The year 2009 had just begun when Frederick Kanouté scored a goal and lifted his Sevilla shirt to reveal another black garment with the motto Palestine written in white letters. It didn’t take long for him to be sanctioned by the Competition Committee of the Spanish Football Federation: a 3,000 euro fine, specifically. An “absolutely disproportionate” sanction. “If these types of sanctions were always applied, there would be no columnists who would give their opinion,” Pep Guardiola said then, raising the flag of freedom of expression, the only one of all the flags that is removed from time to time from journalists. football players.
It is a common feeling that no one is interested in the political opinion of footballers, that they have to remain neutral because they represent a club that includes fans with different sensitivities. Exactly why? A footballer only represents me on the field. And it seems more than enough to me, honestly. How was a footballer going to represent me far from a field if our lives are not at all similar, if we do not have even remotely the same economic situation, nor the same concerns, nor the same tastes, nor the same relationship with the city in which that we live?
The perfect and immaculate footballer must give his opinion exclusively about the ball, a single issue like in competitions. The sober footballer does not speak, he limits himself to playing. Well, either he talks little, enough not to bother, but, above all, enough not to expose himself. Because? Why are we interested in a player’s favorite movie, what music he listens to, where he goes on vacation (probably Ibiza or Santorini), what he likes to eat, who he follows on social networks, who he interacts with, what clubs he frequents, but can’t we be interested in their ideology?
“Don’t mix football with politics,” we are told, as if they were bleach and ammonia, vinegar and baking soda, or worse still, as if we were mixing tequila with Jägermeister starting at two in the morning, ignoring the effects of a hangover. Football, we are told, is a sacredly apolitical space, the place to escape from the headaches of the real world. But that untouchable sanctuary is a mere illusion. We all like to feel that football is an Eden of distraction, a kind of harmless zone of play, entertainment and irrelevance. Although we all know deep down that, beyond the pleasure that football offers us from time to time, the spectacle is deeply deformed and, of course, crossed by money and politics. How could it not be if the international football organizations, the leaders who preside over them, the decisions they make, the venues they choose, the commercial agreements they reach, if everything, absolutely everything has to do with politics.
By their very nature, most of the clubs were born in predominantly working-class areas, converting the sports liturgy into a kind of popular festival. In this sense, stadiums have always offered a unique place for the public representation of a collective identity. And football has always been a space of resistance, protest, military propaganda or political symbology.
Those who categorically affirm that football is apolitical want a sport that simply does not exist. And those who ask to keep politics out of football only do so in relation to issues that they directly despise or issues that they prefer to ignore. It’s much easier to ignore them, of course. All you have to do is roll the ball for them to disappear. Badabin badabum. That is the magic of football: there is no greater illusion than the illusion of the ball.
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