Lionel Messi bent in a free kick to win it. But most of the upper deck was empty.

That moment — Inter Miami 2, FC Porto 1, in front of just 31,783 fans in a 71,000-seat NFL stadium — sums up the strange reality of the first expanded 32-team FIFA Club . On one side: dazzling highlights, global stars, and passionate away ends. On the other hand, sparsely populated arenas, awkward kickoff times, and growing questions about whether this was ever built for fans.

This was supposed to be a statement event. FIFA billed it as the world’s first true global championship for clubs, promising blockbuster attendance, thrilling matchups, and a commercial engine to rival the men’s World Cup. Instead, we’re watching two very different tournaments unfold: one built for cameras and sponsors, the other struggling to connect with local fans on the ground.

Two different worlds

Let’s start with the numbers.

  • Ulsan Hyundai vs. Mamelodi Sundowns drew just 3,412 fans — barely 13% capacity in Orlando.
  • Inter Miami vs. Porto, featuring Lionel Messi, managed 31,783. That’s less than half full in Atlanta’s Mercedes-Benz Stadium.
  • Seattle Sounders vs. Atlético Madrid pulled in 51,636, a strong turnout for a midweek game with European flair.
  • PSG vs. Atlético Madrid shattered attendance records with 80,619 in Pasadena.

It’s a tournament of extremes. One day, you get a packed Rose Bowl pulsing with energy, the next a sleepy crowd in a half-empty NFL stadium. On average, attendance hovers around 34,000 — not terrible, but not the sweeping success FIFA had envisioned. Of the first 16 matches, half played to less than 50% capacity. Tarps draped over empty sections have become an unintentional motif of the competition.

FIFA says 1.5 million tickets were “distributed,” but that figure glosses over the details. Thousands were heavily discounted or given away to students and local youth clubs. Initial pricing was wildly out of step with the market — some final tickets started at $2,200. When backlash hit, FIFA scrambled to drop prices by as much as 90% to save face.

Still, even discounted seats haven’t guaranteed crowds. Some fans are simply not showing up. Others never felt included to begin with.

Built for screens, not

What’s alienating fans? A perfect storm of planning decisions that prioritized TV revenue and global optics over matchday experience.

Start with kickoff times. Many games kick off at 1pm or 3pm local time, midweek, in sweltering cities like Miami and Atlanta. That’s good for primetime in Europe, but terrible for American fans juggling work, school, and oppressive heat.

Then there’s the issue of relevance. In cities like Orlando and Houston, locals have little connection to clubs like Wydad Casablanca or Kawasaki Frontale. The result? Thousands of empty seats and confusion among casual fans. A staffer working concessions in Miami admitted, “Most people don’t know who these teams are. They just came for Messi.”

And that’s the deeper problem. Without national colors, regional rivalries, or a clear sense of stakes, the Club World Cup is struggling to spark emotion. The history and tension of Champions League nights or Copa Libertadores clashes are missing. Even with world-class talent on the pitch, many group stage games feel like glorified exhibitions.

Add in the calendar crunch — European players just wrapped grueling domestic seasons, and some coaches are openly rotating to avoid burnout — and the matches sometimes lack urgency. It’s no surprise some fans have walked away wondering: What exactly is this tournament trying to be?

The fans who did show up

That said, not everyone is staying home.

South American fans have brought energy and a sense of identity to the competition. drew 55,000 to Hard Rock Stadium. Palmeiras supporters lit up Times Square with banners and flares. Their passion hasn’t just traveled — it’s transformed neutral venues into home games.

African and Asian fans, too, have found reasons to care. For Al Ahly or Urawa Red Diamonds, this is a rare global showcase, and the pride runs deep. Online forums and social media lit up when those teams won, and for their players, the chance to face Europe’s elite on neutral ground is a milestone moment.

And when the big clubs do show up with intent, the tournament does feel electric. PSG’s demolition of Atlético Madrid. Messi’s free-kick winner. Real Madrid easing into gear. These are the glimpses of what FIFA envisioned — a World Cup for clubs, filled with drama and star power. But they’ve been fleeting.

There’s no doubt the concept works in flashes. But the question remains: can it sustain excitement beyond the handful of glamour fixtures?

What happens next?

FIFA is still calling it a success. They’ve landed a $1.08 billion streaming deal with DAZN. Global sponsors like Coca-Cola and Budweiser are on board. And with knockout rounds approaching, marquee clashes could yet draw huge crowds and deliver drama on par with any Champions League night.

But the first half of the tournament has exposed a truth that money can’t paper over. You can’t manufacture legacy overnight. You can’t force atmosphere with ad budgets. And you can’t price out your own fans, then expect loyalty when you need it most.

In the U.S., especially, where soccer still fights for mainstream relevance, FIFA may have overestimated its draw. A glitzy new tournament is only as strong as its connection to the fans. And right now, that connection feels tenuous.

The Club World Cup might be here to stay. But if it wants to thrive, it needs to evolve. That means rethinking kickoff times. Rooting teams in local communities. Building storylines fans care about. And most importantly, treating the tournament like more than just another line item in the broadcast calendar.

Because, as it stands, the 2025 Club World Cup is a spectacle — but one still searching for its soul.

What it could mean for World Cup 2026

The Club World Cup’s uneven reception might serve as a warning sign for FIFA’s grander ambitions: the 2026 men’s World Cup. While the scale and stakes of the two tournaments are vastly different, some of the same variables are in play, and some of the same missteps could be repeated.

Start with attendance. Inconsistent turnouts at the Club World Cup, particularly in non-marquee matches, highlight a disconnect between FIFA’s expectations and the actual draw of international football in the U.S. This could be even more pronounced when smaller national teams play group stage matches in unfamiliar American cities. Selling out 48-team group games across three countries won’t be guaranteed, especially if pricing and matchups don’t reflect local interests.

Scheduling and climate also loom large. Like the Club World Cup, the 2026 World Cup will feature midday kickoffs in the summer heat of North America. If those matches cater more to global TV audiences than local fans, FIFA risks undercutting the in-stadium experience — again.

There’s also a narrative challenge. The Club World Cup exposed how little fans engage with unfamiliar teams playing in neutral venues without a compelling backstory. For 2026, FIFA must elevate underdog stories, diaspora ties, and regional pride to ensure the tournament resonates beyond just the giants of Europe and South America.

Lastly, security and immigration surfaced subtly at the Club World Cup, with concerns about border enforcement and ID checks around stadiums. With 2026 being an even larger international gathering, smoother cross-border mobility and fan-friendly infrastructure will be vital.

In short, the 2025 Club World Cup was supposed to be a showcase — but it’s functioning more like a dress rehearsal. If FIFA listens, adjusts, and learns, it could still get the big one right.