Loud jeers rolled down from the stands at Dallas Stadium on Wednesday, then surfaced again hours later in a rainy Toronto. England and Croatia supporters united in derision the moment referee Clément Turpin signalled the first mandatory hydration break of their Group L encounter; in the day’s other fixture, Ghana and Panama fans did the same as players trudged to the touchline through steady drizzle and 19°C air. The dissent was not spontaneous. England supporters had flagged their intention on social media beforehand, and the boos that arrived in the 22nd minute crystallised a broader unease rippling through this World Cup.

FIFA introduced the three-minute stoppages – one in each half, enforced by the referee around the 22nd minute – as a player-welfare measure for a tournament staged during the North American summer. Yet the governing body made them compulsory for every match, irrespective of temperature, humidity or whether a stadium has a retractable roof and air conditioning. That universality has turned football, a sport built on two uninterrupted 45-minute acts, into a de facto four-quarter game. Broadcasters quickly exploited the new real estate. Fox, the English-language rights-holder in the United States, inserts commercials during the intervals, a first for live World Cup coverage; its Spanish-language counterpart Telemundo has not. Viewers in several markets reported missing live action, including moments of the tournament opener between Mexico and South Africa, as ad breaks overran.

Players and coaches have responded with a mixture of irritation and pragmatism. Netherlands captain Virgil van Dijk told reporters the breaks were “a bit interesting” and that he disliked the cut to commercials, adding that neutral television viewers would share his frustration. USA head coach Mauricio Pochettino was blunt: “I don’t like it. I only like it when the conditions are extreme.” Belgium’s Rudi Garcia reframed the pause as a tactical timeout rather than a cooling measure, calling it “very important” for delivering instructions. Brazil’s Carlo Ancelotti provided the most vivid case study, using the first-half break against Morocco to reorganise his side; Vinícius Júnior equalised shortly after play resumed, salvaging a point. For managers, the guaranteed window twice a game is a rare chance to reset shape and disrupt an opponent’s rhythm.

Physiologically, the case for hydration in extreme heat is well founded. Jorge Franchella, a sports physician speaking in Buenos Aires, explained that athletes often do not feel thirst until they have already lost significant fluid, making scheduled drinking logical. He cautioned, however, that abrupt cooling – such as ice baths immediately after exertion – can trigger dangerous blood-pressure shifts, a risk managed by professional staff. A Climate Central analysis published during the tournament found that climate change has increased the probability of performance-impairing heat in 97 of 104 matches, with the Spain-Uruguay fixture in Guadalajara seeing a 37-percentage-point rise in such odds. Research from the 2014 World Cup showed that at temperatures above 28°C players cover less distance and execute fewer high-speed runs.

Viewed from London, the breaks have become a lightning rod for a familiar tension: the creeping commercialisation of the global game. In North America, where timeouts and ad slots are woven into the sporting fabric, the adjustment is less jarring. But for many European and South American supporters, the forced interruption – even in a climate-controlled Dallas dome or a chilly Toronto evening – feels like an erosion of football’s continuous narrative. The boos are unlikely to change anything. The breaks are mandated for the remainder of the tournament, and the next concrete consequence is already visible: every remaining group-stage fixture will be played in four quarters, with coaches and advertisers alike ready to seize the pause.