Think Forward.

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The Silence of Gessime Yacine: an Image of Disillusion, but Also of Immense Hope 475

Aziz Daouda, 3 d.
- Sports -
3.3 min read.
At the instant the referee blows the final whistle of the semi-final between Morocco and France, one image alone sums up all the pain of the Atlas Lion Cubs. Gessime Yacine, crouched on the ball, his face hidden beneath his shirt, remains motionless. He seeks neither the cameras nor consolation. He seems simply to be trying to understand what has just happened. No one will ever know what he tells himself, if he tells himself anything at all. No one can measure the depth of his pain. No one but him has lived such a moment — nor will anyone else live it: the boy who, in his first minutes at a World Cup, scored a saving goal for his country. Moments like that are unique. This photograph is not merely one of defeat. It tells the weight of an extraordinary journey that was abruptly halted by a France side that was more experienced, deeper, and better prepared — a selection, some would say. For many, the match left a taste of incompletion. Morocco, so enterprising from the start of the tournament, appeared unrecognizable. Yet to reduce this performance to a simple underachievement would be to forget the context in which this team was built. First, there is the structural gap between the two squads. France has an impressive pool of players competing at the highest level in Europe, to the point of being able to leave several European champions on the bench. By contrast, Morocco fielded a largely renewed group after a disappointing AFCON, the product of a changing locker room and entrusted to a new coach only a few weeks before the World Cup. Preparation time was extremely short. Barely fifteen days to implement a game plan, create automatic patterns, and build a true collective with a majority of young players who, for some, had never played together. Many play for modest clubs, and some have limited minutes in their domestic leagues. The path was far from smooth. In the draw Morocco found itself in a difficult half of the bracket — to put it mildly. The fact that three countries hosted the tournament influenced the group composition... and then there were the actions of the master of ceremonies who places certain teams so they won't meet until the semi-finals... That too must not be forgotten nor its impact downplayed. From the start, Morocco faced Brazil, before going on to play only knockout matches. Scotland, the Netherlands — probably one of the best Dutch generations in recent years — then Canada, a host nation driven by a strong desire for revenge after its 2022 elimination, with a coach who pushes his players to an almost unbelievable level of aggressiveness. The Moroccans even had to go to penalties against the Dutch. It's exhausting physically and mentally; a lot of nervous energy is thus expended. Long travel distances added to that. More than 11,000 kilometers covered during the tournament represent a real physiological constraint. Conditioning specialists acknowledge that transcontinental travel, time-zone changes, and long hours on planes affect the legs and recovery, especially when the time between matches is short. Everyone knows how swollen our feet can be after a long flight. Finally, refereeing decisions also fuel the debates. Why were all the referees Argentine for France–Morocco? Can an Argentine referee overturn another, knowing they will encounter each other back home soon after the World Cup... Strange, no? How do we explain the tears of a linesman who embraced Bounou? Many Moroccan observers — and not only Moroccans — contest several incidents: the penalty awarded to France, the card shown to Issa Diop for slight contact with Mbappé (an excellent actor, as everyone knows), or the action before the first French goal, certainly contentious because of Rabiot’s clear hand at the origin of the play. He did guide the ball with his hand before passing it forward. As in any major competition, these decisions will no doubt continue to inspire diverging interpretations. However, they alone do not explain the outcome. The Moroccans had only one shot on target — a very tame one — and it came in the 86th minute. The coach himself will see some of his tactical choices questioned. His formation surprised many. Had it enabled a win against France, it would likely have been hailed as a masterstroke. Football works that way: results often shape the judgment of decisions. Beyond this elimination remains a broader question often voiced by a segment of supporters: do emerging footballing nations enjoy the same environment and level of protection as the traditional powers of world football? This question far exceeds Morocco’s case and will continue to fuel debate, without any definitive answer possible. One certainty, however, stands out. The image of Gessime Yacine, his face hidden in his jersey, does not symbolize failure. It symbolizes the immense demand this generation places on itself. These young players are not merely mourning a lost semi-final; they are mourning an opportunity they believed was within their reach. Gessime is a world champion in his age category. No one can take that from him. Moroccan football emerges stronger from this World Cup. Despite preparation difficulties, a lack of collective experience, and a path strewn with obstacles, this team showed it can compete with the best nations. It even improved its ranking during this very particular World Cup. Gessime Yacine’s tears are those of a competitor who refused to stop there. Perhaps it is this image more than the final score that will remain in memory — and certainly should remain: that of a young player broken today, whose determination could feed the greatest victories of tomorrow. 2030 is not so far away. He will be only 24. As for those who indulge in insults, slander, disinformation, or outlandish analyses designed to exploit raw emotions simply to elevate themselves on airwaves and social networks, we know they will turn their coats at the next victory. Their moment is passing and will inevitably pass. Let us not forget: this Moroccan team, its coach, and its staff are quarter-finalists.

Africa, the true beating heart of world football... 484

Aziz Daouda, 3 d.
- Sports -
1.5 min read.
Numbers sometimes carry more weight than speeches. At the 2026 World Cup, nearly one out of every four players is African or of African origin. This simple fact is enough to measure the immense contribution of the continent to global football. Of the 1,248 players taking part in this edition, around 333 are African or of African origin, nearly 27% of all participants. This total includes the 260 players from the ten African teams that qualified and 73 players of African origin who play for European, North American or other national teams. This massive presence confirms that Africa is no longer just a talent pool: today, it helps shape the global game. For a long time, Africa was seen as a land of promise. Today, it is a land of certainty. Its academies train exceptional players, its leagues bring to light ever‑younger talents, and its diaspora shines in the biggest national teams on the planet. Major footballing nations (France, England, the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, among others) rely heavily on players with African roots who have become key members of their national sides. This phenomenon can be explained by a double success. On the one hand, African training centres produce top‑level talents every year. On the other, African diasporas established in Europe and elsewhere allow many young people to grow up in high‑performance football environments while preserving a strong African cultural heritage and solid ties with their countries of origin. The 2026 World Cup is therefore more than a tournament dominated by the traditional powers: it is also Africa’s World Cup, that of its immense reservoir of talent and its diaspora, which together account for nearly one‑third of the players present. Without players from the continent or its diaspora, the level of many leading national teams would be profoundly different. Modern football increasingly speaks with an African accent. This reality must be a wake‑up call for African leaders. If the continent produces so many talents capable of shining all over the world, it also has the potential to build stronger leagues, modern infrastructures and clubs able to compete with the best international benchmarks. The talent is there; it now needs an environment worthy of its immense value. The 2026 World Cup symbolizes a shift: Africa is no longer a mere reservoir of players, it has become a force that shapes football history. The twenty‑first century of football will, to a large extent, be African—not by chance, but because the continent has what football needs most: an inexhaustible pool of talent, creativity, resilience and passion. One political question remains: is the FIFA system and are international bodies ready to turn this reality into greater representation and more opportunities for African teams? That depends on interests often far removed from the game itself.

Beyond the victory: Morocco won far more than a match... 1774

Aziz Daouda, 12 d.
- Society - Sports -
3.5 min read.
Yes, Morocco beat the Netherlands. The result will remain in the statistics, but it would be reductive to see it as merely a sporting victory. Some matches tell more than a score. They reveal an identity, a culture, values, a way of thinking and behaving in the face of adversity. This one belongs to that category. The first lesson is one of character strength paired with great humility. Achraf Hakimi and company dominated their opponent, created opportunities but failed to convert them. A shame. Many teams would have begun to doubt, to rush, to lose their shape and their lucidity. They continued to believe in their football, with patience and conviction, until the final whistle. It was a match of resilience and confidence. That ability to never give up is one of this team’s greatest strengths. The draw had not been kind to the Moroccans. Being placed in the second pot would take its toll. They had to start the tournament against a Brazil galvanized by its history; then face a revenge-seeking Scotland; and finish with Haiti, who had nothing left to lose. And then, bam — they had to travel far. Cross the United States from north to south and land on the other side of the border, in Mexico, to face one of football’s greatest powers. The country of Neeskens, Cruyff, Van Basten and so many others. The country where a certain Ștefan Kovács, called Pisti, invented total football, possession football. He had come from Cluj-Napoca, in Romanian Transylvania, to coach Steaua Bucharest before winning two European titles with Ajax... That’s where it all began. His imprint is now everywhere in the world. One day a great stadium should bear his name somewhere. FIFA should think about it. He revolutionized football and made it more spectacular and more colorful. Brazil — Morocco and the Netherlands respectively 5th, 6th and 7th in the FIFA rankings. The second lesson is managerial courage. First, the courage to trust Mohamed Ouahbi. A young coach with almost no record. He came to give the country its first-ever U20 world title. Not a small feat: a world title for the Kingdom of Morocco, and now he is well on his way to a second and is doing everything to achieve it. Mohamed, raised in Moroccan culture, steeped in the country’s values, bearer of the history of migration and its challenges, is a fine technician endowed with composure and steadiness under all circumstances: exactly what is needed for a Moroccan team. And then the young coach performs wonders in strategy, match planning and tactics. He does not hesitate to throw into the deep end, at a crucial moment, players born in 2005, entrusting them with responsibilities that many coaches would have reserved for older, more experienced players. Trusting youth is never an easy bet. But great teams, great countries, are precisely built on the ability to prepare the future without sacrificing the present. By giving these young talents their chance, the coach sends them a powerful message: merit matters more than age or any other consideration. What an example for the country’s managers, for Moroccan political parties, for Morocco as a whole. Trust in our talented young people, full of goodwill and love for the country. The feeling of belonging, a nation’s capital, has never been so strong and so manifest. It is the message of these young people who came out at dawn, fervent, shouting their pride and joy at being born Moroccan. This victory is also that of a culture of challenge. For several years, Moroccan football has refused to be content with existing. It wants to compete with the best nations. That ambition is found in every duel, every sprint, every contested ball. The Lions of the Atlas no longer play with the inferiority complex of small teams; they play with the certainty that they can beat any opponent. Another major lesson: resilience. Being behind on the scoreboard without abandoning one’s game plan is the mark of great teams. Too often, a team that concedes a goal abandons its principles in favor of long balls or disordered play. Morocco remained true to its identity. The players continued to build, to press, to create, convinced that their football would eventually be rewarded. This fidelity to the collective project is surely the most beautiful proof of maturity. At the heart of this success is also an inspired coach. His calm on the bench contrasts with the intensity on the field. He transmits neither nervousness nor panic. On the contrary, he exudes a communicative serenity that reassures his players in difficult moments. Great teams often have a great coach, not only for tactical skills, but also for the ability to instill unshakable confidence. Finally, this team is strong because it is deeply Moroccan. Behind the technical performances lies a culture: one of solidarity, respect, family and friendship. A culture where humility always accompanies ambition, where humanism remains a fundamental value, where each person accepts running for the other before thinking of themselves. This cohesion is not improvised; it is built around shared values. At the final whistle, the players did not hesitate for an instant to go and console their opponents. What an image. At its core, this victory over the Netherlands far exceeds the realm of sport. It demonstrates that a united collective, carried by a clear vision, solid values and unshakable confidence, can overturn the most difficult situations. It is a lesson that goes beyond football. It is a lesson in management, leadership and society. But above all, this victory is the fruit of a vision born in 2008, when His Majesty the King, may God assist him, addressed the famous letter to the sport conference and the day he inaugurated the Mohammed VI Academy. That was 28 March 2010. For several years now, Morocco has been investing massively in its football: modern infrastructures, development academies, professionalization of clubs and a long-term vision. The results the national team is reaping today are not a matter of chance. They are the logical consequence of a project built with patience, rigor and ambition. But beyond football itself, Morocco did not just win a match. It confirmed that it now possesses a champion’s identity and it won hearts. All over the world, football fans have vibrated for this team, waved Moroccan flags and worn shirts in the country’s colors. Immeasurable.

