Here’s the truth no one in the boardrooms wants to say out loud.
Football is supposed to be sacred. Not perfect. Not pure. But sacred. It’s the one thing that survives politics, wars, oil money, dictators and billionaires. Or at least it used to.
Now it feels different.
The co-host of this summer’s World Cup is actively bombing one of the nations meant to compete in it. Let that sink in. We’ve seen corruption, we’ve seen sportswashing, we’ve seen questionable hosts before. But this? This is new territory.
And at the centre of it stands Gianni Infantino smiling, applauding, inventing peace prizes like they’re Man of the Match awards.
I’ve followed football long enough to know the game has always danced with power. From 1966 in England during imperial conflicts, to Russia 2018 before the invasion of Ukraine fully reshaped global sport. But there was always at least a thin layer of plausible neutrality. A performance of distance.
That layer is gone.
Infantino hasn’t just maintained diplomatic ties. He’s embraced political power like a starstruck academy kid meeting his idol. Public praise. Staged ceremonies. A made-from-scratch “peace prize.” Symbolic mini-pitches in Gaza while bombs flatten real stadiums and homes. The optics are not subtle anymore. They’re theatrical.
Fifa’s own statutes talk about political neutrality. But neutrality doesn’t mean standing beside power while it flexes. Neutrality doesn’t mean amplifying a leader’s image as missiles fly.
As a football fan the kind who knows tactical systems, youth academies, qualification pathways, and the politics behind World Cup votes this is what hurts the most: the game is being used as cover.
Spectacle floods the zone. That’s how modern power works. Distract. Celebrate. Announce tournaments. Release new trophies. Talk about unity. Meanwhile, the real world burns in the background.
Iran’s participation already hangs in doubt. Their FA admits they “cannot look forward to the World Cup with hope.” Fans face travel bans. Regional tensions are exploding. Yet the machinery rolls on. The show must continue.
Because the World Cup isn’t just football anymore. It’s leverage. It’s image. It’s soft power at industrial scale.
We’ve seen football brush up against war before. But this feels like football willingly stepping into the propaganda machine. Not dragged. Not cornered. Stepping in.
And that’s why this moment matters more than any tactical debate or Ballon d’Or argument.
When history looks back at this era, it won’t remember the group-stage goals first. It will remember how power and sport fused so openly. How the governing body of the world’s most beloved game chose proximity over principle.
I’ve written before about how politics and football never truly separate the pattern runs deep, as seen in Infantino, Uefa, and Football’s Unfinished Wars. But this feels like the tipping point.
Maybe the tournament still happens. Maybe Iran withdraws. Maybe there’s a compromise wrapped in force majeure clauses and diplomatic phrasing. Football governance has always been good at creative solutions.
But one thing is certain: once football becomes part of the image-making of power, it loses its claim to innocence.
And that’s what stings.
Because for those of us who grew up believing football was the most important of all the unimportant things this feels like the moment it stopped being unimportant.
