Gianni Infantino is one of the most despised people on the planet — or at least that’s how it feels in the circles that I run in.

The FIFA president is, in many people’s eyes, a cartoonishly corrupt individual, overseeing an organization that exploits the world’s passion for soccer for the sake of personal gain. Following the blueprint of his predecessor, Sepp Blatter, Infantino has retained his grip on power by doling out millions of dollars to small soccer federations around the world (they have the same voting power as larger federations), with the money earmarked for “soccer development,” but with few to no strings attached. Every year, those federations get a bigger check. And every year, Infantino stays in power.

The Italian-Swiss administrator has also gone out of his way to endear himself to U.S. President Donald Trump, even going so far as to invent a “FIFA Peace Prize,” which he then gave to Trump, who is famously aggrieved over not having received the Nobel Peace Prize. FIFA even appeared to cave to Trump’s demand that U.S. forward Folarin Balogun be allowed to play in the U.S.’s Round of 16 matchup with Belgium, following his suspension for a questionable red card foul against Bosnian defender Tarik Muharemović — an administrative move that was virtually unprecedented in World Cup history, and that further inflamed allegations of double standards and corruption.

All of this made what I saw in Canada last week feel a bit…jarring.

At the Switzerland vs. Algeria game in Vancouver, I was seated near midfield, just below the press box. A few minutes before kickoff, I sensed a commotion behind me, looked over my shoulder, and saw Infantino taking a seat almost directly behind me, alongside the President of the Swiss Federation, Guy Parmelin (who wore a red hat that said, “Switzerland: Great Since 1291”).

As more and more fans began noticing Infantino, they turned to start filming him with their phones. I half expected them to start booing him, or giving him a thumbs down — similar to the way NFL fans boo the commissioner. What other response could there be for someone who is the face of a notably corrupt organization, and that set astronomically high World Cup ticket prices?

Instead, there were widespread thumbs up from fans. Then, an autograph line started to form, with dozens and dozens of fans scrambling toward the press box to request a signature (and a selfie) from the FIFA president. Infantino patiently and gladly obliged right up until the moment the game kicked off, and then got back to work at halftime and after the game concluded.

What I found fascinating wasn’t the fact that people wanted Infantino’s autograph (though the fact that one guy asked Infantino to sign the back of his cell phone was a bit bizarre). Most fans just seemed star struck, and wanted to document their encounter with a famous person.

What was remarkable was the way that Infantino seemed to revel in the attention. This wasn’t just a politician begrudgingly shaking hands and kissing babies as part of his job. This was a man who clearly seemed to cherish the attention. He gladly took phone after phone from people’s hands, sometimes to the surprise of the phone owner, and snapped the selfies himself. When security guards eventually arrived to shoo people away, Infantino brushed them aside so that a few more kids could get a signature and a selfie with him.

All of this made me wonder how Infantino believes he is perceived. If what you see when you go out in public is fans giving you the thumbs up and asking for an autograph, would you think you’re doing a great job? Would you think the public supports what you’re doing? Would you think that accountability questions from journalists are out of touch with what real people — the people who read what those journalists are writing — are feeling?

And would all of that adoration, especially if it’s something you crave, make you want to stay in power that much more?

The idea that there is an entire generation of Brazilians who can’t remember seeing their country hoist the World Cup trophy is almost incomprehensible to me. I grew up at a time when Brazil were the undisputed kings of global soccer, winning the tournament in 1994 and 2002, and reaching the final in 1998. They had many (f not most) of the world’s best players: Romario, Bebeto, Rivaldo, Ronaldo, Roberto Carlos, and Ronaldinho, to name just a few.

That generation, of course, built on the legacy of Pele’s generation, which won the World Cup an incredible three times in four attempts: in 1958, 1962, and 1970. The power and lore of the yellow jersey was undeniable during my childhood, and Brazilian teams played with a singular swagger and style. They were aptly nicknamed the ‘Samba Kings.’

Now, it has been 24 years since Brazil won a World Cup title. Not only that, they’ve been eliminated in the quarterfinals of every tournament since 2002, except for 2014, when they reached the semifinals on home soil — only to suffer the most humiliating defeat in Seleção history, a 7-1 loss to Germany that was truly psychologically devastating to the entire country. (The team also lost the third place match to Croatia, 3-0.)

