Tiny Qatar is introducing the robo-ball and air-conditioned outdoor stadiums, and will accommodate an unprecedented influx of tourists for the World Cup, yet until this week no one could decide on a start date for the world’s most watched sporting event. Welcome to Doha 2022. 

Fans will gather to watch the matches on tiny black-and-white television in South American shacks; they’ll cheer at city bars in Africa, in fancy European hotels, and at the delegates’ lounge in the UN’s Turtle Bay headquarters. People the world over will be glued to the soccer images being broadcast from Doha this November. 

Wait, November? The World Cup has always been played in the summer — but it won’t be in Qatar, where as of this writing a cool Doha evening clocks in at 103 degrees. By November, though, the average drops to 85, so holding the matches in air-conditioned, semi-domed stadiums should be manageable. 

A few years ago, as most of the eight stadiums around Doha were under construction, this reporter was taken on a tour of one of the facilities. The host on that 95-degree spring day showed off the under-seat vents that will cool ticket holders as they cheer for their teams, and said the field is even cooler. “Last week we played an exhibition match against Germany, and the players said they were too cold,” he boasted. 

Perhaps such complaints from men who are used to playing in the German winter were a bit of an exaggeration. A more likely complaint for soccer pros involves the interruption of games in Europe’s national leagues, where they earn their hefty salaries. 

Normally, these European leagues start their seasons in September. This year, to accommodate the Doha World Cup, they opened two weeks ago. Trade deadlines and other crucial aspects of the game are scrambled. Fans are wondering about pre-purchased tickets. It’s a mess. 

Adding to the confusion: As late as Thursday, no one was sure whether the Doha matches would actually start November 21, as planned. Then the sport’s governing body, the International Federation of Association Football, or FIFA, confirmed that a match between Qatar and Ecuador would open the tournament on November 20. 

World Cup ticket holders will now scramble to update their schedules, but the host country can exclusively have its moment of glory in prime time. 

Far from a soccer empire, Qatar had never qualified to compete in a World Cup when in 2010 it jumped the queue and beat out America in a bid to host the tournament. How? Doha allegedly bribed several voting executives of scandal-prone FIFA, according to 2020 Department of Justice indictments. 

Already, the gas-producing Gulf state has invested at least $220 billion in its World Cup project. Beyond bribery, the price tag includes erecting state-of-the-art stadiums, building new roads and other forms of infrastructure, and purchasing accommodations like floating hotels to host a million and a half soccer fans in a country of less than 3 million residents. 

One of the innovations to be introduced in the Doha games is a sensor in the official game ball, designed to relay players’ position on the field 500 times a second. Twelve cameras set in the stadium roofs will track 29 points in players’ bodies.

Will robots next replace the players altogether?

Such marvels are meant to convince the world that the Doha emirate is, as it has long boasted, “the little country that could.” Yet, the Cup has made more than just a dent in the country’s treasure. Some unflattering light was also shined on the vanity project’s cost in blood. 

As of last year some 6,500 migrant workers, mostly from India, Nepal, Bangladesh, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka, had died in Qatar since it was awarded the World Cup.

Noticing road workers toiling under a 100-degree noon sun a few years ago, I asked my host if Ramadan rules banning food or liquids before sundown were eased for these migrants. Only non-Muslim workers were allowed to drink water at work during the month-long holiday, my host said, adding however that in cases of extreme dehydration even Muslims could enjoy a sip or two. 

In November, strict Islamic laws will limit the consumption of beer and other alcoholic drinks at World Cup venues. Qatari hotels normally operate bars, but during the Ramadan period even room mini bars contain only soft drinks. Some roped-off areas may accommodate beer-loving soccer fans, but adult beverages are completely haram inside the stadiums. 

Whether reduced alcohol consumption will also reduce the bloody fistfights, which at times are associated with soccer, is an open question. Violence levels in alcohol-banning countries are reportedly as high, or higher, than in some places where drinking is common. 

As for America’s team, our men have yet to capture a World Cup championship — a feat our women have achieved four times, more than any other world squad. This year America will play in Group B, alongside Wales, England, and Iran. 

Indeed, while Tehran’s diplomats negotiating a return to the 2015 nuclear deal decline to conduct face-to-face talks with the Americans, their soccer players are willing to take the field against ours at Doha. So — for Salman Rushdie, John Bolton, Mike Pompeo, Mark Esper, Masih Alinejad, et. al. — let’s beat them.