Right. New idea. Since international law is apparently just a sort of optional etiquette for grown-ups with missiles, we settle global disputes the only way modern civilisation still understands.
At the World Cup.
No summits. No UN resolutions. No solemn men in grey suits saying “this is a pivotal moment” while doing absolutely nothing pivotal. Just 90 minutes of football, a dodgy referee, and the faint smell of lager and panic.
If two nations are at war, they don’t get to flatten cities and call it “security”. They get a fixture. Tuesday night. Under the lights. Winner gets the disputed territory. Loser goes home and has to write an apology on a bit of paper like a naughty child.
Imagine it. Russia v Ukraine. Not in a trench, but in a stadium. Putin in the VIP box, trying to look statesmanlike while secretly hoping VAR gets bombed. Zelensky looking like a man who has slept three hours in four years and still has more moral authority than the entire Kremlin.
The match starts. There’s the national anthems, the handshakes, the awkward moment where the Russian captain pretends he’s never heard of Crimea. Then it’s on. Sliding tackles instead of artillery. Corners instead of cruise missiles. A tactical foul instead of an assassination.
And if it’s a draw? Penalties. None of this “we’ll keep talking” nonsense. Straight to the spot. The fate of nations decided by a 19-year-old winger with a haircut like a Lego man and the emotional stability of a squirrel.
Of course, the real genius is that this system scales. Why stop at bilateral disputes? Let’s sort the whole mess out in one tournament.
Israel v Palestine? Group stage. India v Pakistan? Quarter-final. China v Taiwan? Semi. North Korea can come too, but only if they promise not to eat the linesman.
And then, the final. The big one. The World Cup winner takes the lot.
Not the trophy. Not the bragging rights. The entire world.
They don’t just get to lift a golden cup. They get to run the planet. Borders, budgets, the lot. Every passport gets rebranded. Every embassy becomes a fan zone. The UN is replaced by a bloke with a whistle and a can of shaving foam.
France wins? Fine. Everyone has to strike more, eat better bread, and argue about philosophy while smoking moodily outside cafes. Germany wins? The trains run on time and you get fined for smiling incorrectly. England wins? God help us. We’d spend the first six months arguing about who “really” won, then appoint a Prime Minister based on a penalty shootout, then outsource the NHS to a hedge fund because someone on TalkTV said it was “common sense”.
Brazil wins and it’s samba, sunshine, and the economy being held together by vibes and football. Argentina wins and everyone is legally required to be dramatic about everything. Even the weather forecast.
The USA wins, obviously, because the tournament is held there and they’d rename it the “World Freedom Cup presented by Lockheed Martin”. The referee would be sponsored. The goalposts would have adverts. The national anthem would last 11 minutes. And the post-match interview would include the phrase “we’re bringing jobs back”.
But the best bit is the deterrent effect.
Want to invade a neighbour? Fine. But first, can you actually defend a corner?
Thinking of annexing someone? Better practise your first touch. Planning a “special military operation”? Hope your centre-backs can cope with a high press.
It’s a perfect system because it humiliates the warmongers. Dictators hate being laughed at. They love tanks, parades, and grim men in uniforms. They do not love losing 3-0 because their right-back got nutmegged by a lad from a country they claimed didn’t exist.
And it’s cheaper. Instead of spending hundreds of billions on weapons, we spend it on grass, floodlights, and therapy for goalkeepers. We get fewer refugees, fewer mass graves, and more disappointing group-stage exits. That’s a trade I’ll take.
Yes, there are flaws. Obviously.
England could accidentally win on penalties and end up in charge of the planet, which would be like handing the nuclear codes to a man who thinks a “strategy” is shouting at a linesman. And there’s always the risk that some despot refuses to accept the result, claims the match was rigged, and storms the pitch with his personal militia.
Still. That’s basically what happens now, just with more rubble.
So yes, let’s do it. Settle disputes at the World Cup. Put war on the pitch, not in the streets. Let the politicians sit in the stands, powerless, watching the one thing they can’t spin: the scoreline.
I fancy Denmark against the USA, any day.
And when the final whistle blows, the winner takes the world.
Which, come to think of it, is exactly the problem with letting certain people host the tournament in the first place.
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