The seeds of a new football age in China are beginning to sprout
A nation of 1.4 billion, absent from the world's greatest sporting stage, is quietly discovering that the deepest roots of a game are not planted by governments or billionaires, but by ordinary people who simply want to play. Across China's provinces, amateur leagues are drawing tens of thousands of fans not through spectacle or spending, but through belonging. What is unfolding is less a sports story than a lesson in how culture, when it grows from the ground up, tends to outlast everything built from the top down.
- China's exclusion from the 2026 World Cup is a wound to national pride, yet it has quietly cleared space for something more honest to emerge.
- The Chinese Super League now leads all of Asia in attendance — averaging 26,000 fans per match — without a single international superstar on the pitch, a striking reversal from the era of lavish spending that ultimately hollowed out the sport.
- In Jiangsu province, an amateur community league launched in May drew 62,000 fans to its final and generated over 2 million ticket applications — numbers that rival professional tournaments and stunned even its own organizers.
- The winning team's coach, Zhou Gaoping — the league's only female manager — captured the mood precisely: this is soccer reclaimed from ambition and returned to meaning.
- Provinces across China are now replicating the Jiangsu model, and analysts who once watched top-down investment collapse are cautiously calling this the beginning of a genuine football culture.
China's national team will not be at next year's World Cup — a painful absence for a country of 1.4 billion. But in the shadow of that disappointment, something quieter and more durable is taking shape.
The 2025 Chinese Super League season closes this Saturday with a Shanghai derby expected to draw over 60,000 fans. The league has averaged 26,000 per match this season, the highest of any top-tier competition in Asia. A decade ago, Chinese clubs spent extravagantly on global names — Tevez, Hulk, Oscar — and hired coaches of the caliber of Lippi and Eriksson. The stadiums filled, but with a different energy: the hunger of a nation trying to purchase greatness. Today, there are no marquee imports, no continental ambitions. Yet the fans have returned, and they are staying.
The more remarkable story, however, is unfolding in the provinces. In Jiangsu — a region of 80 million that lost its top-flight club in 2021 — a community-organized competition called the Football City League launched in May with thirteen local teams. Average attendance hovered near 30,000. When the final was held in Nanjing on November 1st, 62,000 people came. More than 2 million had applied for tickets. When Taizhou won, the city celebrated as if something long lost had been returned.
This is new terrain for Chinese soccer, which has historically been shaped by government mandates and investor ambition rather than community desire. The Jiangsu league's coach of the winning side, Zhou Gaoping — the only female manager in the competition — wrote afterward that the league had helped people rediscover what the sport actually means, beyond trophies and national prestige.
Other provinces are now building their own versions of the Jiangsu model. Sport economist Simon Chadwick describes the shift as organic and community-focused in a way Chinese football has never quite been before, cautiously suggesting that 'the seeds of a new football age in China are beginning to sprout.' Whether the momentum holds remains uncertain — but for the first time, the game may be growing in a direction no one at the top designed.
China's national soccer team will not be at next year's World Cup. For a country of 1.4 billion people, this absence stings. Yet something unexpected is happening in the shadows of that disappointment: ordinary Chinese are falling in love with the sport again, not because of the glamour that once surrounded it, but because of something simpler and more durable.
The 2025 Chinese Super League season ends this Saturday with Shanghai Port defending its title against Shanghai Shenhua in Dalian. More than 60,000 fans are expected to fill the stadium. That number matters less for what it is than for what it represents. The league has averaged 26,000 fans per match this season—the highest attendance of any top-tier league in Asia. A decade ago, Chinese clubs were throwing fortunes at international superstars: Carlos Tevez, Hulk, Oscar. They hired world-class coaches like Marcello Lippi and Sven-Göran Eriksson. The stadiums were packed then too, but it was a different kind of fullness—the hunger of a nation trying to buy its way to greatness. Now there are no international marquee names. No Chinese club can compete seriously in continental tournaments. Yet the crowds have returned, and they are staying.
The real story, though, is not happening in the professional stadiums. It is happening in the provinces, in amateur leagues organized by communities for themselves. In Jiangsu, a province of roughly 80 million people that lost its top-flight club in 2021, a new competition launched in May called the Football City League. Thirteen teams made up of local residents and students began playing. The average attendance was close to 30,000. On November 1st, the final took place in Nanjing, the provincial capital. Sixty-two thousand people showed up. Online, there were more than 2 million ticket applications. When Taizhou's team won, the city erupted in celebration.
This is not how Chinese soccer has grown before. For decades, the sport was shaped from above—by government mandates, by wealthy investors chasing trophies, by the machinery of national ambition. The Jiangsu league emerged differently. It grew because people in that province wanted to play and watch soccer together. The coach of the winning team, Zhou Gaoping, is the only female manager in the league. After the final, she posted a message on social media: the league had helped people rediscover what soccer actually means, something that exists beyond winning and losing. "We hope that we can break through the fog and usher in a new dawn for Chinese soccer," she wrote.
Other provinces have noticed. Several are now starting their own amateur leagues, following the Jiangsu model. Taizhou is already recruiting players for next season and says it has been overwhelmed with applications. Simon Chadwick, a professor of sport at Emlyon Business School in France, sees something significant in this shift. "Rather than being imposed by government or fast-tracked by financial investors, the growth of football in China this time seems more organic, community-focused, and driven by people who have a genuine attachment to the game," he told the Associated Press. He acknowledges uncertainty about whether this momentum can be sustained, but he is cautiously optimistic. "It is becoming increasingly apparent that the seeds of a new football age in China are beginning to sprout," he said.
The national team's absence from the World Cup is real, and it matters. But if the current trajectory holds, China may be about to experience something it has never had before: a soccer culture that belongs to the people who play and watch it, rather than to the politicians and investors who once tried to own it.
Citações Notáveis
Rather than being imposed by government or fast-tracked by financial investors, the growth of football in China this time seems more organic, community-focused, and driven by people who have a genuine attachment to the game.— Simon Chadwick, professor of AfroEurasian Sport at Emlyon Business School
Through this league, we can rediscover the true meaning and essence of soccer, which transcends victory and defeat. We hope that we can break through the fog and usher in a new dawn for Chinese soccer.— Zhou Gaoping, Taizhou Football City League coach
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does it matter that attendance is up if the national team is failing?
Because attendance tells you something about the sport itself, separate from national pride. These fans are coming back not because China is winning—it isn't—but because the game is becoming theirs again.
What changed from the Tevez era to now?
Then, soccer was a project. Billionaires and governments were trying to build something from the top down. Now it's growing from the ground up. People in Jiangsu created a league because they wanted to play soccer with their neighbors, not because someone told them to.
Is 62,000 people at an amateur final actually remarkable?
It is when you consider that 2 million people applied for tickets online. That's not casual interest. That's a community deciding this matters to them.
What does the female coach's comment about "breaking through the fog" mean?
She's saying that for years, Chinese soccer was clouded by money and national ambition. The fog is that confusion about what the sport is for. Now people are remembering: it's for the joy of playing and watching together.
Could this collapse as quickly as it grew?
It could. That's why the expert is cautiously optimistic, not certain. But the difference this time is that it's not dependent on a few wealthy investors or government support. It's rooted in communities. That's harder to kill.