Morocco–Canada: heroic qualification, acrobatic refereeing and a whistle with variable geometry... 1907

Aziz Daouda, 13 d.
- Sports -
3.2 min read.
There are matches won by talent, others by mentality, and still others despite the referee. Morocco, against Canada, achieved the full set. In this World Cup round of 16, the Lions of the Atlas not only had to face one of the tournament’s most aggressive teams — that day even more so than before — they also had to cope with a referee whose speed at whipping out cards seemed less an act of sporting justice than a Pavlovian reflex whenever a white shirt entered his field of vision. Good thing they weren’t wearing red, those brave Moroccans... The tally is almost poetic in its absurdity: a rough Canadian team, committed to excess, sometimes plainly brutal, and yet it’s the Moroccans who come away with the largest collection of yellow cards. Six for Morocco, three for Canada. One would think that in the realm of the whistle, the guilty party is not the one who deals the blows but the one who has the bad taste to receive them — and even worse if he dares protest. Even if he happens to be the team captain. The referee, it must be admitted, had a real talent: drawing a card faster than his shadow whenever a Moroccan player dared commit the “unforgivable”: a slightly forceful tackle, a protest, sometimes even a single look too intent. It was like Lucky Luke, but in FIFA refereeing: the yellow seemed to appear before the foul was even finished. By contrast, when it came to blows aimed at the Moroccans, the cowboy suddenly went near-sighted, contemplative, almost philosophical. Certain brutalities were clearly imperceptible to the referee’s eye. Hakimi’s case alone deserves a small chapter in the manual of football misunderstandings. An obvious assault, a gesture that, in a normally governed world, would have at least called for a red card, or failing that a stern rebuke. But no. The referee saw nothing. Or, more precisely, he did not wish to see. The same scenario for Mazraoui, also the victim of a rough treatment that the man with the whistle filed under minor incidents. One imagines he must have been saving his severity for graver offences, such as, say... celebrating a goal with too much enthusiasm. And then there was that delightful, almost surreal scene: Morocco’s second goal scored by Azzedine Ounahi. A clear, quick, radiant action, executed with such inevitability that it seemed to wrench from the referee a strange gesture, like an involuntary admission. Arms raised, looking apologetic, he seemed to be telling the world — and probably the Canadians, or perhaps the sponsors, if there were any — “Excuse me, I really tried everything, but this time I couldn’t find a way to stop the play.” Perhaps that is the most beautiful involuntary tribute paid to Moroccan football: even the referee, for an instant, appeared disarmed by the beauty of the move. Should we therefore sink into bar-room conspiracy theories and imagine FIFA in the shadows, handing out scripts like a TV producer? Let’s be serious. Or rather, let’s remain reasonably ironic. There is no need to doubt the entire institution to question certain appointments. Canada belongs to the Commonwealth, the referee was English: enough, at minimum, to raise a few eyebrows. Add to that the eternal condescension of a certain footballing establishment toward “small teams” that have the fault of not respecting the prewritten hierarchy, and you have a cocktail troubling enough to fuel café conversations for years. Of course, we will probably never know. Referees, like diplomats, often take their secrets to the grave. Everyone will keep their certainties, suspicions, denials and silences. But in truth, the essential thing lies elsewhere. It lies in that immense qualification, won not only against a rough opponent but against a context that was no red carpet. It lies in the technical mastery of an Ounahi, the solidity of an Amrabat, the class of a Hakimi, the courage of a Mazraoui, the inspiration of a Bounou, and the collective intelligence of a group that kept its composure where others would have lost their heads. Because this Moroccan team does not merely play football: it tells a story. It tells of a country that is rising, that respects itself, that looks forward. It tells of a collective that no longer accepts the folkloric role so often assigned to African or Arab selections: look pretty, run a lot, then go home with the gallery’s compliments. No. This Morocco wants to win, wants to last, wants to disturb. And it disturbs precisely because it is no longer there merely to make up the scenery. This victory therefore tastes like revenge, but above all like affirmation. A whole nation rejoices, carried by its players, its staff, and by a broader dynamic that goes beyond the simple realm of sport. Behind this epic lies a vision, an ambition, a recovered pride. Football does not explain everything, but it reveals much: a mindset, discipline, confidence. And what the Lions of the Atlas show today is a Morocco that has stopped asking permission to exist at the highest level. Now remains the next step: France. And with it another question, already almost a ritual before kick-off: who will referee? Because at that level, the naming of the man in black begins to resemble the announcement of the menu. We will soon know whether Morocco is invited to the banquet... or is itself on the menu. In any case, one thing is certain: this Morocco has already won something precious. It has won the respect of its own people, the admiration of millions of supporters, and the certainty that it can look any great nation straight in the eye. And if, in addition, it must defeat the opponent, doubt and the referee, then it might as well do so with panache. After all, the greatest epics were never written with an impartial whistle.

The International Olympic Committee Facing Its Contradictions... 2352

Aziz Daouda, 17 d.
- Sports -
2.8 min read.
The International Olympic Committee (IOC) likes to present itself as the guardian of sport’s universal values, of excellence and self-transcendence. Yet behind this carefully maintained image lies a reality that is increasingly hard to justify: an organization that no one voted for, which generates billions of dollars from the Olympic Games while stubbornly refusing to redistribute that wealth fairly to those who actually produce it—the athletes. For several years now, the question of paying Olympic athletes has repeatedly resurfaced. It is neither new nor revolutionary. It simply concerns a basic principle of economic justice. Without athletes there would be no Olympic Games, no television audiences, no sponsors, no marketing rights, no commercial revenues. Sport is a collection of disciplines that are nothing more than bodily expressions demanding from their practitioners: sacrifice, physical effort, financial outlay and perseverance. Athletes are therefore the raw material of the Olympic spectacle. Yet they remain the only participants in this vast industry who do not directly benefit from the revenues they generate. Added to this injustice is the fundamental role of host states and cities, which mobilize considerable resources—drawn from taxes and public labor—to stage the Games. Infrastructure, security, transport, accommodation, organization: the costs are largely borne by taxpayers while the largest revenues flow back to the IOC. The Olympic economic model thus rests on a massive contribution from athletes, their clubs, their federations and their states—and, of course, from host countries—while profits remain largely concentrated at the top of the pyramid. Facing growing pressure from athletes’ commissions, federations and public opinion, the IOC has just announced the creation of a new aid program called the “Fit for the Future Olympian Grant.” For the first time in history, Olympic participants will be eligible for a $10,000 stipend intended to support their sporting careers or professional reintegration. A total envelope of $140 million per Olympiad was announced by Pau Gasol, chair of the IOC Athletes’ Commission, during the IOC’s 146th Session recently held in Lausanne. Presented as a historic advance, this initiative resembles more a political response than a genuine structural reform. First, because the amounts announced remain modest compared with Olympic revenues. Income generated by broadcast rights, global partnerships and marketing programs amounts to billions of dollars each Olympic cycle. Compared with that windfall, the $140 million pool appears more a symbolic gesture than a real redistribution of wealth. Second, because this aid does not address the athletes’ central demand: to be recognized as full economic actors of the Olympic movement. The IOC continues to regard athletes as recipients of assistance rather than as producers of value. That nuance is crucial. A grant remains a form of charity. Revenue-sharing, by contrast, constitutes recognition of a right—a compensation for the effort made. This distinction explains why the IOC’s announcement fools few informed observers. The organization clearly seeks to defuse criticism without calling its economic model into question. It is taking a small step to avoid taking a much larger one: the establishment of a transparent mechanism to redistribute Olympic revenues. That is what happened in athletics beginning in the 1980s, when, under pressure from athletes, the IAAF agreed to award bonuses to competitors and compensation for preparation to federations at the World Championships. The IOC’s traditional argument is that it already redistributes part of its resources through international federations, national Olympic committees and the Olympic Solidarity program. But that defense today shows its limits. Olympic Solidarity, in particular, has become an instrument whose effectiveness deserves serious questioning. Its administrative workings are costly, complex and highly bureaucratic. Despite decades of existence, its results remain difficult to measure in many countries. The sporting performances of the least developed nations have not seen the spectacular rise that might have justified the investments made. A significant portion of resources appears absorbed by the management mechanisms themselves rather than by the direct development of athletes. The paradox is striking: while the IOC has the financial means to transform permanently the training and career-transition conditions of thousands of athletes, it continues to favor indirect schemes whose impact remains limited. One can even argue that the aid and grants allocated through Olympic Solidarity never actually reach the athletes. The debate opening now goes far beyond the question of the announced $10,000. It concerns the governance of the Olympic movement itself. Can we still justify an organization accumulating considerable financial reserves while refusing a fairer sharing of revenues with the main actors of its success? Can we continue to invoke Olympic amateurism when the Games have become one of the world’s most profitable commercial events? Sooner or later, the IOC will have to answer these questions. The creation of the “Fit for the Future Olympian Grant” is an implicit admission: pressure from athletes is now producing effects. But it also reveals the institution’s persistent desire to retain absolute control over the redistribution of Olympic wealth. History shows, however, that no economic system can indefinitely ignore those who create its value. Olympic athletes are not asking for charity. They are simply demanding their fair share. And on that score, the IOC still has a long way to go.

When football studios become platforms for ill‑informed geopolitics... 2387

Aziz Daouda, 17 d.
- Politics - Society - Sports -
2.5 min read.
The World Cup is first and foremost a celebration of sport, a moment when tactics, technique, predictions and collective narrative take center stage. Yet at every major tournament lately, some studio panels turn into makeshift political arenas. Discussions meant to be about the game too often slide into poorly handled geopolitical sparring, to the detriment of sporting analysis and mutual respect among peoples. Television offers valuable visibility. For a pundit, columnist or host, being invited on a panel is an opportunity to clarify, inform and share expertise. But fame does not equal competence. Recently we’ve seen a worrying trend: contributors whose legitimacy rests on football morph into occasional political scientists when the topic is North African national teams. Instead of explaining a tactical choice, a technical performance or analyzing physical preparation, some use the microphone to denounce or instrumentalize historical and diplomatic tensions. The tone becomes aggressive and remarks turn ridiculous, veering into antisemitism, gutter invective and obsessive denigration. This drift is not harmless. It rests on a category error: talking about football requires sporting expertise; discussing international relations demands mastery of facts, historical perspective and rhetorical caution. The two fields rely on different methodologies. Reducing one to the other endangers the quality of public debate. The media magnifying effect means visibility should be paired with responsibility. The second problem is impact. A TV panel is watched by thousands, even millions. Statements made live are picked up and amplified on social media, sometimes stripped of context. When a pundit issues a sweeping opinion about history or diplomacy, the audience can take it as an authoritative verdict. This is particularly dangerous because it can present a partisan vision, deliberately shaped into a media “truth,” feeding resentments and stereotypes among closely connected peoples. One obvious reminder is needed: no commentator speaks for a people. Delegated speech in a media democracy is not a mandate. Confusing a pundit’s voice with that of a nation is an error as common as it is harmful. Sporting passions should not trample centuries‑old ties. While verbal fireworks make talk shows thrive, they must not obscure a firmer reality: ties between the peoples of the Maghreb rest on centuries of shared history, economic and cultural exchanges and family solidarities. These bonds usually withstand the excesses of studio debates and the lapses of some “politicians.” Sporting rivalries often exist within a framework of healthy competitiveness; they should not be turned into political conflict whose only aim is to mask one weakness or another. Distinguishing the rule from the exception is therefore essential. Outbursts happen, but they do not represent the totality of human and cultural relations in the region or the real situation of any given country. By contrast, the majority of supporters, sports journalists and analysts work to make sport a vector of exchange, not a pretext for polarizing societies. The shows that allowed these excesses would do well to return to best practices if they want to reclaim constructive debate. It is possible to restore program quality; media leaders and those in government have a duty to ensure this—unless it suits them otherwise. Unless they are complicit, some practical recommendations apply: - Clarify the formats: clearly separate sports segments from socio‑political debates, with hosts who steer discussions back on track when they degenerate. - Encourage nuance: promote well‑documented, sourced and balanced interventions rather than gratuitous theatrics and provocation. - Hold media accountable: establish editorial charters that set consultants’ scope and sanction factual departures. - Train contributors: offer sports pundits briefings on historical and diplomatic issues, and vice versa. - Respect expertise: invite qualified specialists (academics, historians, diplomats) for geopolitical topics and distinguish them from sports debates. These measures are not meant to muzzle speech but to make it more legitimate and useful. They will not necessarily deter troublemakers. Beyond ethical comfort, the stake is concrete: the credibility of public debate. When ignorance masquerades as expertise, the whole audience loses. Viewers tune in for explanations about a team’s performance, not a truncated history lesson serving hatred and discrimination. The risk is to normalize intellectual sloppiness and to instrumentalize television as an echo chamber for poorly informed grudges and cheap propaganda. Football deserves better than being hijacked for premature, ill‑founded polemics. Sports studios should remain spaces for game analysis, celebration of performance and respectful exchange. When politics must be discussed, call qualified voices and give them time to analyze. Ending makeshift geopolitics is a way to restore sport’s primary function: bringing peoples closer, not driving them apart. Polemic and insults do not diminish a country’s achievements, nor do they ennoble those who spread them.