All of this has led some people to question whether Brazil are still a true powerhouse of world soccer. Has the rest of the world caught up and, in some cases, left them behind? Has the modern game rendered the traditional Brazilian style of play ineffective? Or is this simply a lull — part of the natural ebbs and flows of global competition?

I wanted to know what young Brazilians are thinking and feeling. So I spoke with some of them after Brazil’s hard-fought 2-1 victory over Japan in Houston.

After the video I made about the World Cup song, “I Am From Bosnia,” racked up more than a million views online, I got a message from Billy Z, the guy featured at the start of the video.

“I have a fun idea,” he wrote to me via Instagram. “I think you’ll like it.”

Later that day he sent me a link — he had made the t-shirt he’s wearing at the start of the video (which says, “I am from America, take me to Bosnia”) available for purchase. The proceeds would go to Bosana Foundation, an organization that helps promising students in Bosnia achieve their potential.

“We don’t want to make any money off it,” Billy wrote. “We just thought it could be a nice platform to spend my few moments of fame and do some good stuff.”

The Bosana Foundation helps underprivileged students pay for university, and provides children in orphanages with afterschool and extracurricular activities, according to its website.

I made a short video about the fundrasier. And here’s a link to purchase the t-shirt, for anyone who is interested.

The latest stop on my World Cup tour was Houston, and I arrived just in time to catch the end of the Brazil vs. Japan game on Monday. After interviewing a bunch of young Brazilian fans outside the stadium — fans who don’t remember a time when their country won the World Cup (more on that in a future post), I had an irresistible craving for picanha steak. So, I made my way to Tourão Brazilian Churrasqueria, a steakhouse that I imagined would be filled with Brazilian fans chasing their team’s 2-1 victory over Japan with a delectable selection of grilled meats.

I was right. The place was filled with yellow jerseys, including a rowdy group of young fans situated next to a large television, and some families filling out the calmer area in the back. On the television, Germany and Paraguay were heading to penalty kicks. And it was immediately clear which side the Brazilians were rooting for — they sang songs and erupted into cheers every time Paraguay scored or Germany missed, the families in the back joining voices with the rowdies.

There’s a long tradition of South American teams rooting for each other at the World Cup (though, depending on whom you ask, Argentina might be excluded from that list). South American fans also tend to root against European sides — they’ll almost always back an African or Asian team over any team from Western Europe. It’s not hard to guess why.

And then it occurred to me — this especially boisterous cheering for Paraguay is also about something else. Fans are rooting especially hard because Paraguay is playing Germany — the team that inflicted a trauma on their collective psyche in 2014. The team that embarrassed them on their own soil in the semifinal of the World Cup, on the largest stage imaginable. It was an existential blow to a country with a massive (though not unjustified) soccer ego.

Many of the Brazilian fans at the churrasqueria were too young to remember their side winning the World Cup in 2002. They grew up idolizing Neymar, who has struggled to win major trophies — not Ronaldo, Ronaldinho and Romario, who brought their adoring nation the world’s greatest soccer prize twice in an eight-year span. But everyone there remembered that devastating defeat by Germany in 2014.

That’s why the songs burst forth with a little extra zeal. It’s why the fists were pumped with a little extra fervor. And it’s why one man seemed to be not just psychologically, but physically healed, his crutches thrust in the air as he leapt up and down and clenched the men around him — not for support, but in shared delirium.

Opponents of the current Iranian regime showed up in huge numbers for Iran's opening World Cup match against New Zealand in Los Angeles on Monday night. Outside of the stadium, a large group of anti-government protesters assembled to call for the end of the current regime.

Inside the stadium, many fans waved the "Lion and Sun" flag (a symbol of opposition to the current Iranian government) throughout the game, despite a court ruling just hours before kickoff, which upheld FIFA's right to ban the flag. But security guards eventually stopped trying to stop fans from waving the flag -- there were just too many of them.

When the game kicked off, fans overwhelmingly supported and cheered for 'Team Melli.' And fans waving both the Lion and Sun flag and the flag of the Islamic Republic of Iran sometimes united in cheers of, "Iran! Iran!"

But these days, the statue and surrounding area are used as a gathering ground to celebrate another kind of Mexican victory.

