Right. I'll hold my hands up. When I saw the list of four nations making their World Cup debut next summer, I had to get the atlas out. Not the internet. The actual atlas. The one with the coffee ring on page 47 from 1998. Don't judge me.

Indonesia. Tanzania. Comoros. Congo Republic. That's your debutants for the 2026 World Cup. Four nations who have never been to the big dance before. And honestly? Good for them. I mean it. This is what the World Cup is supposed to be about.

In my day, qualifying for a World Cup meant something. It meant your entire country stopped. It meant grown men cried in pubs. It meant taxi drivers forgot where they were going. And for these four nations, that feeling is brand new. Fresh out the box. You can't buy that. Well, FIFA probably tried to, but that's a different article.

Now. Comoros. Population of about 850,000. That's smaller than the crowd at a decent League One play-off final if you count the blokes outside the chippy. They're a volcanic archipelago in the Indian Ocean. I know that now. I didn't know it yesterday. I thought my mate Dave was winding me up when he texted me about it. Turns out Dave was right and I was an ignorant old sod. There's a first time for everything.

Indonesia though. That's 280 million people. Two hundred and eighty million. And they've NEVER been to a World Cup before? That's the problem with modern football. We've spent decades obsessing over the same twelve countries while a quarter of a billion people were sat there thinking "When's our turn?" Fair play to them. About time.

Tanzania. Lovely. I once played against a lad from Dar es Salaam in a pre-season friendly at Woking. He absolutely skinned my right back. Quick as lightning. Built like a greyhound that had been raised on protein shakes. If the national team is anything like him, they'll do some damage.

And the Congo Republic. Not to be confused with DR Congo, who are also at the World Cup. Two Congos. At the same tournament. Imagine the kit mix-ups. Imagine the admin. Some poor FIFA volunteer is going to have a nightmare with the laundry.

But here's what I love about this. These teams are going to turn up and they are going to CARE. They're not going to be scrolling through their phones in the tunnel. They're not going to be thinking about their next boot deal or their podcast sponsorship. They're going to walk out onto that pitch and their legs are going to turn to jelly and their hearts are going to be thumping out of their chests and they are going to remember every single second of it for the rest of their lives.

That used to be what football was. Before the money. Before the super agents. Before VAR sucked the soul out of every meaningful moment. Don't get me started.

Will any of them win the tournament? No. Obviously not. Let's not be daft. But will they create moments that their grandchildren talk about? Absolutely. A last minute equaliser against someone. A goalkeeper saving a penalty. A kid from a village nobody can pronounce scoring in front of 80,000 people in New Jersey.

That's football. That's the actual beating heart of it. Not £262 million losses. Not hair pulling scandals. Not red cards for defenders who've been getting red cards since the dawn of time.

Four new nations at the World Cup. Forty-eight teams total, which is still too many if you ask me, but at least some of them are going to mean something to somebody.

Welcome to the party, lads. It's not what it used to be. But it's still the only party worth going to.