World Cup 2026: Sovereignty Reclaims Its Legitimate Rights... 4395

Aziz Daouda, 1 mon.
A few days ago I published an article titled “World Cup 2026: when states remind FIFA who really calls the shots.” I tried there to explain why a country’s sovereign laws cannot be overridden by the rules of an international association. Sovereignty and security are attributes of states and only of states. That the United States, in this case, refused entry on its soil to people who were supposed to participate in the FIFA World Cup is a decision solely for that country to make. President Infantino, powerless, will acquiesce and be forced to acknowledge the supremacy of American domestic law. He will need to remember that if, in 2030, Spain, Portugal or Morocco decide to impose specific visas or quotas on nationals of certain countries, or to deny entry to certain individuals. This time I was tempted to title the piece “When the United States reminds FIFA that it is only an association.” In the end I chose the headline you see at the top. In practice, this edition of the Football World Cup has become one of questioning principles, practices and habits long considered definitive and non‑negotiable. For years FIFA grew accustomed to imposing its conditions on countries hosting major competitions: tax exemptions, special legal regimes, administrative privileges, customs facilitation. Almost systematically, candidate states for hosting a World Cup often agreed to set aside part of their sovereignty to meet Zurich’s demands. But the United States has just reminded us of a fundamental truth: no private association, however powerful, stands above the laws of a sovereign state. The signals have multiplied in recent weeks: the case of the Somali referee turned away, the difficulties some delegations encountered obtaining visas, restrictions targeting supporters of several nationalities, limits on travel and stays imposed on Iranians, and Senegalese players confronted with the strictness of U.S. immigration and border controls. Each time the same conclusion is clear: American laws prevail over FIFA’s regulations. Today a new episode confirms that reality. In the United States, FIFA will have to pay taxes on income generated during the 2026 World Cup. A small revolution. Until now, FIFA typically demanded near‑total exemptions from host countries for its revenues. The billions of dollars generated by broadcast rights, marketing, partnerships and merchandise were largely shielded from national taxation before being transferred to the organization’s accounts in Switzerland. This time the scenario is different, and we must measure the symbolic weight of that decision. It means the United States regards FIFA not as an international organization or supranational institution, but simply as a private association conducting economic activity on American soil. Even Gianni Infantino — whose rise to the FIFA presidency owes much to the geopolitical balances that favored his candidacy — is discovering the limits of his power when faced with the American administration and the political will of President Donald Trump. The message is clear: American laws are non‑negotiable. This lesson deserves reflection from future host countries, notably Morocco, which will co‑host the 2030 World Cup with Spain and Portugal. Why should a sovereign state renounce legitimate tax revenues in favor of an organization already among the richest on the planet? I do not know the status of negotiations with FIFA for 2030, but the United States has opened our eyes and challenged decision‑makers in Spain, Portugal and Morocco about what rights to grant FIFA. Moroccan companies, Moroccan merchants, Moroccan employees and Moroccan taxpayers all meet their fiscal obligations. Should FIFA be exempt while it will be engaged in profitable economic activity here? The question must be asked plainly. When an economic activity generates income on Moroccan territory, it must contribute to financing the infrastructure, public services and investments that make hosting an event of this magnitude possible. That is the very basis of the social contract. The American example thus recalls an essential democratic principle: the internal rules of an international sporting federation can never override laws passed by a parliament representing the popular will. For too long, some international sports organizations have cultivated the idea that they constitute a sort of superior authority capable of imposing their norms on states. The United States has demonstrated the opposite. The World Cup belongs to FIFA. Sovereignty belongs to nations. If the two collide, national laws must prevail. That may be the most important political lesson already taught by World Cup 2026.

World Cup: when states remind FIFA who really calls the shots... 4427

Aziz Daouda, 1 mon.
- Politics - Society - Sports -
2.7 min read.
For several days now, with delegations gradually arriving in the United States, Mexico and Canada for the 2026 World Cup, part of international public opinion seems to be discovering a reality that is, however, far from new: the primacy of national laws over the regulations of international sporting bodies. The treatment recently meted out to certain African, Middle Eastern and other delegations has sparked indignation, debate and sometimes accusations of discrimination. Yet none of this is truly new. Those who know the history of international sport are aware that the great Western powers have never relinquished their sovereignty on security matters to federations and international sporting bodies. Moroccan sporting history is full of telling examples. As early as 1984, the Moroccan delegation to the Los Angeles Olympic Games spent hours blocked at the American airport because of security procedures. At the Sydney Games, Moroccan athletes, officials and accompanying staff underwent particularly rigorous checks after more than twenty‑four hours of travel: interminable searches, interrogations, luggage inspected down to the smallest detail. The great powers apply their laws with cold efficiency, regardless of the supposed prestige of the competitions. The corridors supposedly set up to speed up procedures are in reality true security airlocks, pushed to the extreme. Passengers who arrived on the same flights as the athletes clear the border much more quickly. Being a qualified athlete for an international competition does not entitle one to preferential treatment. Djokovic was refused entry to Australia because he was unvaccinated. He was indeed the world No. 1 in the ATP rankings and the Australian tournament needed him for more than one reason. The reality is simple: no serious state hands over its national security to FIFA, the IOC or any sporting organisation. It is legitimate for a host country to apply its own laws with heightened vigilance when it receives hundreds of thousands of people from around the world. Zero risk does not exist. Large sporting gatherings are potential targets for all kinds of threats. In this context, outraged reactions often seem disconnected from geopolitical realities. The Somali referee turned away at Miami airport despite his visa remains, above all, a national of a country subject to particular entry restrictions into the United States. The Iranian players represent a state in open confrontation with Washington, and it is known that the sporting delegations of some regimes are often closely supervised by their security or diplomatic apparatuses. In 2022, the United States hosted the World Athletics Championships in Eugene, the temple of the sport in North America. Athletes from more than twenty African countries were unable to obtain visas to take part. The president of the African Athletics Confederation, himself a member of World Athletics, was unable to travel to the United States. American laws prevailed over the minor rules of the international federation, (World Athletics) which supposedly obliges the host country to accept all qualified athletes and their accompanying persons on its territory. This is neither automatic racism nor gratuitous hostility. It is, first and foremost, state logic, sovereignty and security. The real problem lies elsewhere. It lies in the attitude of certain “third‑world” countries that continue to regard the specifications of the major sporting bodies as sacred and indisputable. In many developing countries, FIFA, the IOC and other federations impose sometimes absurd requirements in terms of architecture, luxury, urban planning or security organisation, without local authorities daring to truly challenge them. How ridiculous it is to see some members of FIFA or the IOC — to name only the most visible, sometimes of dubious competence — inspect hotels, airports, hospitals, buses, and even public toilets with unbearable arrogance. Yet these organisations are not global governments. They have no democratic legitimacy superior to that of states. Their regulations cannot prevail over laws passed by sovereign parliaments and enforced by national institutions accountable to their people. The normal mission of a continental or world sporting federation should be limited to technical matters, the rules of the game and the sporting organisation itself. Once it claims to dictate security policies, architectural choices, lavish expenditures or urban orientations to sovereign states, it clearly oversteps its remit. The 2026 World Cup perhaps reminds us of an essential truth many had forgotten: it is not states that belong to FIFA, but FIFA that depends on states. What would football be without the colossal budgets that governments dedicate to it, sometimes at the expense of other sectors that are arguably more pressing? Yet that same FIFA, whenever a government seeks to put its football in order, sometimes wages war on it. We should perhaps thank the United States, Mexico and Canada for reminding everyone of the true nature of this competition: a great sporting celebration, certainly, but not a supranational authority capable of erasing laws, borders and national sovereignty. Anyone who fantasizes about a World Cup of caprice and privileges should abstain. Consider yourselves warned. +

Morocco in the big leagues, full steam ahead... 5772

Aziz Daouda, 1 mon.
- Sports -
2.1 min read.
Morocco no longer moves on tiptoe. It now walks with the assurance of football’s great nations. What a striking image: our Lions leaving the tarmac at Rabat-Salé airport bound for New York. Impeccable dark suits, red ties in the nation’s colors, a red carpet rolled out under their feet… A powerful symbol. Of a country that has understood modern football is also about stature, representation and a winning culture. In the middle of that almost Hollywood scene, one man naturally draws the eye: Mohamed Ouahbi. Calm smile, serene gaze, controlled posture, perfectly adjusted glasses. He exudes that apparent tranquility known only to those driven by an immense inner pressure. People who have already held responsibility know what that means: reassuring the troops, inspiring confidence, hiding doubt to feed hope. I know this from years of experience. It is hard to lead men to the summit where all eyes converge and emotions run high. Ouahbi precisely possesses that rare mix: know-how, personality and conviction. He knows his players. Above all, he knows he leads a generation no longer afraid of anyone. He also knows he will play with our nerves and emotions like never before. Morocco’s 2026 national team is not only talented. It is hungry. - Hungry for recognition. - Hungry for careers. - Hungry for trophies. - Hungry to write its own name in Moroccan football history. These young men know global football gives no one gifts. They know a great tournament can change a life, open the doors of the biggest clubs and firmly establish a career. That truth often sparks the greatest epics. They also know — and above all — that Morocco is offering each of them the chance of a lifetime. They understand that in a World Cup what matters is the collective, and they form one: bonded, unbreakable. In this group, several players arrive with the energy of the ambitious and the pride of competitors. Boys who want to seize their chance with both hands. Players who are not here to take part but to leave their mark. They play for and represent a Morocco that no longer sees top-level participation as a miracle but as an obligation, reflecting a King, a nation and a people. Perhaps that is the greatest change. For a long time Morocco was invited to the table of football’s great nations with the modesty of the “underdog.” We were happy to be there, happy to compete, sometimes simply happy to exist. We were placed at the end of the table… That era is over. Since the historic achievement at the 2022 World Cup, the world’s view has changed. Morocco is watched, respected and expected. Today, when the Lions step onto a pitch, they represent a school, a project and a continental ambition. They carry the hopes of a country, but also of an Africa that wants to look football’s giants in the eye. And it must be said clearly: Morocco has done everything to reach the summit. - World-class infrastructure. - An ambitious training policy. - Modern centres. - A structured federation. - A royal vision that has placed sport at the heart of the country’s influence. - An exceptional diaspora that continually enriches our football. The whole world sees it today. Of course, only God knows what the competition will bring. Football remains unpredictable, sometimes cruel, often magical. But one thing is certain: this Moroccan squad no longer leaves with an inferiority complex. They leave with a mission: to do everything possible to bring a World Cup home and to confirm that Morocco now belongs in the circle of football’s great nations. And when those young Lions boarded the plane at Rabat-Salé, elegant, focused and proud to wear the nation’s red, an entire people boarded with them. On the plane they did not yet know they were now seventh in the FIFA world rankings... That is how New York welcomed them.

Wahbi and the gamble of a hybrid Morocco: toward a game of control… 6833

Aziz Daouda, 2 mon.
- Sports -
3.2 min read.
In contemporary football, the great nations are no longer defined solely by the intrinsic quality of their players, but by their ability to shift gears without losing their identity. That is precisely the ambition Mohamed Wahbi seems to embody through his reading of the game and the composition of his squad for the 2026 World Cup. Much of the analysis and criticism has remained confined to a traditional framework, that of the “best players selected.” This approach misses the point. Wahbi is not merely assembling individuals; he is constructing functions. His squad is not built on hierarchy, but on scenarios. Each profile corresponds to a match situation, a tactical configuration, a strategic necessity. In other words, he is not building a team; he is designing an evolving, adaptive, and pragmatic system. What we are witnessing, then, is a transformed continuity. Wahbi’s project does not break with the Regragui era; it extends it intelligently. Morocco’s 2022 campaign will remain one of the greatest performances in African football history, built on elite defensive organization, remarkable collective discipline, and clinical use of transitions. But such a model, by nature, quickly reaches its limits if it becomes predictable. That is precisely what must now change. Wahbi appears to have internalized this reality. He is not seeking to erase that legacy, but to enrich and refine it. To solidity without the ball, he adds ambition with the ball, the ambition to control, dictate, impose, and vary play. He already demonstrated this convincingly with the U20s. Morocco no longer wants merely to survive matches; it wants to learn how to govern and master them. Hybridization is the doctrine Wahbi is now imposing on the squad. The central concept of Wahbi’s project is that of a hybrid team, not indecisive, but polymorphic, capable of changing structure and dynamics at any moment within the same match. At the highest level, rigidity is a weakness. Top national teams know how to navigate between multiple states of play within a single game: defending in a low block or pressing high; monopolizing possession or attacking quickly; slowing the tempo or neutralizing opposition transitions. This adaptability defines competitiveness. Against a powerhouse like Brazil, ball control becomes a defensive tool. Against a low block, it becomes an attacking weapon. In a physical contest, it must be paired with the ability to win second balls and sustain intensity. Wahbi clearly rejects a Morocco that is reactive by nature; he wants a team capable of imposing itself while adjusting in real time. To achieve this, his selections prioritize profiles capable of both understanding and embodying this doctrine. The squad thus reflects a functional reading of football. Within this framework, Achraf Hakimi goes far beyond his role as a full-back. He becomes a constant source of imbalance, a wide creator whose attacking freedom structures the team’s overall equilibrium, something he already executes brilliantly at PSG. Ayoub El Kaabi is not just a finisher. He is a focal point, an axial reference who stretches defensive lines and frees intermediate spaces. Soufiane Rahimi provides constant vertical threat, essential for pinning back opposition blocks and discouraging aggressive pressing. Ismaël Saibari embodies the role of a connective false nine, capable of linking lines, absorbing pressure, and fluidifying attacking patterns, while remaining highly unpredictable for defenders. Wahbi does not duplicate profiles; he multiplies solutions and expands his options. This should translate into a genuine technical upgrade and increased efficiency. Another strong signal also emerges: a clear intent to elevate Morocco toward a possession-based game. Around players like Ounahi, El Khannouss, Bouaddi, El Aynaoui, and Brahim Díaz, a midfield core is taking shape that can resist pressing, organize build-up play, and control tempo. This reflects a clear cultural evolution. Long confined to a physical or transitional identity, African national teams have struggled to be recognized as sides capable of controlling games. Morocco aims to break that implicit ceiling by embracing intelligent possession football, rooted in game intelligence and technical quality. This ambition is supported by a generation trained in demanding tactical environments, capable of interpreting multiple roles and adapting to varied contexts, and of accepting risk as a necessary passage. Because this project naturally carries a degree of uncertainty. A hybrid team can lose clarity if its reference points are not fully assimilated. A wealth of options can create indecision. Possession-based football requires time, automatisms, and high collective intelligence. But Wahbi accepts this risk. Where others might hide behind a proven model, he chooses evolution, embedding his project in a long-term vision. Wahbi is betting on a simple truth: at World Cup level, defensive solidity alone is no longer enough. One must also be able to control the ball, impose sequences, break down blocks, and manage difficult phases in ways other than mere resistance. Our national team will genuinely change status. Ultimately, this squad reflects a deeper transformation. Morocco no longer wants to be just a team capable of producing upsets; it aspires to become one that imposes its authority. This shift is as much mental as it is tactical. For Wahbi, the challenge goes beyond selecting a starting eleven. It is about building a team capable of reading the game, accelerating when needed, slowing it down when required, enduring without collapsing, controlling to dominate, attacking depth to make the difference, and above all, knowing when to change gears without losing coherence. That mastery of moments is the hallmark of great teams. And it is precisely toward that standard that Mohamed Wahbi seems intent on leading this side. As for us, informed observers or not, experts or not, we must remain patient and united. To those not selected, it must be said: such is football. It is not injustice, but strategy. A team, by definition, is a limited group. On the day of his appointment, I said that Wahbi had the mindset to win a World Cup at senior level. Today, I believe it even more strongly. God willing.