My journalism career started with a trip. I went to South Africa to cover the 2010 World Cup — the first time the tournament had been held on African soil. Truth be told, I really just a wanted to have a big adventure, experience the tournament (the allure of Cape Town was strong), and get as much reporting experience as I could. I had hopes, but no expectations, of it going anywhere beyond the tournament.

Through a former advisor, I was put in touch with an editor at NPR, so I pitched her a few stories once I arrived in Cape Town. Much to my surprise, she responded to my email and said she liked two of the three story ideas, and that I could try to do them ‘on spec’ (meaning no guarantee of payment if they don’t accept the final story). She also sent some very helpful tips on how to tell stories in sound. I was thrilled and appreciative of her help, and I immediately got to work.

A week or so later, I sent her my story (about homeless people being relocated from Cape Town stadium) and thought, “Well, at least I tried.” But, much to my surprise, yet again, I got a call that same day from the editor, saying she liked the story and they were going to air it. I was flabbergasted.

A few days later I was listening to NPR host Robert Siegel mispronounce my name on the national airwaves (I didn’t care a lick about the error) while huddled in a frigid bedroom in Cape Town. By the end of the tournament, I had done three feature stories for NPR, and they all appeared on either Morning Edition or All Things Considered.

It felt like my journalism career was suddenly up and running.

When I got back to Michigan after the tournament, exhilarated and exhausted, I got a phone call from a producer at PRI’s The World (its name at the time). She had tracked down my phone number through my soccer camp website, and called to see if, number one, I was the same guy who was reporting from Africa (yes), and, number two, if I’d be interested in doing some freelance work for them from South Africa (also yes).

I went back to Cape Town and spent the next two years working as a stringer for NPR, PRI’s The World, and the CBC. Then, in 2012, PRI’s The World offered me my first full-time reporting job — covering health and development in Africa. It was an honor and one of the best experiences of my reporting career.

Fourteen years later, I’m once again reporting on the World Cup, albeit in a different capacity. Yesterday, I got a call from an editor at The World, this time asking if I could comment on the visa kerfuffle that has embroiled the World Cup. This new project, The People’s Game, even got a shoutout.

It was a very brief cameo. But I decided to do what I had done way back in 2010 — I pulled out my laptop and listened to my voice on the national airwaves, while in a foreign country (this time, Mexico).

I took a moment to appreciate the full circle feeling. And this time, the host didn’t mispronounce my name.

There are just three players in history who have represented their country at six FIFA Men’s World Cups, and they will all be playing at this summer’s tournament: Lionel Messi, Cristiano Ronaldo, and Guillermo ‘Memo’ Ochoa.

That’s right — arguably the two greatest soccer players of all time, and a goalie who has never played for a top European club, and who most recently played professional soccer in Cyprus.

But make no mistake, Ochoa is a living legend here in Mexico. Despite his obvious shortcomings, of which there are many (size, athleticism, skill with the ball at his feet, a tendency for dramatic errors in club team matches), he has risen to the occasion time and time again at the World Cup, including a laughably unbreakable performance in a 0-0 draw against the host nation Brazil at the 2014 World Cup — arguably his magnum opus.

It’s the kind of career that has inspired murals of Ochoa alongside living legends like Messi, Ronaldo, Neymar, and Mbappe.

Or, as Ricardo Beltran, a fan of El Tri from Cabo San Lucas put it, “He’s a good goalie with the national team, a bad goalie in leagues. In the World Cup he always plays very well, but in leagues he’s the most scored-on goalie.”

A few months ago, Ochoa seemed to be on the outside looking in at the 2026 World Cup. Luis Malagón, a 29-year-old goalie with Club America, was the projected starter, and a handful of up-and-comers were vying for the backup positions. But a ruptured achilles tendon took Malagón out of the running, and created an opening for Ochoa. Since then, the veteran goalkeeper has apparently endeared himself to head coach Javier Aguirre, and recent reports in the Mexican press suggest Ochoa is likely to start for El Tri in the opening World Cup match against South Africa on June 11th.

Fans in Mexico are divided on whether or not that should be the case. Beltran, who acknowledges that Ochoa is a living legend, doesn’t think he should play.

“I don’t think he deserves to start in this World Cup,” he says.

