2026 FIVB Men's Club World Championship: Perugia, Sada Cruzeiro and the Two Debutants

The coffee was still hot when my phone buzzed. A colleague in Jakarta sent exactly one line: "Finally it's our turn." Attached was the list of eight clubs set to compete at the 2026 Men's Club World Championship, organised by the International Volleyball Federation (FIVB) in Poland.

I read it slowly. Perugia. Sada Cruzeiro. Vôlei Renata. Ziraat. Al Ahly. Foolad Sirjan Iranian. Jakarta Bhayangkara Presisi. Eight teams, four continents, one host nation. At sixty, I still keep the habit of writing every name by hand in my notebook, underlining the reigning champions and circling the words "first time". I learned this lesson after years on the beat: the driest press releases usually hide the biggest turning points.

This is one of those releases.

The Men's Club World Championship is the highest level of club volleyball, second only to national-team events in prestige. Entry comes through continental titles: Europe's CEV Champions League, South America's CSV Club Championship, Africa's CAVB Club Championship, Asia's AVC Men's Champions League, plus wild cards granted by the FIVB.

For 2026, the FIVB has awarded hosting rights to Poland and has already signalled a 2027 edition. Ticketing and schedule details will be announced later. To someone who has covered this sport as long as I have, a nation hosting two years in a row says a great deal: the FIVB is anchoring the venue, turning the event into a brand with a home rather than a travelling circus. That is how a tournament grows up.

But the real story lies in the team list.

Perugia arrives as both reigning world champion and reigning CEV Champions League winner. The Italian side boasts a roster packed with international stars, including outside hitter Oleh Plotnytskyi and setter Simone Giannelli. This is the model of a true powerhouse: spending money to buy experience, composure, and the habit of winning. In the tightest moments of a tie-break, what Perugia has that many rivals lack is the memory of victory — the feeling of having been there and having won.

Sada Cruzeiro is the traditional counterweight. Five world titles is a number no South American club can match. If Perugia represents the wealth of European volleyball, Sada Cruzeiro represents resilience forged across generations of Brazilian players. I once watched them overturn a knockout match, and I still remember the arena falling silent before it erupted.

Vôlei Renata brings a different Brazilian flavour: younger, more mobile, but short of championship pedigree. Egypt's Al Ahly represents Africa, accustomed to long journeys and punishing schedules. Foolad Sirjan Iranian stands for the speed-and-defence style that defines Iranian volleyball.

Then come the two names that made me pause longest.

Ziraat is the Turkish club making its debut. The Turkish domestic league is strong, but Ziraat has never been tested at world club level. Jakarta Bhayangkara Presisi is even more striking: the first Indonesian men's club to win an Asian continental title, and now the first Indonesian men's team to appear on the world stage.

What stands out is that this tournament's structure leaves no room for luck to run long. With eight teams split into groups and then knockout rounds, consistency is rewarded over a single explosive performance. A team can win one set on adrenaline, but it cannot win a whole tournament on adrenaline.

Looking at the wider picture, the field separates into four clear tiers. Title favourite: Perugia. Strong challenger: Sada Cruzeiro. Possible surprises: Vôlei Renata, Al Ahly, Foolad Sirjan. And the learning tier: Ziraat and Jakarta Bhayangkara Presisi.

That stratification reflects a truth few want to admit: the gap between the leading European and South American clubs and the rest remains wide. Precisely for that reason, the presence of Jakarta and Ziraat carries its own value. They come to learn, to measure, and to carry home an accurate benchmark of how far behind they really are.

Perugia's problem is not squad quality but the fact that their system leans heavily on one man. Giannelli is the setter, the brain of the operation. If he is injured during the tournament window, Perugia's entire attacking scheme must be rewritten from scratch. I have seen enough strong teams collapse after losing one position to know this is not idle worry.

One detail cannot be ignored: Poland is hosting, yet no host club appears on the list. If a wild card is added later, the arena atmosphere will be entirely different. If not, this will be a neutral-venue tournament — a rarity for a world-class event.

Technically, this tournament is a clash of schools. European volleyball with power and height. South American volleyball with balance and durability in ball handling. Asian volleyball with speed and defence. African volleyball with raw physicality. Whoever manages that contrast across two weeks will go far.

Geography matters too. Poland sits at the heart of Europe, convenient for Perugia and Ziraat. But Jakarta, Foolad Sirjan and Al Ahly must travel thousands of kilometres, cross time zones, and adapt to winter conditions. In a short tournament, the adaptation window can decide the final standings. Asian sides often start slowly for exactly this reason, and in knockout formats, one slow set is enough to send you home.

For someone who has followed men's volleyball for years, this is a healthy sign. A world championship is only truly "world" when it includes teams from many continents, rather than being an internal affair between two dominant volleyball nations.

But I have to say something else plainly.

While the volleyball world chases the transfer market and million-dollar contracts, it forgets that real success at this level comes from small clubs — clubs that cannot buy stars and must live on their systems. Perugia buys Plotnytskyi and Giannelli. Jakarta cannot buy anyone. Jakarta must develop players from its own soil and build a style suited to Indonesian physiques and stamina. And the very way they won the Asian title — with a roster containing no world-class foreign star — is the most remarkable story in this list of eight.

I remember an old scene in Hai Phong. In 2026, I stood on the Lach Tray stand watching the AFF U19 Women's Championship final, where Vietnam beat Thailand 2-1 thanks to a brace from a 17-year-old striker. I dropped my notebook to jump and celebrate with the crowd, and forgot my post-match interviews entirely. That brace from the 17-year-old at Lach Tray, I rewrote with sweat, not ink. It taught me that the true value of a moment is not what the scoreboard records, but what it changes.

And this is where I must raise something few want to hear. In recent years, the term "load management" has been praised as a virtue of modern volleyball. It sounds good, but watch closely and you see it clearly: big clubs rest their stars in low-stakes domestic fixtures, then send them onto the court for commercial friendly tours. Making room for promotional trips is simply given a more elegant name than recovery. For clubs like Perugia, this is a genuine risk when the domestic season runs parallel to world championship preparations.

I also have to address the transfer race. Every summer, European giants pour money into the market to buy stars, and the media calls it the growth of volleyball. But looking at this list of eight teams, I see the opposite: the truly valuable deals sit with the small clubs. A club like Jakarta cannot afford stars, but it has a development system, a recruitment strategy tied to its locality, and a playing style designed around the people it has. That is what endures.

Men's club volleyball is at exactly that moment. A team like Jakarta appearing at the world championship will not change the 2026 scoreboards. But it changes how a generation of young Indonesian players sees its own future. And anything that changes perception is always stronger than a mere trophy.

So I am not surprised that the FIVB chose Poland two years running. Nor am I surprised that the tournament is expanding into Asia and Africa. The real question is not whether Perugia can defend their title. The real question is whether a team from a developing volleyball nation can win even a single set against Perugia, and whether that first appearance opens a second door, a third, a fourth for others.

At sixty, I still think of myself as the girl jumping on the Lach Tray stand. I still believe the true value of a tournament lies not in the trophy, but in how many more children in Jakarta, in Tehran, in Cairo dare to dream of standing on that court one day.

When that number rises, world men's volleyball has already won — no matter who lifts the cup.