Football held hostage by the culture of excuses: when defeat becomes a conspiracy... 6751

Aziz Daouda, 2 mon.
- Society - Sports -
2.9 min read.
Football is a sport of passion, emotion, and collective identity. It is often an extension of a national, regional, or popular feeling. This emotional power explains its greatness, but it also explains its excesses. For several years now, a worrying trend has been taking hold in world football: the growing inability of some coaches, officials, and other actors in the game to simply acknowledge the superiority of the opponent or their own shortcomings. Every defeat becomes suspicious. Every refereeing decision is turned into a scandal. Every elimination feeds a conspiracy theory. This culture of excuses is no longer marginal. It has become frequent enough to constitute a real moral, institutional, and security problem in football. The 2025 AFCON is a perfect example. The latest episode clearly illustrates this drift: the coach of Egypt’s U17 team blamed his side’s defeat on refereeing. Even at a youth level, where sporting education should take precedence over controversy, some officials would rather discredit referees than honestly assess their team’s weaknesses. Defeat is no longer accepted as a sporting reality Football is nevertheless based on a fundamental principle: there is a winner and a loser. Defeat is an integral part of sport. It should be analyzed, understood, and used as a lever for progress. Yet more and more, some coaches refuse this obvious truth. They prefer to point to outside culprits: - the referee; - the institutions; - VAR; - the fixtures; - the weather conditions; - alleged continental or international conspiracies. Rarely do they mention: - their poor tactical choices; - the lack of commitment from certain players; - their team’s technical or mental weaknesses; - poor preparation; - or simply the superior quality of the opponent. This attitude reflects a deep crisis of responsibility in modern football. A dangerous diversion tactic In many cases, blaming refereeing is primarily a way to protect the image of the coach or the club. Admitting mistakes takes courage. Accusing the referee, by contrast, helps deflect supporters’ anger. This strategy may seem effective in the short term, but it causes major damage. First, it fuels constant distrust toward national football institutions, continental confederations such as the Confederation of African Football, and even FIFA. Second, it helps radicalize supporters. When a coach publicly claims that a defeat is the result of injustice or manipulation, he legitimizes the anger, aggression, and sometimes even the violence of thousands of people. In some contexts, such accusations have led to assaults on referees, pitch invasions, urban violence, sporting diplomatic breakdowns, and online hate campaigns. Football then stops being a space of competition and becomes a field of permanent suspicion. The poison of sporting conspiracy thinking is obvious. The poison of sporting conspiracy One of the most serious phenomena is the rise of true football conspiracy thinking. Some defeats are said to be caused not by the opponent’s merit but by hidden forces: corrupt referees, biased federations, hostile confederations, and orchestrated decisions. This logic is destructive because it eliminates any culture of self-criticism. How can teams improve tactically if they refuse to admit their mistakes? How can young players be taught sportsmanship if they are told defeat is always unjust? How can credible institutions be built when they are constantly attacked without evidence? What is most worrying is that this mindset now reaches youth categories. Yet youth football should precisely teach respect, learning, mental discipline, and acceptance of the sporting result. When a U17 coach prefers to blame refereeing rather than acknowledge his team’s limits, he sends an extremely harmful message to younger generations. Great coaches take responsibility Football history shows that the greatest coaches are often those who know how to acknowledge their mistakes. Top-level managers such as Carlo Ancelotti, Pep Guardiola, and Jürgen Klopp have regularly admitted tactical errors, poor lineup choices, mental shortcomings in their teams, or the superiority of the opponent. This attitude does not diminish their standing; on the contrary, it strengthens their credibility. Acknowledging defeat is not humiliation. It is a sign of maturity, competence, and responsibility. Should irresponsible accusations be punished? The question now deserves serious attention: how far should we allow some officials to freely discredit football institutions? Freedom of expression must of course be protected. Refereeing mistakes do happen. Criticism of football is legitimate. But there is a fundamental difference between a reasoned critique and a permanent accusation aimed at delegitimizing referees and institutions without evidence. Stricter regulations should be considered to sanction unfounded accusations, statements that incite hatred against referees, conspiracy-driven remarks without factual basis, and systematic smear campaigns against sporting institutions. Such sanctions could include fines, suspensions, mandatory public retractions, or even temporary touchline bans. Protecting refereeing authority and institutional credibility is not a luxury; it is a necessity if football is to have a future. We must restore responsibility Football urgently needs to recover this essential value. A coach should be able to say: - “We lost because we were not good enough.” - “My tactical plan did not work.” - “My players were below the required level.” - “The opponent was better.” These phrases should be normal in elite sport. Yet they are becoming rare. By turning every setback into a scandal, football drifts away from its core values of merit, effort, learning, and respect for competition. The greatness of sport lies not only in victory. It also lies in the dignity with which defeat is accepted. I do not know whether Pape Thiaw will agree with this view. He should. The media should too.

Farewell Hamad Kalkaba Malboum, my friend, my brother, my president. 8257

Aziz Daouda, 2 mon.
- Sports -
3.1 min read.
The passing of Hamad Kalkaba Malboum, my friend, my brother, my president, marks a painful turning point for African sport. With him fades one of the last great builders of a generation that believed Africa could claim its place in global sports institutions not through complaints, victimhood, or marginalization, but through work, organization, and consistency. Born in 1950 in Kawadji, near Kousséri (Far North of Cameroon), the country he cherished so deeply, Hamad Kalkaba Malboum lived several lives in one existence. He was a soldier, gendarme, athlete, administrator, sports diplomat, and above all, a tireless advocate for Cameroonian and African sport. Shaped by the rigor of a senior army and gendarmerie officer, he understood early on that sport was not merely entertainment, but an instrument of sovereignty, influence, and national cohesion. He himself practiced handball and athletics in his youth, representing Cameroon in the 1970s. But it was especially off the tracks that he would leave a historic mark. When Hamad Kalkaba gradually rose to continental sports responsibilities, African athletics was still in the shadow of Western powers. African champions already existed, but decision-making centers remained elsewhere. Africa supplied the talent, rarely the decision-makers. He devoted his life to changing that balance. At the helm of the National Olympic and Sports Committee of Cameroon from the late 1990s, and especially as president of the African Athletics Confederation starting in 2003, he became one of the continent's most listened-to voices in international sports circles. His fight was constant: giving Africa the means to organize, govern, and think its own sport. In 2006, when I left the Royal Moroccan Athletics Federation, as soon as he heard the news, he picked up the phone and said to me: "It's a shame for Morocco that you've left the Federation. Do you want to serve Africa by my side?" That's how he convinced me to say yes. "Serve": Kalkaba's watchword. Those who knew him know that was his philosophy of life: to serve. First, rigorous planning was put in place. A ten-year plan was adopted at the general assembly, followed by a second one ten years later. The course was set, clear, with the goal of all-around development of African athletics. Continental championships for U18s and U20s were established, along with cross-country. The number of participating countries was to increase, and that of athletes double. Training centers were opened for athletes in Lomé, Port Harcourt, and Abidjan. The missions of the centers in Mauritius, Cairo, and Nairobi were revisited. Emphasis was placed on training athletes and coaches. And the results came quickly. Africa won the Intercontinental Cup several times. The level of African athletes improved, and at least three countries ranked among the top 10 at every edition of the world championships and Olympics. Under his impetus, African championships gained visibility, became structured, and several African countries began hosting major international events. He relentlessly defended the idea that athletics is Africa's true king of sports, the one that offers the continent its greatest Olympic emotions and global recognition. Just days before his passing, he reiterated this deep conviction: "Africa remains an important cradle of world athletics." That sentence sums up his entire vision. For him, Africa was not merely a reservoir of talent destined to enrich other nations. It had to become an organized, respected, and influential sports power, denouncing the brain drain of talents, the mass naturalizations of African athletes, and the lack of state investment in sports infrastructure. His activism extended far beyond athletics. He played a key role in military sport through the CISM, which he presided over, and as vice president of the Organization of Islamic States Sports. Recently, he brought his peers together to form CASOL, an body uniting African Sports Confederations. Hamad Kalkaba believed in sport as a diplomatic and geopolitical tool. In a recent lecture at Cameroon's Institute of International Relations, he explained that sport had become a major instrument of soft power, peace, and international influence for African nations. He understood, before many others, that the global sports world was also an arena of political, economic, and cultural power struggles. He belonged to that generation of African leaders with a continental vision of sport. Like Lamine Diack, to whom he recently paid moving tribute, Hamad Kalkaba saw African athletics as a common heritage to defend collectively. Criticism was never lacking during his long tenure. Like any power figure spanning decades, he was sometimes accused of embodying an outdated, overly vertical system that was insufficiently renewed. But even his adversaries acknowledged his exceptional knowledge of global sports mechanisms and his rare ability to defend African interests in major international bodies. His passing comes just as he was preparing the major continental athletics events. With Hamad Kalkaba Malboum disappears a certain idea of the African sports leader: a man of the field, networks, conviction, and strategic patience. A man who believed Africa must learn to weigh in on international institutions rather than simply participate in them. His legacy now transcends medals, congresses, or organized competitions. To the end, he remained in service to African sport, which must no longer be a mere extra in world history, but one of its central actors. Today, African athletics loses more than a leader. It loses a militant. His final battle was to get adoption of the proposal that World Athletics Council members be elected in their respective continents, according to a quota reserved for each. Who, after him, will defend this constructive idea that he had adopted at the continental level? That's what we were discussing at my place just ten days ago, and on the phone the day before yesterday... Rest in peace, my friend, my brother, my president. Nothing will ever be the same at the CAA. Hamad also sang in his youth. Here he sings to the glory of God. Have a look on the link hereby.
youtu.be/Jthq7kjOecU?si=uvPq_XND...

Hassan II Trophy: Fifty Years of History, Memory, and Royal Vision... 8930

Aziz Daouda, 2 mon.
- Society - Sports -
1.8 min read.
There are anniversaries that are more than mere numbers. They are milestones in a life, landmarks in memory. This 50th edition of the Hassan II Golf Trophy is one of them. And for me, it holds a special flavor: that of half a century of history that I have had the modest privilege of living through. I can still picture myself, young and enthusiastic, assigned by my friend Najib Salmi to cover the very first edition for *L’Opinion*. We didn't yet know we were witnessing the birth of an event destined to span decades and place Morocco on the world map of golf. At the time, the gamble seemed bold. Golf was not a popular sport in Morocco, let alone a vector for international image. But that gamble bore the mark of a vision. That of Hassan II. To put it bluntly: the Hassan II Trophy is not just a sports competition. It is the expression of a strategy. A way, for a visionary sovereign, to anticipate what modern diplomacy would become: a diplomacy of influence, image, cultural and sporting outreach. Hassan II understood, well before many others, that sport could be a universal language. A space where nations meet without rigid protocol, where elites exchange in an informal setting, and where a country's image is built with subtlety. Golf, in particular, offered that prestigious yet discreet dimension, perfectly aligned with his idea of Morocco's positioning. Golf in Morocco had its own tradition and unique flavor, which a certain Winston Churchill regularly came to savor... Over the editions, I watched this trophy grow. From a still-confidential tournament, it became a recognized stop on the international circuit. I saw champions come and go, infrastructure evolve, and organization professionalize. But more than that, I saw a royal intuition proven right, year after year. What strikes me today, looking back, is not just the event's longevity. It is its coherence. Nothing was left to chance. The choice of courses, the quality of hospitality, the attention to detail... all of it meets one demand: to make Morocco a reference. And then there is that human dimension, often overlooked in official reports. The encounters, the chats by the green, the bonds forged over the years. Najib Salmi is no longer here to share this moment, but I know he would have savored it, like me, this continuity. We had begun this adventure almost as curious onlookers; today we see it consecrated. Fifty editions later, the Hassan II Trophy is far more than a tournament. It is a legacy. That of a king whom history will surely remember as one of the greatest of the Alaouite dynasty, not only for his political acumen, but for his ability to see far, very far ahead. Today, the vision is renewed. His Majesty King Mohammed VI has revitalized the approach with vigor, and His Royal Highness Prince Moulay Rachid ensures it translates into reality in the best possible way. And I, a mere chronicler of this long span of time, today measure the privilege of having been there at the beginning... and of still being here to recount its trajectory and savor the spectacle with the pride of a fulfilled citizen living his Moroccan identity.

