
Such is the backdrop to the outrageous extortion unfolding in America before the World Cup kicks off there in June. FIFA got the ball rolling by pricing the tickets for the final at a staggering $10,990.
Are you staggered? Well, try to stay upright for the best is still to come. While most institutions living off box-office receipts discourage touting (scalping, in the more accurate American term), FIFA welcomes it. After all, it takes 15 per cent from the buyer of each ticket and another 15 per cent from the re-seller.
So encouraged, touts sprang into action. Tickets for the final match at MetLife Stadium, New Jersey, are going for almost $2.3 million each. Relax, these are just the high-end seats. The penny-pinchers among you can still get a ticket for a paltry $11,000.
Even tickets for England’s three group games are being sold for tens of thousands of pounds. So if you have some 90 grand burning a hole in your pocket, you can watch those early rounds live.
But, forgive me for dousing your enthusiasm, you still have to get there. And once you’ve flown stateside, you need to sleep (ideally not rough) and eat (ideally not grass). And let’s not forget that trip from hotel to stadium – after all, if you watched the matches on the telly what would be the point of travelling?
That’s where local institutions prove they have nothing to learn about extortion from international bodies. Hotels within striking distance of the football venues have quadrupled their prices – or more. One hotel is offering rooms for the match between Mexico and South Africa at $3,882 each, up from $157 at present.
I don’t know who operates the train service between Penn Station and MetLife Stadium, but those chaps have got into the swing of things. That 30-minute journey will cost you $150, as opposed to the usual $12.90 return.
That’s a good deal compared to driving: a parking space at the stadium will cost $225. Even London can’t quite compete yet, although I fully expect Mayor Sadiq Khan to take his cue from the US.
And there I was, thinking that football is a working class game, with hotdogs and beer for panem and post-match punch-ups for circenses.
Actually, come to think of it, British working classes have come a long way if they can afford to follow their favourite teams live. A season ticket at Craven Cottage, the home of my local and mid-table team, Fulham, will set you back £3,084. One for you, one for your missus, one for the nipper, and that’s ten grand you’ll never see again.
Add to this a couple of hundred each for home and away shirts, and why can’t I be working class, Mummy? Still, whoever charges such prices in England is an exemplar of Christian charity compared to those Yanks. We do have a lot to learn yet.
P.S. While we are on the subject of the US, President Trump has announced his immediate plans for punishing Britain’s and Spain’s reluctance to come to America’s aid in Iran.
Trump has encouraged his Argentine counterpart, Javier Milei, to occupy the Falklands, promising US assistance with air cover, sea blockade and, if need be, ground troops. He has also warned that all British ships trying to run the blockade will be intercepted, boarded, cleared of crews, and then either sunk or sold for scrap.
Meanwhile Spain, declared Trump, will be occupied and incorporated in the United States as her 51st state. All Spanish-speaking inhabitants of the US, including citizens native-born or naturalised, aliens legal and illegal, will be resettled in Spain, with the attendant costs borne equally by the US and Governor Sánchez.
Furthermore… well, I’ve made the whole P.S. up. Got you going though, didn’t I? This proves yet again that, for a parody to be believable, it must cut close to reality.
I considered taking my youngest son to a match, figuring it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Then I checked ticket prices at the Los Angeles venue: minimum of $1,300. That’s $2,600 for the two of us, plus whatever exorbitant transaction fees they charge, plus parking. I went over all that with my wife, then added my concern for those who travel across the world to follow their team. Who can afford such a trip? Of course, pricing depends on the teams. One can watch Qatar play Switzerland in Santa Clara for a mere $250. This “value pricing” caught on some years ago. I first noticed it in baseball, where the same (cheapest) seat can range in price from $14 to $45, depending on the opponent. (I will not bore you with boyhood stories of taking the bus to the stadium for fifty cents and paying $2 for a ticket.)
As for panem, our local professional hockey arena charges $9 for a 20-ounce soda. I can buy the same bottle for $3 at the gas station when I fill my tank – hardly a discount price. Nicholas is used to hearing, “We can park by the Honda dealership and walk and you can get a soda and pretzel, or we can pay to park in the lot.” He invariably agrees to walk the extra 200 yards. Here in southern California, it is common to see hotdog vendors outside the arena. One can get a large, bacon-wrapped dog with grilled peppers and onions for $10. A plain, day-old hotdog on a stale bun is at least $9 inside. It’s been 20+ years since they last allowed me to bring in my own bag of peanuts.
I still remember hotdogs at $1 a piece, but that was a rather long time ago. I once took my son to Anaheim to watch the Rams, but that too was in the ’70s. I don’t remember how much the tickets were, but if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, not to make you weep. What I do remember about that trip has stayed with me ever since. The away team, Denver I believe, won. As we walked to the car park, several Denver fans were dancing and celebrating, waving their their team flag. The passing locals walked by, smiling and waving at them. Why has it stuck in my memory? Well, I imagine Arsenal winning at Chelsea, and their fans celebrating in that fashion. They’d be beaten within an inch of their lives, or possibly beyond. I wonder if things have changed in America since then, but in those days a match was a family affair one took his children to, and one didn’t even have to get drunk to do so. Americans are more civilised, or at least that’s my, possibly outdated, observation.
On the whole, most fans are still civil. There are certain cities that are worse than others. Los Angeles is worse than Anaheim, a distinction that is obvious when the Angels host the Dodgers.
There are jerks in every crowd, though, especially when fueled by alcohol. My older sister and I went to a Rams game in the ’80s. Near us were two families of three generations each (grandmother, parents, children). One family cheered for the Rams, the other for the Packers. The parents of the Rams family were constantly yelling at the Packers family. Just prior to halftime, the jeering exploded into physical violence. The Rams family were escorted out. As we exited the stadium at the end of the game, we saw the Rams family and the grandmother yelled, “There they are!” as they ran after the Packers family. Disgusting. My grandmothers were somewhat different.
As we exited the Honda Center last night after watching the Ducks defeat the Oilers in overtime, there were some fans yelling at those with Oilers jerseys. I’m sure the antagonists felt themselves immensely clever, yelling such insults as “Oilers suck!” and “Where’s McDavid (the Oiler best player) now?” over and over. A far cry from England’s hooligans. Still, it makes one proud to be human.