World Cup? Realistically, half or more of the 48 competing teams have no chance at all. Discard those (even thought experiments have limits). Next, for fairness and excitement, ditch the eight countries that have won before (yes, even England, whose sole triumph was 60 years ago). That eliminates most of the favourites. Of the rest, the leading candidates fall into two categories. The first group are plucky small countries with the talent to beat the population odds. As Simon Kuper writes in his delightful memoir, “World Cup Fever”, the tournament offers a topsy-turvy global hierarchy in which America “is an also-ran and China doesn’t even figure”. His team, the Netherlands, is a smallish nation that has reached three finals and has a fighting chance this time. Then again, as Mr Kuper acknowledges, the Netherlands is already a happy, successful place; it has no deep need or neurosis for football to dispel. In its 35 years as an independent state, Croatia—population: under 4m—has astonishingly reached three semi-finals. As Aleksandar Holiga, a Croatian journalist, puts it, football is a rare field in which his country can say, “We are among the best in the world.” On balance, though, the most deserving tiddler is Portugal, which has achieved less and waited longer, while enduring dictatorship and economic malaise. “Portugal is an obsessed country,” Miguel Pereira, a football writer, says of its fixation with the sport. In a place that has produced great players but not a world-beating team, winning would spark “ecstasy and joy”. (It might also make Cristiano Ronaldo, a preening superannuated megastar, even more insufferable.) The other worthy group comprises larger, football-loving countries that have always fallen short. Japanese fans, for instance, still mourn “the devastation of Rostov” of 2018, when their side surrendered a 2-0 lead against Belgium, and “the agony of Doha” in 1993, when a late Iraqi goal kept them out of the tournament. The team’s evolution has reflected Japan’s integration with the world, reckons Dan Orlowitz, a journalist based there. “It would be massive” if it won. Disqualifyingly, however, baseball, not football, is the country’s biggest sport. (America is ineligible on similar grounds.) No African country has won a World Cup. Senegal, one of Africa’s strongest contenders, is mired in the political fallout of a debt crisis. But, says Elimane
Ndao, a correspondent with France 24, “Whenever the national team plays, everyone forgets the political problems.” Its most cherished World Cup moment was a 1-0 defeat of France, the former colonial power, in 2002; the scorer led the team in a dance at a corner flag. If it won, the country would celebrate “for a week—or a month”. Then there is Morocco, which four years ago reached the semi-finals. That enhanced its reputation, says Samir Bennis, a political adviser and co- founder of Morocco World News, showing the country “can shine on the world stage”. When the team is playing, “life in Morocco freezes,” says Mr Bennis. “Everyone is watching and praying for victory.” But it might be even sweeter for Africa’s apotheosis to come in 2030, when Morocco is among the hosts. All in all, Latin America is where a first-time victory would bestow the greatest happiness on the greatest number. Colombia is in the middle of a fraught presidential election; football is “the main unifying factor in the country”, says Ricardo Ávila of El Tiempo, a daily. But winning would mean most in Mexico, a soccer-mad country of 133m. “We all believe in Our Lady of Guadalupe,” jokes León Krauze, a columnist and podcaster, “but our one true religion is football.” For millions of Mexicans in America, he notes, the team is a last link to their homeland. Winning “would do wonders for a country that has faced many hardships”, including excoriation by Donald Trump. Imagine him presenting the trophy to Mexico’s captain. “The intensity of emotion”, recalled Pelé, a three-time champion, of seeing Brazil lift the cup, “was like nothing I had ever known.” Who will feel it this time? In reality the likeliest winners are France and Spain. Still, like past favourites, they may be undone by a dud referee or a scuffed penalty kick. For poetic justice and maximum drama, in the World Cup final on July 19th, Mexico would play—and beat—Portugal. It might happen. Until the whistle blows, we can all hope. ■ This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//culture/2026/06/05/who-should-win-the-world-cup
The most hated countries at the FIFA World Cup What national anthems reveal about old enemies June 11th 2026 National anthems are among the world’s most recognisable and widely performed political texts. Many were written to rally troops, celebrate victory in war or unite new states. Today these battle cries are most often heard at sporting events. Before each match at the World Cup, teams will sing songs of the conflicts that once divided them. Forty-eight countries will compete in the group stages this year, up from 32. Which ones will appear most often as enemies in the tournament’s national anthems? To find out, The Economist used AI tools to analyse the translated lyrics of every competing country’s song. To start, we ranked villains according to where there were explicit mentions of countries, specific battles, historical figures and symbols. Anthems with no official lyrics, such as Spain’s and Bosnia and Herzegovina’s, were excluded from the analysis. Spain is the most hated country in our textual analysis, appearing in three national anthems. Perhaps this is because Spain’s former colonies and territories were more likely than Britain’s to gain independence through revolutionary wars. Ecuador’s anthem recalls how “the toppled lion could be heard, as it roared in impotence and despair.” The Dutch—hardly strangers to empires themselves—are less subtle: “The Spaniards rape thee, my Netherlands so sweet.” (We analysed the full official lyrics, including verses rarely sung at matches.)
