On the Feb. 17 episode of Unfiltered Soccer, Tim Howard argued that CONCACAF should “never” get as many as seven World Cup places (including an intercontinental playoff spot). To make the point, he used Curaçao as the example of a lopsided game — a hypothetical Germany vs. Curaçao match ending “nine nothing” in Houston — and said that kind of game “shouldn’t be important to anybody else.”
It should.
Not because anyone is asking fans to prefer a mismatch over a heavyweight showdown. Not because every match will be close. But because Howard’s argument gets the basics wrong: what the World Cup is, how teams earn their way in, and what Curaçao had to do to be there.
Curaçao didn’t get invited. Curaçao qualified.
Curaçao clinched its first-ever World Cup berth by finishing top of its qualifying group after a 0-0 draw at National Stadium in Kingston, Jamaica.
That is the opposite of a handout. It is the sport working the way it’s supposed to work: results decide who gets in.
And it matters what that path looked like in 2026 qualifying. In a normal cycle, CONCACAF would have more direct qualifying places available. But three places were already off the table because the co-hosts — the United States, Mexico and Canada — were automatic entrants. That left the rest of the region chasing fewer direct tickets, plus playoff routes.
So when Howard talks like this is a watered-down achievement, he’s brushing past the obvious: Curaçao didn’t “get in” because the tournament expanded. Curaçao got in because it won its race under the rules in front of it.
“They’ll get smoked” isn’t analysis. It’s a guess.
Howard’s forecast — three games, “absolutely smoked,” something like 20 goals conceded — is not a fact. It’s a prediction dressed up like certainty.
But this is exactly where his argument collapses. Soccer is not a spreadsheet. A World Cup match is not decided by the size of a country or the fame of a badge.
Curaçao already proved it can handle pressure, because qualifying came down to a must-get result on the road — and it got it in Kingston. That doesn’t guarantee wins at the World Cup. Nothing does. But it does show a team that can organize, defend, and stay alive in a high-stakes game.
And even if a team loses at the World Cup, that does not mean it didn’t belong. The whole point of qualifying is that you earn the right to test yourself against the world. If we decide outcomes before kickoff, then we’re not protecting the “beautiful game.” We’re replacing competition with branding.
Blowouts happen — even to giants.
Howard’s “nine nothing” image is meant to scare people into thinking the tournament will be a parade of mismatches. But blowouts are not new, and they are not limited to small nations.
Sometimes the biggest teams are the ones on the wrong end:
- Brazil lost 7-1 to Germany in the 2014 World Cup semifinal.
- Spain lost 5-1 to the Netherlands in the 2014 World Cup group stage.
- Argentina lost 4-0 to Germany in the 2010 World Cup quarterfinals.
- England lost 4-1 to Germany in the 2010 World Cup round of 16.
And yes, big wins happen over smaller opponents too:
- Spain beat Costa Rica 7-0 at the 2022 World Cup.
- England beat Panama 6-1 at the 2018 World Cup.
So if the claim is “a big scoreline means the game is pointless,” the World Cup itself disproves that. Big scorelines show up even when only “big names” are involved. Form swings. Styles clash. Pressure hits. That’s the tournament.
The money isn’t a giveaway. It’s a reward — and it changes what’s possible.
Howard’s alternative was basically this: if smaller federations need help, FIFA can support them financially without putting them on the sport’s biggest stage.
But that misses what World Cup qualification does that a check alone can’t.
First, it is earned. FIFA has approved a payout structure for 2026 that guarantees participating member associations at least USD 10.5 million (including preparation costs), with more for teams that advance.
Second, it brings a country into a different level of attention and expectation. The World Cup isn’t just money. It’s a spotlight that can attract sponsors, sharpen standards, energize youth participation, and pull in diaspora support in a way that normal development funding rarely does.
Yes, that kind of windfall has to be handled responsibly. But that’s a separate argument — and it’s not solved by pushing a qualified team out of the picture. If anything, the World Cup stage brings more scrutiny than a quiet grant ever will.
The World Cup is supposed to be bigger than the familiar names.
Howard says he cares about the “global showcase” of soccer. Fine. Then respect the part that makes it global: the World Cup is not a greatest-hits tour for the same small circle of countries. It’s the one event where the sport’s promise is supposed to be true — that any nation can earn a place, take the field, and be judged by what happens between the lines.
That’s not sentimentality. That’s the product. The World Cup works because it mixes the expected with the unexpected. The giants bring the standard. The newcomers bring urgency — players who treat every tackle like it might change the direction of football back home. That urgency is not “filler.” It’s part of what gives the tournament its edge.
And the “familiar names” don’t lose anything by sharing the stage. They gain pressure-tested opponents with nothing to lose, different styles that don’t always match the script, and a tournament that stays emotionally alive beyond the same old rivalries. Fans don’t show up only for perfection. They show up for stakes, story, and the rare chance to see a team represent an entire country in one match.
If you shrink the World Cup to avoid the risk of a lopsided scoreline, you don’t protect the sport — you narrow it. You turn the biggest tournament into something smaller than the world it claims to represent.
The point of qualifying is that countries earn their right to be seen. Curaçao did exactly that.
Now let the matches decide the rest.