“It seems quite obvious for the World Cup, but you can’t play in some places in summer, so we might have to change the calendar.” With these words, delivered during the European Football Clubs Assembly, Gianni Infantino, president of FIFA, reignited a debate that could once again reshape the future of international football. He presented it as a simple idea, but it sounds more like a calculated attempt to prepare fans for a change that seems increasingly likely: another winter World Cup, perhaps in Saudi Arabia. As happened with Qatar, there is a growing sense that money continues to dictate the direction of the game’s biggest decisions.
FIFA argues that moving the tournament to cooler months is a matter of health and climate. It’s true that staging a competition in the middle of summer in certain countries is practically impossible, both for safety reasons and for the players’ physical well-being. Yet if the real goal were to protect the athletes, the debate about the global calendar should be approached in a comprehensive, coordinated way — not through isolated adjustments whenever a host nation faces extreme weather.
A calendar on the edge
Holding a World Cup in winter, or even in months such as March or October — an idea Infantino has also hinted at — would completely reshape the structure of club competitions. Domestic leagues would have to start earlier, group stages of the Champions League and Europa League would be squeezed into shorter windows, and the players’ rest periods would all but disappear. The weather might improve, but the overload of matches and the physical strain would remain unchanged.
The international calendar is already set until 2030, leaving little room for drastic alterations. However, the 2030 World Cup, to be hosted by Spain, Portugal, and Morocco, could become a chance to promote a truly collaborative rethink. This isn’t about improvisation — it’s about building consensus between clubs, national teams, players, and federations. What’s missing isn’t time, but the willingness to design a fairer, more balanced schedule, whatever the host nation may be.
Who decides, and for whom?
The central question remains unanswered: who really decides the football calendar? Infantino speaks of the need to “reflect”, yet never specifies who will be doing the reflecting, or in whose interest. Players and coaches have almost no say in decisions that directly affect their physical and mental well-being. Modern football may be full of committees and conferences, but it listens less and less to those who actually play the game.
Fans, too, are often left out of the equation. Every change in dates, schedules, or the distance between venues affects their ability to travel, plan, or simply enjoy the tournament. FIFA seems more concerned with broadcast rights and global audiences than with the experience of those who fill the stands. Football, once a shared cultural celebration, now bends increasingly to the logic of the market and the interests of sponsors.
Between business and coherence
The heat is a valid argument — but the contradictions are impossible to ignore. The 2030 World Cup will take place in Spain, Portugal, and Morocco, three countries where summers are growing hotter each year. In those same months, domestic leagues and European competitions continue to schedule matches during peak temperatures. The sport claims to care for players, yet repeatedly forces them to compete under conditions that push them to their limits.
Football needs to rethink itself — not only to adapt to the climate, but to rediscover its essence. For decades, it was players and supporters who gave the game its shape and soul. Today, however, every major decision seems to come from a boardroom, a contract, or a financial forecast. Money is no longer just part of football; it has become its invisible referee. And though the ball still rolls, at times it feels as if the game no longer belongs to those who made it eternal.
