Reclaim the glory

Dr Fahim Chand | Monday October 27, 2025 15:44

On the field, competition distills our restless energy into something beautifully civilised: rules instead of chaos, sportsmanship instead of savagery. We run, leap, and dive not to survive the day, but to prove, if only for a moment, that we can rise above it.

And perhaps, that’s the secret thrill: every contest a modern ritual, reminding us that even when the stakes are nothing more than bragging rights, the fire that once kept us alive still burns, only now, it cheers from the stands.

The rise of pixels, silicon, and circuitry transformed our ancient competitive instincts, inviting them indoors through glowing screens and handheld controllers.

Suddenly, our living rooms became stadiums, our PlayStations and Xboxes, the new arenas where World Cups unfolded on command.

The ascent of eSports even gifted our lexicon a new word: gamer. Today, virtual athletes draw audiences rivaling traditional sports, with prize pools that can make champions millionaires. But even for casual players, competition remains fierce.

Game nights at home erupt in laughter, taunts, and desperate button-mashing. And it was in this glittering cyber coliseum that I once prepared to face my elder son, Ayaan.

We’d been gaming together since he first learnt to hold a controller, each session sharpening his skill, each victory of mine feeling like it might be my last. I once wore the family gaming crown with pride... until, at the tender age of seven, Ayaan began dethroning me with unsettling regularity.

So when we squared off in FIFA, his beloved Chelsea against my eternally hopeful Arsenal, I was determined to reclaim some glory. Against all odds, I led as the final seconds ticked away, defending with the panic of a man guarding his legacy.

But as fate (and Arsenal fandom) would have it, Ayaan calmly slotted home an equaliser in the dying moments. I yelped in disbelief; he merely smiled, that quiet, knowing smile of someone who had already seen the ending. Extra time beckoned. I refused a draw, pressed “Continue” like a man possessed. My heart thudded, adrenaline surged, and I unleashed every tactical trick I knew.

Yet, with clinical grace, Ayaan countered, slipped past my keeper, and once again claimed the trophy, the undisputed video game champion of the Chand household. The crown had passed. Not with a roar, but with a smirk. Ayaan and I share a bond forged in the language of sport. I played just about everything growing up, while he took it a step further, donning national colours and representing Botswana on the international stage.

Together, we’ve stood shoulder to shoulder in packed stadiums, swept up by the electric pulse of thousands of fans roaring in unison. And as the 2026 Football World Cup edges closer, spanning the United States, Mexico, and Canada, we find our excitement mounting once again.

Ticket sales have already begun, and curiosity led me to investigate. The results were enough to send even a seasoned supporter into extra time shock.

FIFA, ever the master of monetisation, has priced tickets from Category 1 (the best seats) to Category 4 (binoculars required). In some U.S. venues, only Category 1 seats remain, $620 apiece for group matches. Hospitality packages?

A cool $3,000 to $5,000, rising to over $10,000 for the knockout rounds. And no, those aren’t typos. People will pay them. Somewhere between the spreadsheets and the sponsorships, the soul of the game feels misplaced, its once-pure spirit traded for corporate glitz and profit margins.

The wealthy will fill the stands, while the true faithful, who live and breathe their teams week after week, will cheer from their couches. Most will tune in to watch the swan songs of legends, Messi and Ronaldo bidding the world farewell.

As for me, I’ll still be cheering for Argentina and every African side that graces the pitch. But deep down, the match I’m most eager for won’t be in any stadium. It’ll be in our living room, me versus Ayaan, our own father-son World Cup, where tickets are free and pride is priceless.