In a previous life as a freelance writer, I was so desperate for work that I would basically take any job on offer, which is how I ended up writing advertising slogans for a large hospitality group. Whenever they wanted to promote an upcoming sporting event with whatever food and drink deals they had on offer, I was the man they’d call. Mostly it was stuff like, “Mate of Origin: Two-for-one schooners before kick-off!” or “Fries and tries: $5 chips when your team scores!”
Historically, these kinds of promo-puns have been exclusively reserved for Australia’s major sporting codes – AFL and rugby league – and never the beautiful game. Until now.
The 2026 FIFA World Cup is under way, jointly hosted by three North American countries (the USA, Mexico and Canada), which means time zone-friendly air times for Australians. According to my data analysis, about 69 per cent of all live matches will air between 6am and 4.30pm AEST, with most of the group stage matches occurring during the day.
My local pub is already capitalising on this, running a “Hugs and Jugs” promotion for the World Cup. It’s hard to tell exactly what’s on offer based on the poster, which is just a bunch of people hugging, but I presume it’s something to do with cheap jugs. I only know this because a friend of mine who hates football but loves discounts sent me a photo of it along with the words: “Could be a fun day out?”
Perhaps it could be, yes, but the World Cup isn’t about a fun day out, and it never has been.
The World Cup is about torturous late nights and early mornings. It’s about setting your alarm for 1.15am, hearing it go off, wondering if it’s worth it, before deciding you absolutely have to get up because what kind of football fan would you be if you missed Slovenia v Ivory Coast?
Normal time zones are democratic, which is exactly what’s wrong with them.
This World Cup is already at risk of not feeling special given the tournament has expanded to 48 teams, up from 32, which basically made it impossible not to qualify (unless, of course, you are Italian)! But now we have to live with the reality that so many of the games are taking place during the workday.
Is there a more depressing thought than being in a 10am meeting on a Tuesday, listening to a colleague discuss how AI can streamline efficiency (I assume this is what most meetings are about now), when you could be watching Norway v Senegal which kicks off at, you guessed it, 10am?
We already got a taste of just how tragic this workplace clash could be when the Socceroos started their World Cup campaign with a famous victory against Turkey last weekend.
Luckily kick-off was 2pm on a Sunday, but imagine the absolute catastrophe if that game had been at 2pm on Tuesday? Politely excusing yourself from the strategy session so you can scream “IRANKKKKKKUNDDDDDDAAAA” in the work kitchen.
As far as I can tell, the problems with the “friendly” time zones are twofold. First, even if you do manage to carve out time to watch a match, you won’t truly enjoy it because we have too many boring-but-important daytime obligations.
During week one of the tournament, I was excited to see South Korea (my favourite of the Koreas) take on Czechia at the allegedly convenient time of Friday 12pm. But do you know what happened at 11.58am? My son’s daycare called to say he “had a temperature” and “seemed lethargic”. Personally, I thought he seemed fine, if not a little limp, but the point is these are the kind of issues that only arise in the daytime.
At the decidedly unfriendly time of 3.15am, no one is calling, texting or emailing. Real life is still a few hours away, and in the darkness it’s just you, the TV and the greatest game on earth.
Second, normal time zones are democratic, which is exactly what’s wrong with them. A daytime World Cup invites the casuals, the tourists and the people who just want an excuse to drink a beer and talk over the commentary. They ask questions like, “Wait, which ones are the Socceroos again?” or make the dreaded “Go sportsball!” jokes.
I did not endure endless wogball comments in the playground just to have the same people suddenly join the bandwagon, sidling up alongside me in a pub to ask how the offside rule works.
The graveyard shift acts as a beautiful, elitist cultural filter. Only the true believers, purists and lunatics wake up for a 2.45am group stage match between Australia and Paraguay. A special club where everyone has earned their seat (and knows how the offside rule works).
Obviously, the World Cup is still magic, no matter the time zone, and at some point I will probably attend my local pub to drink a jug and hug a stranger. But deep down, just know that I am waiting for 2030, when Spain, Portugal and Morocco co-host the tournament, and catching a game will require real commitment. Only then, in the wee hours, will the true lunatics reclaim the night.
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Thomas Mitchell was a culture reporter and columnist at The Age and The Sydney Morning Herald.Connect via X or email.
