Tariffs rise but sport turns a blind eye

It was dubbed Liberation Day, though to those watching the markets twitch and tumble in real time, it felt more like a hostage situation. With the stars and stripes fluttering behind him, and that signature blend of intransigence and theatre, President Trump stepped out and announced sweeping tariffs on foreign imports.

The numbers hit like a haymaker: 10% across the board, 20% for the EU, an additional 34% on China. Wall Street shook. Supply chains clenched. Economists reached for smelling salts. Talk-shows lit up with apocalyptic fervour; this was the end of globalisation as we knew it, they told us.

And yet, over a thousand miles south of the Rose Lawn on the sun-baked shores of Miami, there was a different type of gathering. Not a crisis summit. Not an emergency G7 huddle. Not a task force of worried strategists. This was SPORTÉL America – the annual jamboree for sports media executives, marketing mavens, and rights holders – unfolding in air-conditioned ballrooms.

As Trump closed America’s doors to global trade, the great and the good of global sport were plotting their next expansions into São Paulo, Seoul and Sarajevo as if the 2020s had never ended and no one had sent them the memo on deglobalisation. At a time when world leaders are retreating into their borders, sport is still on a first-name basis with the passport office.

While industries everywhere are reassessing supply chains, and looking for ways to reconnect with local markets, sport has taken a different tack, sprinting headfirst into global expansion like a winger with grass to burn. It’s as if the last six months of geopolitical tensions, bubbling trade wars, and border-tightening never quite made it past the velvet rope at the sports executive suite.

Take the NFL, for example. In a move that would make even the Roman Empire blush, it’s expanding its footprint to Australia and Ireland, having already pitched its tent across Europe and South America. Major League Baseball, not to be outdone by its market rival, opened its 2025 season in Tokyo with a glittering showcase for its growing Asian audience.

The NBA is perhaps even flirtier again with new markets. Not content with just selling jerseys to new fans across the world, it now wants to plant an entire league in Europe. New teams, new owners, new fans. And then there’s the Premier League, still moonwalking across the Atlantic to charm American audiences like touring rockstars with more substitutes than roadies. Let’s not forget, of course, FIFA’s Club World Cup, designed to convince sceptical American sports fans that Al Hilal versus Pachuca is worthy of prime time. In short, sport sees deglobalisation the way a toddler sees broccoli – something to ignore completely while reaching for the ice cream. But that sense of detachment from global upheaval may prove, in time, to have been more illusion than insulation.

At Manchester United, the club’s status as a US-listed entity has taken on new significance amid shifting economic winds. With $650 million in loans on the books, any strengthening of the dollar, a potential side-effect of Trump’s tariffs, could inflate their debt in sterling terms. That, in turn, raises uncomfortable questions under UEFA’s Financial Sustainability Regulations.

Speaking to BBC recently, football finance expert Kieran Maguire explained: “In the 2022 accounts there was a £58m cost due to foreign exchange movements on these loans. So the United board will be watching with interest as to what happens in terms of the market reaction to these tariffs as far as global exchange rates are concerned.” Meanwhile, sponsors are quietly reassessing their positions. Asian companies like Hyundai and Lenovo have all signed up to major tournaments in the United States – the Club World Cup and the World Cup in 2026 – but some may now be wondering whether it’s worth the investment if access to the American market is becoming more difficult.

Motorsport, too, is beginning to feel the strain. Formula One’s American ventures are hardly insulated. General Motors, through its Cadillac brand, is preparing to enter the sport in 2026, with operations spanning the US and UK. Meanwhile, Ford’s partnership with Red Bull on hybrid engines, also due in 2026, depends on cross-Atlantic collaboration and high-tech imports. In each case, the global nature of the supply chains now collides with a tariff regime built to discourage them – and the costs could rise as fast as the cars they’re building.

All three North American nations are also meant to present a united front for the World Cup in 2026, but tariffs and political posturing are testing that message. It’s hard to sell a tournament on togetherness when one host has just slapped trade penalties on the other two. Behind the fanfare, there are now question marks over cross-border cooperation, infrastructure costs, and even the ease with which supporters will move between matches.

For now, the show goes on. Fixtures are being announced, tickets are being sold, and expansion plans continue to be unveiled with the usual boardroom optimism. There is no emergency meeting, no flickering red light on the dashboard – only the quiet hum of a well-oiled machine still motoring forwards at top speed.

The markets may have calmed after the White House announced a 90-day pause on most tariffs last week; but sport can have a propensity for missing the weather forecast while admiring the sky. The consequences of this moment won’t arrive with a bang, but with a quiet build-up. A sponsorship deal unravels here, a border delay there, a host city quietly panics as supply costs spiral. Nothing dramatic, until it is.

This is the risk of believing in one’s own exceptionalism. The global sports industry, with all its self-assurance, is not immune to the worrying landscapes shaping the rest of the world. If anything, it may be more exposed precisely because it has spent the last two decades stretching itself across continents, currencies and cultures.

It will look like business as usual until the moment it doesn’t. And though the spectacle remains global, the world it plays in is pulling apart.