In Brazil, the World Cup is far more than a sports event; it’s part of the country’s identity. Brazil has won the men’s tournament five times, and has high hopes of a sixth in the upcoming event taking place in Canada, Mexico, and the United States from June 11 to July 19.
In a country where kids play soccer in the streets, the World Cup is one of the rare times when millions across the nation share in the same excitement. But the way many Brazilians experience that excitement has changed for one big reason: Betting.
For most of soccer’s history, fans all around the world cheered for goals, great saves, skillful moves, comebacks, and wins. Now, online betting platforms have broken the game into hundreds of small financial bets. Fans can bet on the final score, but also on yellow and red cards, corners, throw-ins, shots on goal, saves, fouls, and almost every stat the game produces.
This shift changes what soccer means emotionally for many of its fans. For example, someone might cheer for a corner kick against their own team if it helps their bet. They might hope a defender gets a yellow card, even if it’s bad for their side. Some care less about Brazil’s game style and more about how much stoppage time there is for another chance to win a bet.
This isn’t simply about adding more entertainment. It turns passion into a transaction. Soccer’s magic comes from everyone sharing the same hope for a goal. Betting breaks that bond. Now, a foul isn’t just a foul; it’s a chance to win money. A corner kick becomes a way to cash out.
Betting and social costs
This is especially important in Brazil, where online betting is now part of daily life. Fixed-odds betting became legal in 2018, but real rules came much later. Between 2018 and 2024, companies grew quickly in a regulatory gray area, filling soccer, social media, and ads with betting. By the time Brazil’s regulated market started in 2025, betting was already everywhere.
The numbers reveal how big this has become. In 2025, Brazil ranked fifth in the world for online betting revenue – the United States came first, followed by the U.K., Italy and Russia. Around 26.3% of Brazilian households took part in some form of sports betting. In the past year, 39.5 million Brazilians used betting platforms. In just the first quarter of 2025, betting sites in Brazil had over 5 billion visits — more than 650 every second. Central Bank data showed Brazilians were moving up to R$ 30 billion (US$ 6 billion) each month through these platforms.
The social costs are clear. Nineteen percent of bettors, about 7.5 million people, said they spent money on gambling in a way that compromised their livelihood income. Forty-one percent gave up other purchases to bet. Seventeen percent skipped paying a bill to gamble. Twenty-nine percent ended up on bad-debt lists because of betting. The average monthly spend was R$ 187 (US$ 37.4), and for lower-income bettors, it was R$ 151.98 (US$ 30.4). For poor families, that money could have been better spent on food, transport, diapers, electricity, or rent.
And it’s not an exclusively Brazilian problem. Research in the U.S. found that nearly third of Pennsylvania gamblers are at risk of problem gambling. In Australia, gambling harm is likely underreported, while in the U.K. research showed gamblers don’t understand the true cost of so-called “free bets” – offers like welcome bonus on first deposits and other financial inducements.
Ties with masculinity
In Brazil’s favelas, betting is rarely just a pastime, as I observed during two years of fieldwork in communities in the city of Vitória, capital of Espírito Santo state. People see it as hope — a way to stretch a little money when jobs don’t pay enough. One young man told me he started because a coworker told him an app “made money.” He put it simply: “Who doesn’t want to make money these days?”. Another pointed out that people only share their wins, not their losses. Many knew the odds were arranged against them. As one person said, “the ones who really win are the platform owners.”
Soccer betting is also tied to ideas about masculinity. Many young men I spoke with saw sports betting as a way to show their knowledge, control, and skill. Betting on soccer was proof that you understood teams, form, possession, rivalries, and odds. Barbershops and WhatsApp groups became places where men shared tips and advice. One person told me betting was more common among men because it’s about soccer; another said young men “go deeper”, risking more money for bigger wins.
It’s not that women don’t bet; they do. But soccer betting often carries a masculine image: the man as expert, strategist, and provider. When money is tight, betting tells young men they can turn soccer knowledge into cash, and cash into pride. Losing feels shameful, so wins are shown off, and losses are kept quiet. This show of control hides the fact that the platform is really in charge.
Stronger rules and regulations
The 2026 World Cup will make all of this even bigger. There will be daily matches, national pride, celebrity ads, influencer tips, betting links, instant money transfers, and live in-game markets. The tournament will be promoted as a soccer festival. For betting companies, it will also be a chance to profit.
It’s a harsh irony. Brazilians will pin their hopes on the national team, but many will also risk their rent, wages, and emergency funds on bets about cards, fouls, and corners. In this game, the real winners aren’t the fans; they’re the betting platforms.
This doesn’t mean Brazilians should stop loving soccer. It means they need to protect the game from turning into just another way to make money. Simply licensing companies and collecting taxes isn’t enough. Brazil needs strong rules on advertising, real limits on losses and deposits, restrictions on in-game micro-bets that make every foul a bet, and public health campaigns that don’t blame people for a system built to trap them.
The World Cup should remind us why soccer is important. Its beauty isn’t about how many bets you can place. It’s about the impossible goal, the common excitement, the joy of winning together, and the dignity of losing without losing the money you need to live.
David Nemer is an associate professor in the Department of Media Studies at the University of Virginia.
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
