THE 2026 World Cup may be played more than 13,000km away across 16 cities in the United States, Mexico and Canada, but its impact is felt everywhere in Malaysia.
The usual beneficiaries, mamak restaurants, sports bars and sports equipment retailers, live for moments like this. While the restaurant cashier struggles to consistently calculate the total price of two pieces of ayam goreng, a fried egg and nasi putih, he somehow transforms into a Harvard-trained economist when forecasting the month’s football-driven revenue.
In many ways, the World Cup is not merely a football tournament. It is an economic tournament too. Perhaps no business sector understands this better than the humble mamak restaurant.
While football fans passionately debate which nation will lift the trophy, mamak operators are preparing for a month-long tournament of their own.
Matches kicking off at midnight or three o’clock in the morning are not viewed as inconveniences. They are viewed as “extra-time” business hours.
A football match that lasts 90 minutes somehow becomes a three-hour social gathering. Fans arrive early, stay late, and continue ordering food long after declaring, “Bro, I’m damn full already.”
Tables remain occupied for hours. Orders of roti canai, Maggi goreng, nasi lemak and endless rounds of teh tarik continue flowing throughout the night.
“We went there for one hot Milo and ended up having supper, second supper and breakfast,” explained a panda-eyed England fan when questioned by his wife about his mysterious five-hour disappearance.
Then there is Malaysia’s unofficial national pastime during football tournaments: snacking. Every four years, football fans suddenly become elite-level snack consumers.
Potato chips vanish from 7-Eleven shelves. Pagoda peanuts become strategic match-day supplies.
Popcorn, instant noodles, soft drinks, ice cream and energy drinks find their way into homes at a rate that would trigger concern from most nutritionists and cardiologists.
The tournament also creates another familiar phenomenon: the great television upgrade. A perfectly acceptable 40-inch television in May suddenly becomes unacceptable by June. Nothing less than a 70-inch screen will do.
“It’s not a luxury purchase,“ one fan insists. Another adds, “It’s an investment in football analysis.”
The spending rarely stops there, as a bigger television soon leads to another realisation. “If I’m going to spend a month watching football every night, I might as well be comfortable.”
Sofas, recliners, bean bags and coffee tables suddenly become part of the football conversation. Living rooms evolve into miniature stadiums designed for maximum comfort and minimum movement.
The World Cup’s economic influence, however, stretches far beyond businesses traditionally associated with football. Modern football viewing has created another unlikely winner: delivery riders.
Millions of fans now choose to watch matches from the comfort of their homes. Once firmly moulded into their newly purchased sofa, plastic wrapping still proudly intact, many become reluctant to leave their viewing position for any reason whatsoever.
Food delivery becomes the preferred solution, arriving faster than Kylian Mbappe on a counterattack. Supper, desserts, drinks and fast food are ordered throughout the tournament.
Official jerseys remain popular, but the economic impact extends well beyond the usual Al-Ikhsan outlets. Printing businesses, embroidery shops, custom apparel providers and online sellers all benefit from supporters wanting personalised football gear.
Every tournament creates new heroes, and every new hero creates new jersey sales. By the end of the tournament, half the buyers are still unsure how to pronounce his surname. When the World Cup arrives, everyone suddenly becomes a football expert.
The pakcik Grab predicts Argentina will retain the title. The bubbly kakak kuih seller confidently declares that Cristiano Ronaldo will finally win the one trophy missing from his collection. Meanwhile, the Nepalese security guard insists football is finally “coming home” to England.
Speaking of predictions, who can deny that the office World Cup betting pool often attracts more participation than the weekly sales meeting?
And finally, the most unexpected World Cup beneficiary: wedding planners.
“My girlfriend and I watched the 2006 World Cup final between Italy and France at a public viewing event in Bukit Bintang,” recalled former Malaysian international captain Muhammad Shahrom Abdul Kalam.
The silky defender, now a coach with Selangor FC, added: “Immediately after Italy won, I proposed to her on the spot, and she said yes.”
Not every World Cup produces a marriage proposal, but some tournaments apparently “deliver” far more than trophies. In Shahrom’s case, it delivered a wife and, years later, enough family members to field a respectable five-a-side team.
Coach Chris Arief is an Asian-level certified football coach, youth development junkie, and collector of colourful training markers and cones. He can be reached at [email protected]
