Sixteen Cities, Eleven in America, and Canada's Silence

The 2026 World Cup stadium map looks like a stretched-out constellation. From Vancouver in the far north, it snakes all the way down to Mexico City, passing through Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Dallas, Houston, Atlanta, Miami, then curves back north—Philadelphia, New York/New Jersey, Boston, Toronto. Sixteen cities. Eleven in the United States, two in Canada, three in Mexico.

The power structure behind this map is more lopsided than any match score. The U.S. gets 78 games, including every knockout match. Canada gets 13, all in the group stage. Mexico also gets 13, all in the group stage. The Estadio Azteca—the only stadium in the world to have hosted two World Cup finals—won't see a single knockout game in 2026.

I ran into a Canadian soccer federation staffer in Vancouver. His badge read 'Host Committee,' but his face looked more like 'Guest Committee.' I asked him what Canada's role was. He thought about it for a moment, then said: 'You know how at a wedding, there's this role called the best man? The best man stands next to the groom the whole time, looks important, but nobody's there to see the best man.' He smiled, but there wasn't much joy in it.

But if you ask the fans—the ones actually in the stadiums—they won't care about these political calculations. For them, BC Place in Vancouver is the World Cup. BMO Field in Toronto is the World Cup. The Azteca in Mexico City—no matter how many games it's been assigned—is the World Cup. Stadiums don't talk. Politics don't change the ninety minutes on the grass. So when you're sitting in those stadiums, watching flags flutter in the sun—you'll forget the power games behind that map. You'll only remember that one second. That second is why you flew thousands of kilometres to be here.