Moroccan Football: When Spectacle Becomes a Pretext for Confrontation... 8928

Aziz Daouda, 2 mon.
- Politics - Society - Sports -
2.8 min read.
There was, at the outset, a kind of almost naive optimism. By modernizing infrastructure, offering fans stadiums to international standards, professionalizing organization and hospitality, and shifting to what's now called the "fan experience," many believed Moroccan football would cross a threshold—not just sporting, but civic as well. The idea was simple: by elevating hosting conditions, public behavior would automatically improve. Recent events during FAR–Raja at the Moulay Abdallah Complex brutally contradict this hypothesis. A rude awakening that, naively, no one anticipated. What happened there is neither trivial, nor isolated, nor should it be dismissed as a mere incident. On the contrary, it's the symptom of a deeper malaise that categorically transcends the realm of football. The illusion of infrastructure as a driver of change has simply shattered. Morocco has massively invested in its sports facilities, eyeing continental and international ambitions, and of course a legacy and assets for youth and football. The Moulay Abdallah Complex, a showcase of this policy, is meant to embody this new era, with security, comfort, and organization. Yet these modern infrastructures failed to prevent scenes of violence, vandalism, and clashes. This highlights a fundamental analytical error. Social problems aren't solved by purely material responses. Stadiums aren't airtight bubbles insulated from society's tensions. They often mirror and amplify them. For some time now, they've become the venue and crucible for claims and expressions that go far beyond football. The fundamental question is to open our eyes. Are we dealing with football fans or organized groups, manipulated and spurred on as the spearhead of obscure agendas? Doesn't this echo the methods of the Open Society? It would be misleading to reduce these outbursts to mere "fan excesses." A portion of the crowd in the stands clearly isn't there for the football. In many cases, these are structured groups, mostly young, sometimes very young, who instrumentalize the sports event as a space for violent expression. They themselves are likely manipulated and victimized. The match then becomes a pretext, and the stadium a stage where power struggles unfold that have little to do with the game. Clashes with law enforcement aren't accidental. They're sought, prepared, sometimes even ritualized. Should we see manipulation at play? The question deserves to be asked without naivety. In numerous international contexts, fan movements have been infiltrated, instrumentalized, or co-opted for political, ideological, or criminal ends. Morocco isn't inherently immune to such drifts. Thinking otherwise is ingenuous. Faced with these derailments, another element stands out: the silence of certain clubs. This muteness is, at best, cowardice. At worst, implicit complicity or simply fear of confrontation. Clubs are the first affected. Their image and finances are directly hit by these behaviors. Their moral responsibility is engaged. Yet few take a clear, firm, public stance to condemn these acts and disavow these groups. Why this silence? Fear of losing part of their fan base? Inability to control groups that have become autonomous? Or calculation, viewing these radical fringes as contributors to stadium atmosphere and pressure despite everything? Whatever the reason, this stance is untenable. Clubs can't claim the benefits of popular support, enjoy colossal subsidies and investments at taxpayers' expense, while turning a blind eye to their gravest excesses. Treating them as incidents handed off to security services isn't acceptable. Clubs must speak out, express themselves, disavow, and openly condemn. FAR's leaders have just broken this silence with a statement denouncing what happened. All football clubs and their league likely need to go further. Why not join as civil parties? The image of clubs, football, and the country is severely damaged. This is also a matter of authority and societal project. At bottom, the issue transcends football. It points to a broader stake: authority, youth guidance, and meaning given to collective spaces. When youths use a match to "settle scores," it reveals deficits in integration, benchmarks, and prospects. The stadium becomes an outlet, but also a training ground for confrontation. Action is thus needed, and quickly. Youths all dressed in black eerily recall fascist movements from another era, another world. The response can't be purely securitarian, though necessary. It must be holistic: educational, social, cultural. It requires holding all actors accountable—notably, it bears repeating, parents, society, clubs, the federation, local authorities, and media. Labeling openly dangerous behaviors as "festive expressions" and broadcasting their images is reckless. It implicitly gives visibility to movements that thrive on it, demonstrating their power and attracting more followers and sympathizers. Some, naively, push crowds toward extreme behaviors through inappropriate narratives and semantics they don't master. More than ever, it's time to restore football's essence: a cultural moment of sharing, collective emotion, framed rivalry. When it becomes a battlefield, it loses its purpose. It's thus urgent to reaffirm clear lines: - Zero tolerance for organized violence - Clubs held accountable for their supporters - Professional league held accountable - Identification and sanctioning of troublemakers behind the scenes - Rebuilding a healthy bond between youth and sport. For without this, the world's finest stadiums will remain empty shells devoid of meaning, unable to contain tensions they're not meant to resolve. Moroccan football deserves better. And it's still time to right the course—if we face reality head-on, with intelligence and without complacency.

AFCON 2025, Regulations and Narrative: When the Laws of the Game Catch Up with the Debate... 9189

Aziz Daouda, 2 mon.
- Sports -
2.4 min read.
The controversy surrounding the AFCON 2025 final has been decisive. It now resembles less a debate than a serialized drama, where law and passion vie for the starring role, each convinced it has the superior script. For several weeks, the Confederation of African Football's (CAF) appeal jury decision, ratifying Senegal's defeat on a technicality and crowning Morocco as the official winner, has been scrutinized, dissected, contested, and even rewritten according to various biases. The most vehement commentators invoke a principle they elevate to the status of sanctity: a football match must be decided on the pitch, not in air-conditioned offices. Fair enough... until the fundamental rules are transgressed and trampled. The argument is noble, of course... but it conveniently overlooks that without regulations, sanctions, and bodies to enforce them, football would quickly resemble a giant playground where everyone redraws the rules at halftime. In reality, this debate says less about the match itself than about our collective difficulty accepting that in football too, as in life, the final whistle can sometimes blow... off the field. The seductive argument in the abstract, that the result must be earned on the pitch, collides with an inescapable reality: football is also, and perhaps above all, a universal normative framework. Without rules, there is no competition, no fairness, no legitimacy, no universality. And precisely, the recent adjustments by The International Football Association Board (IFAB) shed light on this tension between sporting idealism and regulatory discipline. For context, the IFAB establishes football's Laws of the Game fairly independently from FIFA's governing bodies. A legacy from the past, but a fine inheritance ensuring a degree of objectivity and neutrality. By introducing some modifications to the Laws of the Game recently, the body has brought a major clarification. From now on, any player leaving the pitch in protest risks a red card and ejection, and any team responsible for abandoning a match will be declared to have forfeited. This is the logical follow-up to what happened in Rabat. A truly welcome legacy here too. The IFAB is simply saying: never again. This point is crucial. It’s not an interpretation, but an explicit intent to strengthen the referee's authority and preserve competition integrity through stricter adherence to the rules of play and competition. In other words, the behavior seen in this controversial final is not just morally regrettable; it is now formally regulated and sanctioned. This profoundly changes the nature of the debate. For while one can question the wisdom of a past decision, it becomes hard to ignore that the direction of legal evolution aligns precisely with the CAF's choice, explicitly backed by the body that crafts football's rules, and, by extension, by FIFA itself. Thus, a question arises: why do some analysts highlight secondary elements of the new rules, like the ban on players covering their mouths during protests or exchanges, while omitting the core provisions on match abandonment? Have they not grasped the importance of the most significant change in world football, effective immediately? This editorial choice raises questions. It suggests less a desire to fully inform than an attempt to sustain a weakened argumentative line amid evolving legal frameworks. Refusing to integrate this new data risks accusations of bias, or even deliberate narrative distortion. It would be far more productive to recognize that modern football cannot survive without collective discipline. The romanticism of “a game decided on the pitch” cannot justify behaviors that undermine referee authority and threaten the very order of competition. In this light, the CAF's decision now appears less an anomaly than a fortunate anticipation, perhaps severe, but coherent with a normative evolution embraced at the highest levels of world football. The polemic around this final thus far exceeds a single match. It reveals a rift between two visions of football: one emotional and narrative, clinging to the idea of the game regardless of how it's played; the other institutional and legal, aware that without strict rule observance, the game itself loses all meaning. And in this showdown, the laws of the game seem to have gained an irrevocable lead. This aligns with history, perhaps innovation, but undoubtedly the normal evolution of things. From now on, no one will use the threat of walking off to influence the referee's decisions. From now on and forever, the law will take precedence in all circumstances.

April 6: The Moroccan Idea That Conquered the World... 9962

Aziz Daouda, 3 mon.
- Society - Sports -
2.2 min read.
April 6 is now etched into the global calendar as the International Day of Sport for Development and Peace. A celebration championed by the United Nations, echoed across all continents, and enthusiastically embraced by millions of athletes, institutions, and enthusiasts. Yet behind this worldwide recognition lies an origin that often goes unnoticed. It’s a Moroccan idea, that of Hamid Kamal Lahlou. The irony is striking. While the world fervently celebrates this day, Morocco—the birthplace of the initiative—sometimes seems to lag behind, as if hesitating to fully claim its paternity. Yes, there have been scattered initiatives and events here and there. But they fall far short of what we might have hoped for. We won’t list the few organized manifestations, so as not to ruffle feathers by omitting any. In any case, there are no major events from the sports authorities, such as the ministry, the National Olympic Committee, or the major Royal Moroccan Sports Federations. Is this simply an oversight, or a more subtle form of distancing? The question deserves to be asked, especially when you know the personality of its originator. Kamal Lahlou is not a consensual figure. Journalist, sports leader, communicator, he has established himself over decades as a singular voice in Morocco’s media and sports landscape. His career is dense: former handball player, originally a physical education teacher and inspector, committed actor in the development of national sports, he has held important responsibilities, notably within the Moroccan National Olympic Committee and the Association of African National Olympic Committees. He remains president of the Royal Moroccan Weightlifting Federation and vice-president of the Mohammed VI Sports Champions Foundation. But beyond titles and roles, it’s his words that stand out and his stance that impresses. Direct, clear, often critical, Lahlou disturbs as much as he inspires. He practices neither doublespeak nor complacency. In an environment where restraint is sometimes elevated to an implicit rule, his frankness cuts through. He points out shortcomings, challenges decision-makers, and defends a demanding vision of sport as a lever for development and national influence. This positioning has earned him as many admirers as detractors and doubtless even more denigrators. Some praise his courage and consistency, others reproach him for a tone deemed too incisive. Still others find nothing to fault him for, yet behind his back, lavish him with gratuitous reprimands. But all agree on one point: Kamal Lahlou is an incontournable figure, impossible to ignore. His patriotism admits no ambiguity. Behind every statement, every critique, emerges a clear ambition: to see the Kingdom take the place it deserves on the international sports scene. The April 6 Day fits precisely into this logic. By proposing to dedicate a date to sport as a vector for peace and development, Lahlou sought not personal legitimation, but recognition of the fundamental role sport can play in modern societies. He thus transcribed, in his own way, the royal vision of sport and the role the country can play on a universal scale in service of peace. So why this relative discretion in Morocco around this day? Is it the price to pay for free speech? The backlash of rivalries that have no place? An implicit way to marginalize a figure deemed too independent? A means to silence an ambitious voice? Or simply a deficit of collective memory? Whatever the answers, or the answer, one reality remains. April 6 is an idea born in Morocco, carried by a Moroccan, and adopted by the entire world. At a time when the country seeks to strengthen its soft power and highlight its successes, it might be time to reconcile origin and celebration. For recognizing this initiative to Kamal Lahlou is not just about honoring a man. Does he really need it? It’s rather about embracing a part of contemporary national and global sports history, and reminding that beyond infrastructure and performances, ideas too can change the world. And if it’s the Kingdom of Morocco at the origin, that’s even better.

