Dr. Nancy Harrington
is an Adjunct Scholar within the School of Kinesiology at Western University. Her research interests include the nexus of disability and sport and how sport can be a tool for authentic inclusion and social change. Her work with Commonwealth Sport and most recently Invictus Games 2025 examined the relevance and impact of diverse models for sport participation. Currently she is participating in a Caribbean-led project that aims to grow para/Para sport capacity in-region, and to develop alternative ways to deliver classification utilizing digital technologies. She holds Diploma in Sport Physiotherapy, has worked at numerous multi-sport Games, attended six Paralympic Games, and served as Chief Therapist for four of these Games.
Email: nquinn9@uwo
Admittedly I have indulged in more football watching than I care to admit over these 5 weeks of football mania, and have enjoyed more than anticipated, the social camaraderie generated by the sporting spectacle of FIFA World Cup 2026. However, for many reasons I did not attend a match in-person. Yet, I could have. In fact, other than my gender and heterosexuality, I am representative of FIFA’s target market.
I am white, wealthy, and I walk.
Perhaps this positionality, my whiteness, my wealth and my normative mobility, is the reason why I chose to be absent from the many host stadiums, where happy crowds of joyful football fans celebrated their sport, their cultural identities, and perhaps forgot the woes of the world for 90 minutes (+/- additional time, however that is actually calculated).
Call me a conscientious abstainer.
Much has been written about the exclusionary practices around FIFA World Cup 2026, in traditional media and sport scholarship. All but a tiny percentage of the global population were economically excluded by ticket pricing. In 2026, tickets for the group stage, were as much as 63% more expensive than a similar ticket at this same event, just four years ago in Qatar. The threat and practice of military-style policing in host cities, particularly in the United States were sufficient to deter non-Caucasian American citizens from purchasing tickets, due to a rational fear of harassment or arrest. Social exclusion based on skin colour and ethnicity was even more acute for Americans who call the US home, residents with black and brown skin, identifiable by the clothing of their culture, their language, or in fact the nation they supported during FIFA 2026 and live without documentation. Dynamic pricing coupled with militarized immigration enforcement prevented these Americans from attending a match and forced some to retreat from the everyday practices of life during this sporting spectacle — to stay at home, abstain from work and school and faith services, to become invisible, just to be safe.
I have chosen to highlight how FIFA 2026 has failed miserably to include, to make welcome, those who don’t walk, those whose bodies move, see, hear, behave differently. In 2026, this cohort of people remain marginalized, economically, socially and politically, even in the Global North. FIFA’s Disability Tool Kit and the storm of rhetoric — ‘football unites the world’ was grossly insufficient to foster in-person participation of football fans with disabilities.
To reiterate, I do not live with a disability. I walk. The critical lens I bring to this piece is informed by decades of involvement with athletes and non-athletes living with disabilities. As is often the case, what little information I could find about the experiences of football fans with disabilities at this World Cup focused on those who use wheelchairs. Once again, those with mobility impairment are the de facto representatives of the diverse population of people who live with disability.
Football has long been regarded as a very accessible sport. It is a game of many; equipment is minimal and inexpensive, and physical access to a pitch is straightforward. In some parts of the world, the exponential growth of football for ‘all abilities’, for those with visual impairment or ‘blind soccer’, those with physical disabilities, for women and girls, and powerchair football, is real. Despite these deep roots in accessibility, accessible tickets for the group stage in 2026 were 38 times more expensive than four years previously in Qatar. At World Cup 2022, a football fan with a disability purchased their ticket for approximately $10 USD and just four years later, this same ticket ranged in price from $140-450 USD. In 2026, no proof was required to purchase an accessible seat, such that eager fans without disabilities could purchase. In 2026, no discount was provided for accessible parking at stadiums, with group stage prices ranging from $125-300. In Qatar, fans who purchased an accessible seat were provided the option of a complimentary companion seat, to share with family or friend or support person. In 2026, companion seats were not offered at time of purchase, nor were they complimentary. The number of these seats was limited, and in fact, were found ‘for sale’ on general sale sites. Ironically, FIFA would not guarantee that a companion seat would be adjacent to the accessible ticket, only that “companions will be seated as close as possible to you”.
The intersection of economic, physical and social exclusion of football fans with disabilities was staggering. As for FIFA’s Disability Football Toolkit, mentioned often by the media, this resource has nothing to do with fans of the game attending World Cup 2026 in Canada, US, and Mexico. Rather, ‘the toolkit has been designed to support the global advancement and sustainability of Disability Football opportunities and structures and the inclusive and active participation of disabled people in all aspects of the beautiful game”. Note in all aspects of the game. Perhaps though not as a fan?
To conclude, I suggest that this event was a “perfect cover for rights violations”, a space of profound exclusion. Is football really the “people’s game?”. Football fans who are not white, who are not wealthy and for those who don’t walk, might argue otherwise.