Delfino Perez, a fan of El Tri who was finishing up a workout at a local soccer field, had even stronger feelings.

“I think Memo Ochoa was a player in past times,” he says. “Football is modernizing, it’s not just for people who are old and outdated. He had his time and now he has to give the opportunity to others who are coming up.”

But there’s an argument to be made for experience and leadership, especially considering the magnitude of the stage. Mexico’s first game is in the Azteca stadium (I refuse to call it by its newest corporate name or its FIFA World Cup name), and the atmosphere will be electric. It will be viewed by hundreds of millions of people, if not billions of people, around the world.

Would you trust 26-year-old goalkeeper Raúl “Tala” Rangel, who has 14 caps and zero World Cup experience, to play in that match?

Or Carlos Acevedo, who has spent his entire club career with relative minnow Santos Laguna, which just finished dead last in Liga MX?

It’s understandable why some fans feel quite differently from Beltran and Perez.

Armando Garcia, a supporter of Club America and the Mexican national team, says he hopes Ochoa sees the field.

“In the World Cup he has been one of the best goalies,” he says. “I would like it if he played in the opening match and beyond.”

Garcia’s friend, Erik Ruín, agrees.

“He’s a great man, a great goalkeeper,” Ruín says. “I would like to see him play one last time in the World Cup.”

If you’re like me, you’ve been feeling a bit conflicted about the upcoming FIFA World Cup. I love the tournament and, most years, I watch almost every game. But this year, it feels a bit … gross. Ticket prices are out of control, and the sales process has been murky to say the least. The new 48-team format will make the tournament feel long and watered down. And our ‘FIFA Peace Prize’ winning president will no doubt try to hog the spotlight, while millions of international and domestic fans feel unwelcome, unsafe, or just plain creeped out.

At the same time, this is the World Cup – the tournament that has captivated me since I can remember, which is around the time I first starting using erudite soccer phrases because of British commentators. The entire world will come together to sing, dance, and ingest staggering amounts of beer, while marveling at the world’s best players. I want to do something that celebrates the spirit of the tournament, but also taps into the growing frustrations that many of us feel – at every level of the sport.

So this is the plan. When the World Cup kicks off, I’m criss-crossing North America, to document how people in the U.S., Canada, and Mexico are experiencing the tournament. What will it be like for fans who have broken the bank to attend? For people from countries that are playing in their very first World Cup? For immigrants who are staying away because of ICE? For nonprofit leaders who build community through soccer? For kids dreaming of playing in the World Cup someday?

I’ll be sharing those and other stories here on The People’s Game.

But here’s the best part – the project won’t end when the tournament does. The People’s Game with Anders Kelto podcast, which recently launched, will continue long after the World Cup concludes. It will feature original reporting, stories, and interviews with the most fascinating people in soccer, at every level of the game and from all around the world. From investigations of powerful soccer organizations to profiles of extreme youth soccer parents; from stories about immigrant prodigies to interviews with current professionals, The People’s Game with Anders Kelto will be a breath of fresh air – and it will dig into issues that the mainstream soccer media tends to ignore.

In fact, the first episode of the podcast is already up. It’s a conversation I had with Cristian Roldan, the Seattle Sounders star and U.S. Men’s National Team midfielder, who almost fell through the cracks of the U.S.’s pay-to-play youth soccer system growing up in East Los Angeles, and who is now representing the U.S. at the 2026 World Cup. You can check out that episode here.

I hope you’ll follow my adventures during the World Cup and beyond. You can sign up for email updates. Subscribe to the podcast. Follow me on social media. Share my work with anyone you know who might be interested. And please send me your story ideas – I’d love to know what you want me to dig into, during the World Cup and beyond. No story is too big or too small.

You can also make a donation to help support The People’s Game. This is a self-funded project, inspired by the belief that journalism and storytelling can help make soccer more fair, accessible, and entertaining, at every level of the sport. Basically, I’m creating something that I wish existed, and I hope it grows over time. (Thanks to members of the ‘Founding Circle’ who helped me get it up and running, both financially and emotionally).

I hope you enjoy the World Cup, flawed as it will be. I’ve just arrived in Mexico, and will be here through the opening match on June 11th. After that, I hope to see many of you on the road – preferably at a pickup game, crowded stadium, or sticky-floored soccer bar.

-Anders