Doping: Move Beyond Fiction, Confront the Public Health Issue... 10023

Aziz Daouda, 3 mon.
- Politics - Society - Sports -
3 min read.
It’s tempting to dismiss the recent doping cases in Moroccan football with a wave of the hand, reducing them to individual errors, mishaps, or even injustices. It’s tempting, but dangerous. What’s at stake today goes far beyond a few disciplinary sanctions. Doping, in its contemporary form, is no longer just cheating: it’s a brutal revealer of a deeper dysfunction—an out-of-control sports and health ecosystem, sustained by a comfortable illusion: “football isn’t affected.” For a long time, football has sheltered itself behind a convenient fiction: that of a sport relatively spared from doping, an illusion maintained on a global scale despite well-documented precedents. In Morocco, this fiction persists: every case is treated as an anomaly, never as a signal. That said, what has recently come to light does concern football, but it’s far from the only sport affected. The rise of the Moroccan Anti-Doping Agency (AMAD) and the significant increase in controls have changed the game: what we’re seeing today isn’t necessarily more doping, but more truth. And that truth is unsettling. The narrative of “accidental doping” is increasingly holding up poorly against the facts. The dominant discourse is well-rehearsed: athletes are victims of involuntary doping, from contaminated supplements, poorly prescribed medications, and good-faith errors. This discourse isn’t entirely false. It’s simply incomplete. Because behind “involuntary doping” lies a more troubling reality: a widespread normalization of substance ingestion, in a culture where presumed immediate performance gains take precedence over knowledge, caution, and medical oversight. Yet it’s nearly impossible to prove that ingesting this or that substance enhances sports performance. What is certain and proven, however, are the inevitable health consequences. Anti-doping law is implacable: the athlete is responsible for everything they consume, whether they intended to cheat or not. This principle of strict liability isn’t an injustice, it’s a safeguard. But athletes must first be given the real means to understand what they’re ingesting. Clearly, that’s not the case for a large portion of them today. For elite athletes, controls are there to deter and sanction when necessary. The problem becomes even graver for young people—and not-so-young—who train for themselves, outside the most visible circuits. That’s where supplements represent a new gray area and the heart of the issue, widely underestimated. Supplements have become the gateway to a diffuse, invisible, insidious form of doping. Uncertified products, uncontrolled imports, aggressive marketing: everything conspires to maintain an illusion of safety, while these products are a sanitary blind spot. Their massive consumption among young people is rarely medically supervised. It relies on informal recommendations, locker-room advice, impromptu sellers, and sometimes even social media “influencers.” You can even find them in some souks and dairies. The result is unequivocal: careers shattered over a few grams of unidentified powder, but above all, and most alarmingly, weakened bodies, hormonal disorders, metabolic imbalances appearing earlier and earlier. Doping is no longer just a sports fraud; it’s becoming a full-fledged public health issue. The silence and sometimes passive complicity of clubs and gyms is another blind spot in the system. It takes courage to ask the uncomfortable question: where are the clubs in all this? Few gyms are truly spared. Some don’t hesitate to sell, without the slightest scruple, products whose true composition and potential effects on users’ bodies are known only to their suppliers. And how do you respond to a young person who challenges you: “You tell us these products aren’t good, but the coach says we have to take them”? In many cases, medical oversight is insufficient, if not nonexistent. Young people evolve in an environment where physical appearance is glorified, but scientific and medical culture remains marginal. This void is filled by improvisation and worse, a form of collective abdication of responsibility. When the scandal breaks, the athlete faces the sanction alone. The club vanishes from the story. Yet the law clearly defines the various levels of responsibility: products don’t fall from the sky. This asymmetry is no longer sustainable. Responsibility can no longer be considered solely individual. Doping in Moroccan football, ever since two high-level players have been implicated, can no longer be analyzed solely through the lens of personal fault. It’s the product of an insufficiently regulated supplements market, a lack of structured medical oversight, increasingly early performance pressure, and a sports culture that values results over understanding, in denial of an existing law. In response, the AMAD, based on strict rules, has been tasked with implementing the national anti-doping policy, and it does so brilliantly. For it, mechanically applying rules without fine-tuned adaptation to local realities and without massive education isn’t enough. Sanctioning without educating treats symptoms while ignoring the disease. What needs to change now is no longer marginal correction: the system must be rethought. Concretely: - Mandate medical oversight in all clubs. - Create a national list of certified, controlled, and traceable supplements. - Systematically train young athletes and their coaches on substance risks. - Hold clubs and staff legally accountable, so they can no longer hide behind ignorance or good faith. And above all: drop the general hypocrisy and face reality. Morocco isn’t an isolated case. It’s simply at a turning point. What’s at play today is the shift from marginal doping to a systemic form, not organized, but diffuse, cultural, almost unconscious. Refusing to see it is accepting that a generation of young people will pay the price for this blindness. Doping isn’t just a matter of cheating. It’s a public health issue, and now, a matter of collective responsibility.

Motsepe, Tightrope Walker of African Football: Between Senegal and Morocco, Who is the True Winner of the 2025 AFCON? 9569

Aziz Daouda, 3 mon.
- Politics - Sports -
2.4 min read.
Patrice Motsepe's recent visit to Senegal and then Morocco was anything but casual or celebratory. Officially, it was a courtesy tour and follow-up on African football dossiers. Unofficially, it came amid simmering tensions over an explosive question: Who is the true winner of the 2025 AFCON? This edition left deep scars, with palpable disappointment already evident during the medal and trophy ceremony. Behind the forced smiles, a clear malaise: the title had been wrested by force. Recall: Morocco hosted an exemplary AFCON, filling CAF's coffers like never before, with sponsors galore, record attendance, unprecedented TV coverage, and elevated play thanks to unmatched infrastructure. But that ruffles feathers. Bitter jealousies and warning signs peaked in the final. Accustomed to the neighbor to the east's pathological provocations, Moroccans were stunned: the main saboteurs were their closest brothers, those they had welcomed most warmly, the Senegalese and Egyptians. In the final, spurred by an excitable coach, Senegal left the pitch over an unfounded refereeing controversy. Faced with certain facts, the act seems premeditated. Overheated Senegalese fans worsened the scene. What followed was a chaotic procedure. First, a disciplinary committee chaired by a Senegalese rejected Morocco's appeal, which challenged the result for non-compliance with regulations. It sanctioned minor on-field incidents while ignoring the blatant violation. Morocco overturned this verdict before the appeals jury, which restored the truth by applying CAF rules. Senegal, which had once benefited from a similar decision to qualify for the 2022 World Cup, only accepts refereeing that favors it. It rejected the ruling, issuing a state, not federal, statement accusing CAF of corruption. Implication: CAF corrupted, Morocco the corrupter. During his visits, then, Motsepe faced the inevitable: "Who is the 2025 AFCON winner?" In Senegal, his goal was clear: preserve ties with a continental football powerhouse. Facing President Bassirou Diomaye Faye, he reaffirmed CAF's respect for Senegalese institutions and their role in promoting African football, without mentioning corruption accusations, at least publicly. But the implicit message clearly aimed to curb Senegal's excessive defiant drift: heavy sanctions could follow otherwise. In Morocco, the tone shifted. True to form, Motsepe praised the Kingdom's structuring power. Facing the Royal Moroccan Football Federation and its president Fouzi Lekjaa, a CAF pillar and FIFA vice-president, he struck a laudatory note. Questioned on the sensitive issue, he found himself cornered: ruling would rekindle fractures. As CAF president, his role is to prevent a sports controversy from escalating into an institutional crisis. His hesitation reveals the complexity of a system where politics, symbolism, and sport intertwine. The AFCON is more than a competition: it's a lever for prestige and diplomacy, a field of regional rivalries. Morocco asserts itself as a football powerhouse through its performances, massive infrastructure investments generously shared with CAF and many African countries, academies like Mohammed VI's in Salé that export talent, and successful hosting of numerous men's and women's AFCONs. It is an indispensable CAF pillar. Motsepe's visit there felt like recognition, underscoring CAF's dependence on Morocco to advance African football. A constrained diplomacy is taking shape. These two stops expose, in practice, the limits of current African football governance: navigating political balances, economic stakes, and national ambitions on sight. Motsepe, a South African businessman turned sports executive, is no political finesse expert. His silence on the "true winner" reflects a reality: sporting truth often yields to diplomatic necessities. African football depends on states and their funding; alienating a country is suicidal. These two trips raise a crucial question: Does CAF remain a neutral body, or does it bow to its power centers? Senegal embodies sporting and historical legitimacy; Morocco adds investment and strategic vision. Motsepe implicitly maintains a fragile balance at the cost of silence and ambiguity. The crisis thus reveals the body's fragility. The tour won't settle the 2025 AFCON winner, that wasn't the goal, but it laid bare the strengths and especially the weaknesses of African football. A football that transcends the pitch. In this game, Motsepe is neither juggler nor dribbler: he is a tightrope walker. Yet he knows. He knows full well who will get the Cup and the $10 million that comes with it. He'll just avoid revealing it and getting booed. Thus, he'll remain welcome in both Senegal and Morocco. It's the CAS that will decide, not him... Coincidentally, FIFA has excluded Ndala, the "cursed" referee of the final who bore all the incompetence and excesses. A precursor sign before the Court of Arbitration for Sport's verdict?

The International Judo Federation should change its name and leave Judo alone 9958

Tariq Daouda, 3 mon.
- History - Lifestyle - Sports -
1.8 min read.
Judo has a deep tradition: the gentle way. Judo is an extremely refined and sophisticated system of wrestling based on a deep understanding of momentum, leverage and body mechanics. Judo has answers for any type of situations, any body types, any types of matching. This is fundemental to Judo and a hallmark of any true martial art, it transcends physical power and gives the lighter, weaker, shorter party a chance. But Judo goes beyond that, it's name literally means the "gentle way". It is a physical representation of the ideals and values of Judo values. The practice of true Judo provides not only ways of neutralizing stronger opponents, but also to do so in a way that is gentle and respectful. A good Judoka is in control of the situation, and through years of practice controls even the landing of the adversary, allowing him to exercise restraint and gentleness in what otherwise would be dangerously chaotic situations. In 2010 the IJF (the body controling Olympic Judo) probably dealt the biggest blow to Judo in Judo's history: they banned leg grabs. While historical bans of techniques have focused on safety. The justification for this one was that leg grabs made Judo look too much like wrestling, and made it less visually appealing. An absurd vain reason, leg grabs are fundementals of Judo, older than olympic wrestling, or even modern olympic games. Leg grabs are half of standing Judo, leg grabs are essential to meaningful counters. Leg grabs are essential when dealing with taller and heavier opponents. It is true that around that time going straight for the legs had become a staple of certain styles. Overshadowing sometimes the beautifully impressive throws unique to Judo. However, banning them is the less Judo answer imaginable. A total negation of Judo's philosophy and martial roots. Judo has answers to leg grabs, this was a beautiful opportunity to have Judo grow, become bigger and demonstrate its high versatility. Instead the IJF made Judo smaller. Yesterday, I realized that most of the current generation of Judokas has never seen a single leg grab. As a result, they constantly make mistakes, exposing themselves to major counters. Their movement vocabulary is severely reduced, they spend more time pushing and pulling than using momentum and balance. Their understanding of balance is off, they spend more time crouched and less time standing straight. A straighter stance being a hallmark of Judo and the way to most of Judo's spectacular throws. In summary the IJF decision completely backfired it made Judo less impressive, less interesting, more physical and more like wrestling: less gentle. This is probably the biggest betrayal to Judo's root and traditions. The saddest thing of all, modern Judokas are vulnerable in front of wrestlers, this never was the case before. Thankfully, leg grabs have be reinstated in competitions in Japan in a slightly limited way (no diving for the legs). The result is that Japanese competitions are the best and the exciting Judo competitions to watch. Another backfire to the IJf decision. After my yesterday's realization of the loss suffered by the latest Judoka generation. I believe that the IJF should change it's name. The IJF has invented a sport derived from Judo, but IJF-Judo, is not Judo.

Football: When Passion Kills the Game in Impunity and Tolerance.. 10986

Aziz Daouda, 3 mon.
- Society - Sports -
2.7 min read.
Football (Soccer for Americans) is first and foremost a matter of emotions. By its very essence, it is an open-air theater where human passions play out in their rawest, most primal form. It generates joy, anger, pride, humiliation, and a sense of belonging. From the stands of Camp Nou to those of the Diego Armando Maradona Stadium, through the fervor of the Mohamed V sport Complex in Casablanca, the vibrant enclosures of Stade Léopold Sédar Senghor in Dakar, or even the Parc des Princes in Paris, the Vélodrome In Marseille, and the Bernabeu In Madrid, football transcends the mere framework of the game to become a total social phenomenon. But this emotional intensity, which makes football's beauty, also constitutes its danger. For without rigorous regulation, it quickly tips into excess, then into violence. Today, it must be acknowledged that the rules exist, but they are too often circumvented, stripped of their substance, or applied with disconcerting leniency. On the pitches as in the stands, excesses are multiplying: insults toward referees, provocations between players, systematic challenges, physical violence, projectile throwing, pitch invasions, xenophobic remarks, racist offenses. What was once the exception is tending to become a tolerated norm. Astonishingly, we are starting to get used to it. Recent examples are telling. In Spain, in stadiums renowned for their football culture, racist chants continue to be belted out without shame, targeting players like Vinícius Júnior. Most recently, it was the Muslim community that was insulted. And yet, Spain's current football prodigy is Muslim. An overheated crowd that has doubtless forgotten it wasn't so long ago that it was Muslim itself. Among those chanting these remarks, and without a doubt, some still carry the genes of that recent past... In Dakar, just a few days ago, clashes escalated, turning a sports celebration into a scene of chaos. In Italy, incidents involving supporters who invaded the pitch, during a friendly match, no less, endangered players and officials, recalling the dark hours of European hooliganism in the 1980s. These episodes are not isolated; they reflect a worrying normalization of violence in and around stadiums. Even at the highest level of African football, behavioral excesses are becoming problematic. The 2025 Africa Cup of Nations final left a bitter taste. What should have been a moment of celebration for continental football was marred by behaviors contrary to sporting ethics. Pressures on refereeing, excessive challenges, and game interruptions have become commonplace. When a coach manipulates a match's rhythm to influence a refereeing decision, it is no longer strategy but a challenge to the very foundations of the sport. Despite international outrage, the sanctions imposed on teams, clubs, or players involved remain often symbolic, insufficient to eradicate these behaviors. A very surprising phenomenon: rarely have clubs or federations clearly distanced themselves from such crowds. They accommodate them, and when they condemn them, it is half-heartedly, in a muffled, timid tone with no effect. The problem is twofold. On one hand, disciplinary regulations exist but lack firmness. On the other, their application suffers from a lack of consistency and political courage. Bodies like FIFA, continental confederations, and national federations hesitate to impose truly dissuasive sanctions such as point deductions, prolonged closed-door matches, competition exclusions, or even administrative relegations. Yet without fear of sanction, the rule loses all effectiveness. It suffices to compare with other sports to measure the gap. In rugby, for example, respect for the referee is a cardinal value. The slightest challenge is immediately sanctioned. In athletics, a false start leads to immediate disqualification, no discussion. Football, meanwhile, still tolerates too many behaviors that should be unacceptable. This permissiveness has a cost. It undermines football's image, discourages some families from attending stadiums, and endangers the safety of the game's actors. More gravely, it paves the way for future tragedies. History has already taught us, through catastrophes like the Heysel Stadium disaster, that violence in stadiums can have tragic consequences. It is therefore urgent to react. Regulating football does not mean killing its soul, but rather preserving it. It is not about extinguishing passions, but channeling them. This requires strong measures, exemplary sanctions against offending clubs and players, accountability for national federations, increased use of technology to identify troublemakers, and above all, a clear political will from national and international governing bodies. Football cannot continue to be this "market of emotion" left to its own devices. For by tolerating the intolerable, it risks losing what makes its greatness and its ability to unite rather than divide. If FIFA does not decide to act firmly, the danger is real: that of seeing football sink into a spiral where violence triumphs over the game, and where, one day, tragedies exceed the mere framework of sport. The long-awaited decision of the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS) in the 2025 AFCON final case should confirm rigor and integrity in the application of rules, at least at this level, thereby strengthening the credibility of the pan-African competition and football in general.

