For more than a century, FIFA has persuaded the football world that the sport could not function without it. The growing row over Gianni Infantino’s attempt to sell a stake in the World Cup suggests it might finally be time to test that claim.

UEFA’s 55 national associations have unanimously agreed to boycott FIFA competitions if Infantino continues with plans to bring private investment into the commercial operation of the World Cup and FIFA’s other tournaments. CONCACAF has also rejected the proposal, while the Asian Football Confederation has criticised both the substance of the deal and the manner in which it has been presented.

FIFA wants to establish a commercial subsidiary called FIFA Forward Enterprise, valued at around $20 billion, which would control the commercial rights attached to competitions including the World Cup. Up to 20% could then be sold to private investors, raising as much as $4.2 billion. FIFA says it would retain control over governance, sporting decisions and the international calendar, but UEFA has voted unanimously to oppose it.

It is easy to understand why UEFA, and the world in general, are appalled by his plans. This would not merely be a sponsorship agreement or another broadcasting deal. It would introduce investors whose financial returns would depend upon FIFA extracting more money from international football.

Private equity does not normally invest billions because it wants to preserve tradition, protect supporters or reduce the workload placed on players. It invests because it expects growth, revenue and a profitable exit. Once that pressure is introduced, there would be an obvious incentive for more matches, more tournaments, more commercial breaks, higher ticket prices and an even greater demand upon the clubs whose players make FIFA’s product valuable.

FIFA, in other words, appears to be trying to sell something it did not create and does not really own.

It does not train the players. It does not pay their weekly wages. It does not maintain the academies which produce them, fund the medical departments which repair them or operate the domestic competitions in which they develop their reputations. Yet once every four years, FIFA gathers the biggest names in the sport, packages them as its own product and collects the proceeds.

That arrangement has survived because the World Cup remains football’s greatest international competition. However, it is increasingly difficult to identify what else FIFA genuinely contributes to the elite game.

Its Club World Cup has been expanded against the backdrop of complaints over player welfare and an already overcrowded calendar. It’s a joke competition, treated by participating clubs as nothing more than a friendly competition to expand their brand. FIFA’s international windows repeatedly interrupt domestic seasons. Its regulations matter, but regulations can be transferred to another organisation. Its development funding is important, particularly to smaller associations, but distributing some of the vast sums generated by football is not the same as creating that wealth.

There is also something uncomfortable about FIFA offering each of its 211 associations an initial payment worth as much as $20 million if the new commercial structure is approved. Critics have portrayed the proposal as an attempt to secure support from countries which depend upon FIFA funding, while asking them to accept the long-term privatisation of valuable football assets in exchange for an immediate windfall. It’s blackmail, pure and simple.

UEFA’s objection should not automatically be mistaken for an outbreak of altruism. European football has its own commercial excesses, bloated competitions and governing bodies eager to squeeze every available pound from supporters. However, UEFA and CONCACAF are right about the principle. Once part of the World Cup is sold, investors will expect a voice, even if FIFA insists that sporting control remains formally separate.

Commercial influence rarely requires an investor to select teams or rewrite the Laws of the Game. It operates through targets, budgets, expansion plans and demands for higher returns.

FIFA’s One Great Tournament

The uncomfortable truth for FIFA is that its only truly indispensable competition is the World Cup, and it has spent years damaging it.

The 2026 tournament was expanded from 32 to 48 countries, producing 104 matches spread across Canada, Mexico and the United States. That offered FIFA more inventory to sell, but it also created greater travelling demands, an extended tournament and a complicated format in which some third-placed teams progressed from the group stage.

The tournament was surrounded by arguments over ticket prices, transport, extreme heat, environmental impact, the introduction of mandatory hydration breaks, which also created additional opportunities for broadcasters and sponsors and, of course, Donald Trump and his Balogun intervention. Those controversies strengthened the impression that the supporter attending the game had become secondary to FIFA’s commercial product.

However, 2026 was hardly the beginning.

The 2022 World Cup was awarded to Qatar and eventually moved into the middle of the European domestic season. The disruption to clubs was substantial, but the much greater controversy concerned migrant workers, labour conditions, LGBTQ+ rights and FIFA’s response to criticism. Human Rights Watch said the tournament followed years of serious labour and human rights abuses, while campaigners continued demanding compensation for workers and their families after the competition ended.

