Here’s hoping this World Cup doesn’t ruin football for the kids

My son has joined an important protest movement. He told me about it in hushed tones on Thursday evening as we discussed his day. Some boys in year six had started it, he said, and he was with them, a signatory to their petition. The cause? England’s hopes and dreams at the World Cup. The demand? That the headteacher allow them to down pencils and watch the Three Lions’ match against Iran on Monday.

I expressed some doubt that the school would accede to the request, but the conviction of the rebel would not be shaken. I didn’t dare ask what the back-up plan might be, although the prospect of small children storming the staff room to bagsie the telly is not entirely displeasing.

All in all, I admire the spirit of the plotters, and yet I am struggling to share their enthusiasm. This is my son’s first World Cup – or the first he is truly aware of. His joy at the prospect has brought back happy memories for me of the Mexico ’86 tournament. I was seven then, as he is now, and the excitement of those few weeks was like nothing I had known before (and perhaps like nothing I’ve known since).

Subsequent editions of the competition have had their moments of course. And the tournament in Russia four years ago was – thanks to England’s run to the semis – the most thrilling for a long while, although the politics of it look even grimier with hindsight.

For Qatar ’22, however, I can muster almost no interest at all. The human rights abuses that have dogged the country’s preparations are well documented and make for grim reading. Likewise, Qatari laws on a whole range of issues are plainly at odds with the kind of tolerance and freedom that a global tournament such as the World Cup should be associated with. Add to all this the corruption allegations connected to the awarding of the tournament to Qatar in the first place, and there’s little wonder any reasonable person should feel a bit queasy about the whole shebang.

Yet even if none of those concerns existed, this World Cup would still feel wrong. The mere fact of it starting in November is a major blow. It’s conceivable, I grant you, that players might be less knackered than usual, having not played a full, gruelling domestic season yet. But where’s the drama of that standard window between Premier League ending and World Cup starting, in which the nation waits with bated breath to see whether so-and-so’s metatarsal will heal in time for the first group game, or whether the manager will make a media faux-pas in the tournament build-up? This time round, everything feels so compressed that there is no opportunity to build any tension. So far, it’s like a glorified, midweek Champions League hiatus.

Then of course there’s the fact that it’s being played in a country with no history of football, and of a size that doesn’t allow for any interesting diversity in terms of playing conditions. There can be no debate about whether playing in the west at high altitude will be more or less difficult than playing in the rainy south. Instead, there will be desultory discussion about which purpose-built, air-conditioned, environmentally – and socially – destructive stadium is more or less soulless. Qatar is a fascinating place in many ways, but not insofar as the World Cup is concerned.

Emblematic of the general state of this year’s tournament is its first fixture. Has there ever been a less appetising opener than Qatar versus Ecuador? Not by a long chalk. What’s worse is that the whole World Cup was brought forward by 24 hours so that the host’s marquee match was the only game being played on day one. I can see the theory from the hosts’ point of view, but for everyone else it’s serious damp squib territory – or it would be if there were any excitement about the match in the first place.

I’m doing my best not to let my obvious scepticism undermine my son’s eagerness. All he wants is to see Harry Kane lead England into the latter stages, and for the French to do well too on account of his love for Hugo Lloris (he’s a Spurs fan, poor boy). It doesn’t feel fair to squash a seven-year-old’s pure love for the game by lecturing him on politics, the environmental impact or any of the other issues that should matter to any adult.

For my son’s sake, I hope this World Cup – his first – lives as long and as fondly in his memory as Mexico ’86 has in mine. But for everyone else’s sake, the less said about this tournament, the better.