AFCON 2025: The Trophy that Sets the Savannah Ablaze.. 10359

Aziz Daouda, 4 mon.
- Politics - Society - Sports -
2.4 min read.
There are moments when football stops being a game and becomes a brutal revealer of a continent's institutional and political fragilities. The current crisis surrounding the Africa Cup of Nations (AFCON) is the perfect illustration. Between the rigorous application of regulations, the credibility of the Confederation of African Football (CAF), media pressure, and reactions from the Senegalese Football Federation, the affair now extends far beyond sports into a much broader realm, intertwining law, sovereignty, and diplomacy. At its origin, a disciplinary decision that, under normal circumstances, would have been a simple sporting dispute. But the context, symbolism, and players involved have turned this file into a full-blown crisis. The CAF, as the regulatory body, faces a fundamental demand: to enforce its own rules without yielding to pressure. Any weakness in applying the law would open the door to widespread challenges to its authority, including revisiting past decisions and verdicts. In this sense, the decision taken, however contested, fits into a logic of institutional preservation. However, law, as essential as it is, cannot be entirely divorced from its political and emotional environment. Today's events provide perfect proof. The Senegalese side's reaction, perceived as an offense or challenge to the decision, reveals a deeper malaise: a sense of injustice, real or supposed, amplified by a public opinion whipped into a frenzy by a flood of increasingly belligerent statements and remarks. Social media, TV panels, and certain official discourses have turned a legal matter into a symbolic clash between nations. In response, the Royal Moroccan Football Federation remains silent, stoic, calm, and discreet. This is where the main danger lies. Beyond texts and procedures, it is historical relations, built over decades of solidarity and brotherhood, that are now exposed to unnecessary tension. African football, long presented as a vector of unity, risks here becoming a factor of division. And this drift, if not contained, could leave lasting scars. That's precisely what the occult forces, or not so occult, stoking the fire are aiming for. In this climate of escalation, the temptation is great for each side to harden its position. Yet, the history of sports conflicts shows that escalation is rarely a solution. It weakens institutions, undermines competition credibility, and, above all, distances the public from the essentials: fair and credible play. The central question then becomes: how far will this showdown go? A peaceful outcome necessarily requires a return to calm and reason. This does not mean renouncing one's rights or silencing disagreements, but framing them in a controlled manner. Appeal mechanisms exist, whether through direct sports jurisdictions or, if necessary, the international body that is the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS). Its role is precisely to settle such disputes with impartiality and rigor. Awaiting the verdict from this body, even if it is slow, means accepting that law takes precedence over emotion. It also means recognizing that the credibility of African football's components depends on their ability to resolve disputes in line with the rules they have set for themselves. Any other path, pressure, excessive politicization, or media confrontation, would only entrench and worsen the crisis. At its core, this affair raises an essential question about the governance model for African football. A model subject to power plays and momentary emotions, or one based on solid, respected institutions capable of enforcing the law, even when it stings? Ultimately, African football bodies didn't fall from the sky. They are the emanation of a democratic process in which Africa's 54 countries participate in good conscience. The answer to this question will determine not only the outcome of this crisis but also the future of football on the continent. Beyond the present case, the credibility of an entire sports architecture is at stake. In the immediate term, one thing is clear: the time for appeasement must follow that of confrontation and escalation. Preserving the essentials and consolidating fraternity among African peoples is worth far more than a sports victory, even an Africa Cup of Nations trophy. Alas, this is beyond those whose vision doesn't extend past the end of their nose. The CAS will speak soon. Then we'll see who is right or wrong under strict application of the law, with no further recourse possible except a return to reason. Wouldn't it be better, in the meantime, to keep a cool head, maintain lucidity, and calm down? A trophy is only raised when it is deserved—truly deserved.

African Football: Between Emotional Populism and Institutional Order.. 9881

Aziz Daouda, 4 mon.
- Politics - Sports -
3.3 min read.
The CAF dealt the Senegal national football team an implacable administrative defeat, awarding a default victory to the Moroccan national team in the 2025 AFCON final. This sanction, rooted in the CAF's disciplinary regulations, punishes any abandonment of the pitch, even if temporary. At one point in the match, the Senegalese coach consciously decided to have his players leave the field. Only one remained on the pitch. Under football rules, a match requires at least seven players on the field to continue to its conclusion. Despite winning after a rollercoaster extra time, the team paid the price for blatant indiscipline: unleashed supporters, partial pitch invasion, assaults and injuries, prolonged interruption during which the players returned to the locker rooms on their coach's dramatic order. Forget the simplistic narrative of a "Morocco vs. Senegal" clash that some, particularly on the Senegalese side, push to imply political motives. Nothing could be further from the truth. The affair stems from an initial clash between the Royal Moroccan Football Federation (FRMF) and the CAF. The FRMF asked the CAF to apply its own rules and those of FIFA, questioning their non-enforcement. Recall that the Moroccan national team strictly followed the referee's directives, even resuming play alone on the pitch for 14 minutes while the Senegalese headed to the locker rooms. The question, then, is: why did the referee refrain from applying the rules? The answer lies in the CAF's backrooms. A "CAF official" allegedly ordered the referee to flout the rules and not sanction the team that left the pitch. The FRMF took the matter to the CAF's bodies, which referred it to its Disciplinary Committee, normally chaired by a Senegalese. For convenience's sake, this committee rejected the FRMF's request. Far from giving up, surprised by the decision, the FRMF appealed. In appeal, it is not members who decide, but independent judges selected across the continent. The ruling was unequivocal: applying the rules, the Moroccan national team is declared the 2025 AFCON winner. The dispute between the FRMF and the CAF thus ended. Up to this point, the matter is purely sporting. The Senegalese Football Federation (FSF), unhappy with the Appeal Jury's ruling and defending the on-pitch result, refers the case to the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS). Senegal does not merely contest the decision: it launches a frontal assault on regulatory sovereignty, legally demanding an international corruption probe into the bodies. It is the Senegalese government that responds to the CAF and escalates the case. To prove corruption, it will need to identify the corrupted party and the corrupter... Through its decision, the CAF prioritized law over on-pitch emotion—an emotion unfortunately fueled off-pitch by the stupidity of those who, for a few more followers or AdSense dollars, spread indescribable hatred between two brotherly peoples. This is not a Senegal-Morocco issue, but a sporting one between the FRMF and the CAF, and between the FSF and the CAF. Some reminders are in order for the instigators on both sides, without defending the CAF and its bodies, which will answer the corruption accusations. The CAF's regulatory fortress rests on three impregnable pillars, bolstered by these regulation excerpts: **WITHDRAWALS** **ARTICLE 82** If, for any reason, a team withdraws from the competition or fails to appear for a match, or refuses to play or leaves the pitch before the regulatory end of the match without the referee's authorization, it will be deemed to have lost and will be definitively eliminated from the ongoing competition. The same applies to teams previously disqualified by CAF decision. **ARTICLE 84** The team that breaches the provisions of Articles 82 and 83 will be definitively excluded from the competition. It loses the match 3-0. If the opposing team was leading by a more favorable score at the time of the match stoppage, that score will be maintained. Additional measures may be taken by the Organizing Committee. The three pillars underpinning the decision are thus: **Absolute compliance**: Article 82 defines any team withdrawal as abandonment, triggering automatic forfeit. The 14 Senegalese minutes fall squarely under it, without ambiguity. **Mechanical proportionality**: The sanction is not discretionary; it flows verbatim from the texts and is validated by CAS jurisprudence. **Institutional primacy**: The referee tolerated a de facto resumption under pressure, but the CAF holds the power to rule on discipline. What will the CAS say if it is indeed seized by the Senegalese side? Conservative by nature, the CAS never positions itself as a sports judge; it upholds bodies when rules are clear. As an inflexible guardian of stability, it will reject any Senegalese "symbolic legitimacy." To prevail, Senegal must outmaneuver: invoke a resumption invalidating the abandonment, a "disproportionate" sanction, or the "spirit of the game." Fragile ploy: the CAS has systematically dismissed such escapes when texts are explicit. Several African federations, including the FRMF in the 2015 AFCON affair, as well as various clubs and CAF-affiliated associations, have appealed to the CAS against sanctions for forfeits, withdrawals, or regulatory breaches. In these cases, the CAS has consistently favored a strict reading of applicable regulations, dismissing arguments based on force majeure or mitigating circumstances when texts provided for automatic sanctions. The affair's outcome will inevitably be the CAF's victory, confirming the Appeal Jury's judgment. The Senegalese forfeit will be upheld, the title confirmed for Morocco. Jurisprudence will emerge strengthened by the triumph of law, shielding future competitions from chaos. One slim surprise remains possible: a replay or revision if the CAS rules the abandonment was not definitive. But will it risk unprecedented instability by overriding such clear rules? This is not a matter of interpretation, but of pure rule application. The CAS will crown the CAF, exposing Senegal's precarious position. Far from a bilateral duel, this crisis pits rule respect against populist temptation. Law will prevail: the CAF will reaffirm its sovereignty, for an African football governed by legislation, not emotional riots. The 2025 AFCON, not confiscated, will mark the consolidation of a continental legal order.

Africa Cup of Nations 2025: When the Victim Becomes the Culprit... 10408

Aziz Daouda, 4 mon.
- Politics - Sports -
2.6 min read.
The reaction of Tunisian Hatem Trabelsi, former defender for Ajax Amsterdam and Manchester City, and a beIN consultant for several years, to the CAF Appeal Jury's decision, widely shared on social media, goes beyond mere sports commentary. It subtly reveals the narrative tensions, divergent perceptions, and symbolic stakes surrounding Morocco's successes in African football today. In his statement, Hatem Trabelsi highlights a classic phenomenon in African competitions under the Confederation of African Football (CAF): suspicion and discredit. Whatever the outcome, Morocco's victory seemed destined for contestation. If Brahim Díaz had scored, some would have cried arbitral error; if the Moroccan win had been decisive, it would have been labeled a "setup"; arising from a regulatory decision after the opponent's withdrawal, it becomes "proof of corruption." This critical lens isn't based solely on facts, but on a structural distrust of African sports institutions and their governance. It's the daily sport of Africans: nothing is accepted without suspicion, without accusations of corruption. Even presidential elections rarely escape it. The controversy actually exposes the narrative fractures generated by any decision, even the fairest. Over the past decade, Morocco has established itself as a central player in continental football. The kingdom has massively invested in infrastructure, training, and sports diplomacy. The results speak for themselves: Historic semi-final at the FIFA World Cup 2022. Multiplication of youth category titles. Regular hosting of African competitions. Growing appeal to binational players, like Brahim Díaz and many others. Morocco did it for itself, while naively believing it was good to share the benefits with the continent. Did the continent really want it? This rise fits into a broader soft power strategy, where sport becomes a lever for regional and international influence. But Morocco, the new power in African football, disturbs. Its success breeds jealousy and contestation. Trabelsi's point underscores an observed reality: success invites contestation. In an African football landscape historically marked by fluctuating balances between Egypt, Cameroon, Nigeria, and Senegal, the emergence of a structured, high-performing Morocco has sparked resistance. The Moroccan national team embodies a new dominance, built on sporting talent as much as organizational rigor, a transformation aligned with the country's overall trajectory. This fuels suspicious discourse, especially when refereeing or administrative decisions seem to favor it, rightly or wrongly. In the background, the controversy points to a deeper issue: the CAF's credibility. Recurrent accusations of favoritism, "backroom deals," or opaque governance don't target just Morocco, but the entire system. It's the narrative cultivated by one or two African countries to which nothing succeeds. As the African is too often consigned to the role of perennial victim, this discourse finds fertile ground to impose itself as reality. In this context, every decision becomes controversial, amplified by social media, press, and statements from governments, federations, or opportunists seeking visibility. Victimization, a recurrent sentiment in Africa, turns the slightest incident, or any decision, into a prism of suspicion. Trabelsi's outburst isn't just support for Morocco; he himself knows the kingdom doesn't need it. It highlights a battle of narratives around contemporary African football: between sporting merit and political suspicions, national pride and regional solidarities. Morocco, the rising power, finds itself at the heart of these tensions. As often in sports history, success is measured not only in trophies, but in the ability to impose a legitimate narrative. The real challenge for African football isn't designating a winner, but restoring collective trust in the rules of the game. Beyond the match, a battle of narratives is underway, where institutional credibility is the Gordian knot. The bad faith of some is evident. In a barely veiled attempt to poison relations between two peoples bound by centuries of brotherhood, a certain gaucho-Parisian press has launched a sordid discredit campaign, exploiting the weakness of the Moroccan national narrative, not for lack of content or relevance, but for its naivety in believing that good faith always prevails. Recent history proves otherwise. Those who long tormented Morocco for reclaiming part of its territory are the same ones howling on their sets or blackening paper, fueling a narrative aimed at harming the kingdom and sowing doubt about everything it undertakes. This won't stop; preparation is needed, especially after the 2026 World Cup. This is how to interpret Trabelsi's just and inspired words: it's time to build a Moroccan national narrative on national soil, without waiting for others, from abroad, to impose it through hatred and discredit. Today, Morocco outpaces its closest neighbors, which bothers them, enrages them, even drives them mad. The truth is they're profound hypogiaphobes, dreading their responsibilities to their own peoples. As for the 2025 AFCON, in two months, no one will talk about it anymore. It will boil down to a second well-deserved star on the Moroccan jersey, a sign that the CAF has come to its senses and will now apply its own rules.