Four years earlier, the World Cup was held in Russia after the annexation of Crimea and amid concerns surrounding racism, restrictions on LGBTQ+ people, the treatment of political critics and alleged abuses involving construction workers. There had also been questions about the bidding process which awarded the 2018 and 2022 tournaments, with the two competitions becoming inseparable from the wider corruption crisis that consumed FIFA.

FIFA has repeatedly asked the world to separate football from politics, usually while placing football at the service of governments seeking international legitimacy and favourable publicity. It’s not particularly new: the 1978 World Cup was an early example of sportswashing, with a military junta using the competition to mask widespread abuse.

It is difficult to argue that FIFA has protected the World Cup. It has enlarged it, displaced it, commercialised it and taken it into environments which produced enormous ethical questions. Now Infantino wants to place part of its commercial future into private ownership.

At what point does football stop asking how FIFA should be reformed and start asking whether it is required at all?

What Happens If FIFA Disappears?

Football would survive without FIFA, although the immediate aftermath would be chaotic.

The World Cup, Club World Cup and FIFA’s youth and women’s competitions would either disappear or require new organisers. There would initially be uncertainty over international transfers, player eligibility, training compensation, disciplinary rulings and the release of footballers for national teams.

Cross-border football would become more difficult until replacement agreements were established. Smaller countries could also lose development grants, infrastructure support and administrative assistance unless those responsibilities were taken over by regional bodies.

Domestic football, however, would continue.

The Premier League, EFL, National League, FA Cup and the rest of the English pyramid are not operated by FIFA. Clubs would still play, supporters would still attend, and the Football Association would still regulate the national game. UEFA could continue staging the Champions League, Europa League, Conference League and European Championship.

Even the rules on the pitch would not disappear. The Laws of the Game are controlled by the International Football Association Board. England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland each possess one vote, with FIFA holding the remaining four. FIFA’s collapse would require IFAB to adopt a new voting structure, but the laws themselves would continue under a reconstituted organisation.

For English clubs, the short-term consequences could actually be beneficial. There might be fewer international interruptions, less pressure to release players for FIFA competitions and greater space within the calendar. Clubs would no longer be expected to provide footballers for an expanding collection of global tournaments organised by a body which does not employ them.

There would also be dangers. Without a universal transfer framework, clubs could face disputes over contracts, registration and compensation. Different continental confederations might adopt competing regulations. Suspensions issued in one territory might not be recognised elsewhere, while clubs and players could be forced to choose between rival international systems. DHGate would lose a lot of revenue as once-every-two-year football fans probably wouldn’t buy England shirts from China to get soaked in a pub days later.

That fragmentation would not last indefinitely because football needs common standards. What it does not necessarily need is FIFA.

Someone Would Replace It

If FIFA disappeared tomorrow, another global organisation would eventually emerge. National associations need a mechanism for organising international competitions, settling disputes and agreeing common regulations. The difference is that a replacement could be constructed around the needs of football rather than the preservation of FIFA.

It could give the continental confederations a formal stake in decision-making. It could separate regulation from commercial operations, preventing the same organisation from making the rules while also profiting from the tournaments those rules create. It could establish independent oversight, published accounts and term limits which could not be manipulated by redefining when a presidency technically began.

Most importantly, it could operate as an administrative body rather than acting as the proprietor of world football.

The greatest danger in losing FIFA would not be the disappearance of the sport. It would be temporary fragmentation, with rival competitions and inconsistent regulations emerging before a new settlement was reached. That would be disruptive, but disruption is not always worse than accepting permanent exploitation.

FIFA has power because football’s associations continue to recognise it, clubs continue to provide the players and supporters continue to buy access to its competitions. It has convinced all three groups that there is no alternative, even while extracting increasing value from the game and offering increasingly little in return.

Football existed before FIFA and would exist after it. The World Cup could be organised by another body. Transfer rules could be rewritten. Development money could be distributed through regional federations or an independent global fund.

The names, shirts, rivalries, clubs and supporters would remain. They are football. FIFA is merely an administrator which has spent too long behaving like an owner.

Infantino’s proposed sell-off may therefore have produced an unintended consequence. By asking private investors to purchase a piece of football’s future, he has encouraged the rest of the sport to consider whether FIFA had the right to sell it in the first place. What happens when the rest of football decides it does not, could rid the game of FIFA for good.