The results rely on interpretation: anthems are often poetic and rarely specify exactly who they want dead. When factoring in historical context, our analysis suggests that at least nine additional national anthems allude to other countries, including a reference to Britain in America’s anthem. Spain once again takes first place. National anthems are an unusually macabre genre. All but eight countries competing in the World Cup make some reference to violence, whether through soldiers, armour, threats, descriptions of historical battles or explicit calls to arms. Nineteenth-century writers were especially fond of bloodshed; our analysis found that anthems adopted more recently tend to be less fierce and battle-hungry. Portugal’s anthem, originally written as a protest song against Britain, is unusually bellicose. It contains 11 references to violence per 100 words, compared with a tournament average of roughly two. It calls citizens “às armas!” (to arms) 12 times. By this measure, Portugal has the World Cup’s most combative anthem. Though others sound ready for a fight, too. The French warn dramatically that foreign soldiers are coming “to cut the throats of your sons and consorts”, while Uruguay’s and Tunisia’s tout the glory of martyrdom.
Not all anthems are so sanguinary. Some of history’s most notorious invaders sing remarkably peaceful songs. Britain’s anthem asks God to save its king (although Scotland’s unofficial anthem mocks King Edward II). Germany’s celebrates freedom, unity and happiness. Japan’s hopes the emperor will reign until little pebbles grow into moss-covered boulders. Two of the World Cup’s hosts—America and Mexico—have similar themes of freedom, conflict and religion, although Mexico’s contains more than twice as many references to violence. Written during an era of territorial loss and invasion by America and other foreign powers, it imagines its national flag drenched in waves of blood. Canada’s, meanwhile, contains no references to conflict and is typically polite: “with glowing hearts we see thee rise.” (Its official lyrics were even updated in 2018 to be more gender- neutral.) Football fans rarely pay much attention to the lyrics echoing around a stadium before a match. But these anthems are rousing epics of conquest, liberation, sacrifice and murder. Fortunately, this summer’s hard-fought football contests will be settled by goals, not guns. ■ For more on the latest books, films, TV shows, albums and controversies, sign up to Plot Twist, our weekly subscriber-only newsletter This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//culture/2026/06/11/the-most-hated-countries-at-the-fifa- world-cup
Steven Spielberg has more to say about aliens Returning to them in “Disclosure Day”, the great director raises the stakes June 11th 2026 You can learn about battles in a war film. A romantic comedy may offer tips about courtship. But alien movies can tell you nothing about aliens. Their message is always about human beings. Steven Spielberg’s alien oeuvre has some enduring morals. Don’t trust the government. Your loved ones may not understand you. Find your way home if you can. “Disclosure Day”, his new release, adds a cosmic plea: give peace a chance. Breathless and occasionally baffling, the plot of “Disclosure Day” is hard to summarise, but here goes: nuclear conflict looms in America. Yet Daniel (Josh O’Connor), a renegade cyber-security guy, has bigger worries. He is on the run from Wardex, a sinister agency, and its haunted boss (Colin Firth), identifiable as a villain by his posh English drawl. Daniel plans to