The 2025 FIFA Club World Cup was billed as football’s great leap into the future: 32 clubs, a billion-dollar broadcast deal, and a monthlong test drive for the United States ahead of hosting the World Cup next year. On paper, it was grandeur itself. In practice? A curious cocktail of spectacular football, half-empty stadiums, and thunderstorm delays that left Chelsea players napping in locker rooms.
But here’s the thing: the tournament had an energy that was hard to deny. Fans across the globe were plugged in—sometimes literally betting the outcome in new markets. The buzz felt as fresh and surprising as betting Ethiopia, where the passion around global football made the Club World Cup seem like more than just a European showcase. That global curiosity was the pulse FIFA wanted, and for a while, it actually had it.
Big Venues, Small Crowds
Let’s start with the visuals. The contrast between the stage and the audience was almost comical. A game in a 70,000-seat NFL stadium, and fewer than 10,000 fans rattling around inside. Entire upper decks left covered with tarps. Then, two nights later, PSG rolls into town and suddenly the place looks alive—chants, drums, neon jerseys.
This wasn’t a U.S.-specific problem. It was a planning problem. FIFA bet big on scale, assuming the magnetism of “world champion clubs” would pack arenas coast to coast. It didn’t. Ticket prices soared, matches were slotted on weekday afternoons, and local fans had to choose between mortgage payments and watching Al Ahly take on Auckland City. The irony: the game itself was often fantastic. The staging was not.
The Football Was Actually Fantastic
For all the gripes about logistics, the football itself? Worth the price of admission—at least on TV. Chelsea looked like the best-run machine in the tournament, Cole Palmer playing like he’s got destiny tattooed on his boots. Two goals and an assist in the final against PSG cemented him as the face of Chelsea’s post-Abramovich era.
And the upsets! Manchester City dumped out by Al Hilal—proof that the so-called “global minnows” are no longer here just to make up numbers. Monterrey grinding their way through with discipline. South American clubs playing with that blend of chaos and artistry Europeans still can’t quite handle. This was the soul of the expanded format: moments where the hierarchy cracked, even if only briefly.
Weather Delays and the Five-Hour Match
You couldn’t script this. Chelsea versus Benfica turned into a marathon: lightning strikes, endless delays, cooling breaks, rescheduled kickoffs. A five-hour slog that stretched players’ patience and broadcasters’ ad inventories. Fans who stuck around should’ve been awarded frequent-flyer miles.
If the Club World Cup was supposed to be a rehearsal for 2026, here was Lesson No. 1: American summers are unforgiving. Roofs, domes, late-night kickoffs—FIFA needs them all. Otherwise, get ready for more weather-induced chaos.
Money, Money, Money
The numbers were obscene in their scale. A $1 billion broadcast deal with DAZN. A prize pot of over $1 billion, with Chelsea walking away richer than some national federations. FIFA trumpeted this as proof the Club World Cup could be football’s next commercial juggernaut.
And yet, the optics betrayed the balance sheet. What good is a billion-dollar spectacle if the camera pans to rows of empty seats? Fans don’t experience sponsorship portfolios—they experience atmosphere. When that’s missing, the product feels hollow. You can’t engineer authenticity, no matter how fat the checks are.
Player Welfare, Or Lack Thereof
Footballers are tired. This is not a new story, but the Club World Cup hammered the point home. By adding 63 extra matches into the calendar, FIFA pushed players closer to burnout. French defender Jules Koundé called it “overconsumption,” and he wasn’t wrong. Muscles tore, rotations thinned, and the calendar groaned under the weight of one more mega-event.
At some point, the goose that lays the golden egg starts limping. The Club World Cup was another reminder: the players are the product, and even billion-dollar tournaments need to protect them.
Lessons in Real Time
So what did we actually learn?
Big stadiums don’t guarantee big atmospheres. Sometimes, intimacy trumps scale.
Global football is real. The gap is shrinking, and fans love it.
Heat and storms are not just nuisances—they’re existential scheduling problems.
Money solves some problems, but not the one called “fan experience.”
Players aren’t machines. Expansions need brakes, not just accelerators.
A Tournament of Contradictions
The Club World Cup of 2025 was both a triumph and a mess. A triumph because the football delivered drama, diversity, and a genuinely global vibe. A mess because the staging felt clumsy, ticketing was tone-deaf, and the calendar looked ready to snap in half.
Chelsea lifting the trophy was the neat Hollywood ending, but the real story was the contrast. When it worked, the tournament felt electric. When it didn’t, it felt like a rehearsal gone wrong.
The Bottom Line
The Club World Cup taught us that global ambition is not enough. You need planning, sensitivity, and a sense of scale. FIFA has time to adjust before the main event in 2026, but the lessons are glaringly obvious: keep the atmosphere alive, protect the players, respect the fans.
For now, the tournament lives in memory as both a bold statement and a cautionary tale. A month of contradictions, empty seats, magical goals, and thunderstorm delays—all bundled into the strangest kind of spectacle: flawed, fascinating, unforgettable.