Among those nations bidding for the 2018 or 2022 World Cup, England is by far the highest profile; because the country is the place where the game of soccer was born, because the names involved are well known and the domestic league is richest in the world, and because politics are predictably omnipresent, the English have a large lead in World Cup bid intrigue heading into 2010.
There are others bidding, of course, though the prevailing wisdom is that England will really have to fall flat to miss out on 2018. The last time the tournament took place on English soil was 1966, so long ago that only four of eight the stadiums used that year still exist; that is particularly noteworthy in history-rich England, where the typical football ground is ancient by any practical measure. With two World Cups up for grabs in December 2010, and England boasting new venues, buckets of money, and soccer's premier (no pun intended) club competition, it makes logical sense that FIFA would choose to place the World Cup there.
But there's at least a small amount of dissent on the inevitability of England's 2018 hosting, and it doesn't help the the bid has been fraught with problems from the outset. From in-fighting amongst the bid's leaders to whispers that additional funding depended on the resignation of chairman Lord Triesman as well as the controversial inclusion of Milton Keynes in the list of host city finalists, issue after issue continues to crop up for the FA. Things appear to be in order for the moment, but with potential damage done and the always fickle nature of FIFA largesse, to say that England in 2018 is a slam dunk would be naive.
It's Russia that would likely stand to gain should England fail, and there's a chance it could jump up and grab the 2018 tourney even despite a strong English bid. The game is on the rise in the world's largest country, with Russian Premier League clubs making Champions League inroads, Russian stars exploding in the English Premier League, and the government intent on showing the world that Russia is emerging as a complete sporting culture. Vladimir Putin's interest in the bid is keen; for a nation often lumped in with other former Soviet republics and whose perceived ability to host suffers due to issues Poland and the Ukraine are having heading towards Euro 2012, the World Cup is a crown jewel to be obtained at almost any cost. Russia has hired the services of an American marketing firm, the same firm responsible for the bid that landed the Russian city of Sochi the 2014 Winter Olympics.
FIFA is notorious for using the World Cup to open or enhance new and emerging markets, and Russia would fit nicely into that trend. It happened with the United States in 1994, Japan and South Korea in 2002, and to a point, will happen with South Africa in 2010. These are countries where soccer's profile is often secondary to other sporting passions, and for whom the World Cup does wonders. Russia's sheer size, massive population, rapidly improving league, and global leadership role make it an intriguing candidate for FIFA's next grand experiment.
Russia's is also the bid setting the pace. While England was still finalizing their host city list and the Unites States was still soliciting petition signatures for various candidates, Russia was submitting their formal bid agreement. Whether that provides them any advantage with FIFA's selection committee is impossible to know, though it certainly makes clear the nation's ultra-serious intentions to win a bid.
Russia's focus is on 2018, and their candidacy 2022 would be invalidated if another European nation wins the bid for the first of the two tournaments.
Let us not forget that other bids sure to receive votes exist as well, specifically the joint effort by Iberian neighbors Spain and Portugal. Joint bids have alternately been accepted and frowned upon, but have been approved for this round of World Cup hosting determinations.
Perhaps none of that has any bearing on the US bid, though. The American committee, while technically bidding for either 2018 and 2022, is focusing most of their energy on the latter year. The trap of buying into "prevailing wisdom" (already referenced once in this piece) is an easy one to fall into and the US effort cannot afford to do so; assumptions of a European 2018 World Cup are easy to make, but shouldn't dictate how the US goes about constructing their bid package. Even if the United States hosting the tournament in 2022 makes sense financially (high-capacity stadiums and a track record of record tickets sales being the two most compelling factors), the unpredictability of the process and the politics involved mean that there's a strong chance someone else could jump up and grab the tournament that so many simply assume will come to America.
Both Australia and Qatar fit the "emerging markets" criteria, and while the Australians are committed to pushing for 2018 (Qatar is bidding only for 2022), each represents a challenge to another American World Cup. Unlike the US, neither has hosted the tournament before, and each is located in a part of the world that would see its first World Cup. Qatar's bid is especially intriguing because of the country's location in the Middle East and the wealth it possesses; even a shortage of acceptable stadiums and the searing heat of the region during June and July might not be an impediment if that wealth is brought to bear on new facility construction. As a bid hoping to promote regional (Arab) unity and serve a larger purpose by fostering better relations between the Arab and western worlds, the Qataris are impossible to dismiss.
Australia has stadiums, a burgeoning league in many ways similar to Major League Soccer, and tradition of passionate sporting support. What they may not have is the cooperation of the country's other major football codes, with authorities in charge both Australian rules football (AFL) and rugby (NRL) voicing concerns over stadium conflicts certain to occur should the country win its bid. A united front, as the US seems to have (thanks in part to the NFL being out of season during the summer) gives the American bid a leg up on their Aussie counterparts, but the Australian dissent won't be a deal breaker for FIFA if Australia represents the best possible showcase for their marquee event and will help the game take strides in a part of the world still somewhat resistant to the tide of soccer.
Unlikely as it may seem, it's important to keep in mind that if a shock winner emerges for 2018, the bidding for 2022 will be altered significantly. Should a non-European nation secure the first of the two tournaments, the bids of Russia, England, Spain and Portugal, and Belgium and the Netherlands (another joint bid) remain in play; FIFA skipping over Europe for twenty-two years between Germany 2006 and 2022 is unimaginable, and would leave the United States without any chance of winning.
Odds makers have England strong favorite to win the 2018 bid. Conventional wisdom (that pesky thing again) has the United States in line to be second time hosts in 2022. Only FIFA's unpredictable executive committee knows for sure which way the winds blow, and even then, those winds are ever-changing. What seems like a foregone conclusion today may be shockingly tossed aside come December of 2010.