CAF: The End of Ambiguities, Return of the Rules... 10911

Aziz Daouda, 4 mon.
- Sports -
1.7 min read.
The recent decision by the CAF Appeal Jury marks a major turning point in African football governance. Beyond the specific case of the 2025 AFCON final between Morocco and Senegal, a profound institutional evolution seems to be taking shape: that of a CAF finally aligned, without complacency, with FIFA's normative standards. **A Legally Grounded and Assumed Decision** In its official statement, the Appeal Jury annulled the first-instance decision and declared Senegal forfeit, in strict application of articles 82 and 84 of the competition regulations. The match is thus homologated with a 3-0 score in favor of Morocco. The central point is crystal clear: the Senegalese team's behavior, particularly leaving the pitch without authorization, constitutes a clear violation of the disciplinary rules. These provisions allow no political or emotional interpretation: they mechanically impose the forfeit sanction. By validating this strict reading, the CAF breaks with a long-criticized practice: a sometimes hesitant, even accommodating, management of contentious situations. **The End of a Culture of Exception** For years, African football has suffered from a structural ailment: inconsistency in applying regulations. Some decisions seemed driven more by political balances than by the letter of the law. Yet, in this case, the Appeal Jury did exactly the opposite: It acknowledged the rules violation; it legally reclassified the facts; and it automatically applied the prescribed sanction. This triad is precisely what underpins the credibility of major international sports institutions, starting with FIFA. This is therefore not just a sporting decision: it is an assertion of authority. A strong signal for African football governance. This decision comes at a time when the CAF is under increasing scrutiny, particularly after several disputes brought before the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS), which have sometimes highlighted inconsistencies or weaknesses in rule application. By returning to a strict reading of its own texts, the CAF sends several messages: To federations: regulations are non-negotiable. To players and staff: anti-sportsmanlike behavior will have immediate consequences. To the international community: African football fully embraces the global rule of law in sport. **A Balanced and Credible Decision** Notably, the Appeal Jury did not limit itself to ruling in Morocco's favor. It also confirmed certain responsibilities on the Moroccan side, particularly regarding peripheral incidents (ball boys, laser use), while adjusting the sanctions. This point is essential: it bolsters the decision's credibility. Strong sports justice is not partisan justice, but coherent justice. **Towards a New Era of Rigor?** This verdict could set a precedent. It reminds us that African football can no longer afford ambiguities at a time when economic stakes are exploding, international visibility is growing, and governance standards are becoming universal. Alignment with FIFA rules is not an option: it is a necessity for the credibility of African competitions. A truly salutary break. By strictly applying its regulations, without yielding to pressure or political considerations, the CAF sends a long-awaited signal. This is not simply one team's victory over another. It is the victory of law over arbitrariness. And perhaps, finally, the beginning of a stronger, fairer, and more respected CAF.

Walid Regragui: A Demonstration of Moroccan Competence... 12128

Aziz Daouda, 4 mon.
- History - Society - Sports -
2.7 min read.
Sometimes, we witness a rare moment when a man, a team, and a nation converge to write a page of history. They leave a lasting mark on collective memory and redefine our perception of our own capabilities. Having been both a participant and observer, I am perhaps better positioned than others to gauge its significance and depth. The Moroccan national team's epic at the Qatar World Cup undoubtedly belongs to this category. And at its heart stands one man: Walid Regragui. When he was appointed Morocco's head coach in August 2022, just three months before the World Cup, the national team's situation was uncertain. The previous coach had bluntly stated: "You don't have a team for the World Cup." The atmosphere around the squad was tense, with questions about group cohesion and doubts over its ability to compete with football's giants. Many thought we'd make a quick trip to Doha and head home. In just a few weeks, Regragui achieved what few coaches accomplish in years: rebuilding a cohesive unit, restoring confidence, and giving the national team a clear identity it had never had before. The results exceeded all expectations. The man appointed somewhat by default, somewhat by chance, simply stunned the world. At that World Cup, Morocco made history. The Atlas Lions topped their group ahead of Croatia and Belgium. In the round of 16, they eliminated Spain after an intense tactical battle decided on penalties. In the quarterfinals, they beat Portugal, and how! A tactical masterclass for Regragui and his squad. They became the first African nation to reach the semifinals. We couldn't even have dreamed it. This performance cemented Morocco's place in world football history. Such heights aren't reached by chance. It takes profound depth. This marked the start of a series of achievements, vindicating a royal vision launched when the Sovereign inaugurated the Mohammed VI Football Academy. But beyond the historic fourth-place finish, the epic's impact was immense. It transformed the international image of Moroccan football. Above all, it sparked a huge wave of pride across Morocco, Africa, and the Arab world. This success wasn't just sporting; it was deeply symbolic. Walid Regragui's journey first illustrates the rise of Moroccan talent. A former international who wore Morocco's colors for over a decade, he built a solid coaching career. His continental triumph with Wydad Athletic Club in the 2022 CAF Champions League was a major milestone. His contribution went beyond trophies. Regragui imposed a clear vision of play and human management. In a squad of players from Europe's top leagues: Spain, France, England, Italy, he forged remarkable unity with unyielding attacking power. He also leveraged the dual culture of many Moroccan internationals, turning diversity into collective strength. Tactically, his team stood out with rigorous defensive organization. Under his leadership, Morocco became one of the world's stingiest defenses, conceding few goals against the most fearsome attacks. But what truly impressed observers was the human dimension of his leadership. Regragui forged a direct bond between the national team and its public. Through simple, sincere, often emotional communication, he made fans feel the team truly belonged to them—to the point where public "interventionism" grew intrusive toward the end, irritating and hurting him. In a country where trust in national talent has often been debated, the Regragui experience is a shining demonstration. It proves Moroccan competence exists, can handle the biggest challenges, and excels at the highest level when trust is in place. In this sense, the 2022 epic transcends football. It bolstered collective confidence in our abilities. It reminded us Morocco can produce talent, not just players, but coaches, leaders, and sports executives. The Moroccan coaches trusted by the federation all overperformed. Morocco became a football powerhouse thanks to Sektoui, Amouta, Sellami, Baha, Dguig, Chiba, and of course, Mohamed Ouahbi. For those of us who devoted our lives to building national sport, this message is vital. Sports development isn't just about infrastructure, budgets, or competitions. It hinges, perhaps above all, on trusting our own competence. In months, Walid Regragui embodied that trust. He showed a Moroccan coach could lead at the world stage, face football's elite, and make history in the planet's most prestigious tournament. For all these reasons, his work deserves recognition and respect, just like that of the coaches who, alongside me, elevated Morocco to the top of world athletics rankings: Kada, Ouajou, Ayachi, Boutayeb, Sahere, Bouihiri, and others. Beyond results and stats, Regragui will be remembered as the man who made millions of Moroccans believe, during that World Cup and beyond, that anything was possible. In sport as in nations' lives, such moments are precious. They remind us collective success often starts with a simple conviction: belief in ourselves. For what he brought to Moroccan football, the image he gave our country, and the inspiration for future coaches and sports leaders, it's only right to say today, sincerely and gratefully: Thank you, Walid. I had the privilege of handing him his first "Best Coach of the Year" trophy. He had just won the title with FUS.

Patrice Motsepe: A CAF Presidency Undermined by Opacity and Conflicts of Interest... 12091

Aziz Daouda, 5 mon.
Elected in March 2021 to head the Confederation of African Football (CAF) during the General Assembly held in Rabat, Morocco, or should we remind you?, South African billionaire Patrice Motsepe promised a radical break from a past riddled with scandals and mismanagement. Absolute transparency, financial rigor, modernization of practices: these were the hallmarks of his campaign. Four years later, those commitments ring hollow. The institution languishes between smooth reform rhetoric and glaring opacities, amid internal tensions, refereeing controversies, and recurring suspicions of collusion between power and personal interests. The businessman's profile lies at the heart of a blatant conflict of interest. Owner of the South African club Mamelodi Sundowns, which he has entrusted to his son with FIFA's approval, Motsepe embodies the image of a thriving "corporate" manager, backed by colossal financial capital and international connections. But this profile reveals a major flaw: the virtually nonexistent boundary between his CAF presidency and his private interests. The CAF oversees the awarding of Africa Cup of Nations (AFCON) tournaments, interclub competitions, and World Cup qualifiers, wielding immense power over Africa's 54 federations. Motsepe thus navigates an ecosystem where every decision can favor his economic alliances or his club. This porosity fuels doubts: does he primarily serve African football, or is he consolidating a network of opaque personal influences for his business gain? The CAF is no ordinary administrative body. It generates hundreds of millions of viewers per AFCON, negotiating with governments, broadcasters, and sponsors. Yet under Motsepe, sports diplomacy remains a minefield of murky alliances, where decisions seem dictated by political balances and criteria tied to the president himself. His style increasingly relies on governance by ambiguity, masking inaction with a "strategy of permanent consensus." Structural decisions are endlessly deferred; signals of listening, profuse compliments, and radiant smiles everywhere conceal deliberate indifference. Federations, zonal unions, partners, and politicians struggle to grasp the man or discern any genuine policy for development and fairness. The result: chronic inability to decide. Refereeing controversies, organizational disputes, and contested awards pile up without public clarifications. Commissions are seized, reports announced... but nothing concrete or educational emerges. This technico-political dilution perpetuates opacity, shielding the presidency from direct accountability. In short, a facade of democracy and a dilution of reckoning. On paper, the Executive Committee, specialized commissions, and statutory votes promise modern governance. In practice, these bodies serve as a smokescreen. By referring sensitive files to commissions, Motsepe positions himself "above the fray," invoking "collective responsibility" to dodge criticism. His goal: emerge unscathed from every scandal or misstep, and there are many. No one is identifiable, no one is held accountable. Such a culture of impunity is incompatible with a serious sports institution, especially when the president combines private business with executive power. He keeps both the cabbage and the goat safe. Since 2021, fragilities have exploded: administrative tensions, complaints against executives, internal probes into mismanagement. The case of Secretary General Véron Mosengo-Omba, involving a Swiss investigation and internal audits, exemplifies this amateurism. The CAF touts a compliance department and "zero tolerance," but responses remain minimal: laconic press releases, no detailed public reports. No catharsis, no acknowledgment of flaws, no lessons learned or imposed reforms. Suspicions persist, fueled by presumed ties between the presidency and economic interests. This scandal highlights enduring opacities, where crises are handled in a closed circle, stoking doubts about governance and equity. Administratively, the CAF survives: competitions launched, sponsors reassured. But on the ground, the fiasco is evident. Vague rules, non-independent refereeing: these ills breed resentment among aggrieved federations, furious clubs, and disillusioned fans. The latest statement from the head of refereeing perfectly illustrates the situation following the scandal of the last AFCON final. This structural instability undermines the commercial and sporting credibility of continental football. The facade of balance conceals real frustrations; leadership is seen everywhere as complicit in the regrettable status quo. Motsepe has the network and influence to reform. Instead, his obsession with compromise preserves balances at the expense of the rupture promised in Rabat in March 2021: codifying transparency, publishing decisions, strictly framing conflicts of interest, starting with his own. By placating all sides, he satisfies none, nurturing toxic distrust. A deliberate behavior. In globalized football, where trust equals revenue, this drifting presidency risks costing Africa dearly. *Let's connect this to what happened in Morocco. The Kingdom promises grand things to Africa and delivers. It is rewarded in the worst way: its party is ruined, with no respect for the country, its efforts, or football itself. A pitiful image of African football circles the world. The responsible person, the one who must decide, remains indifferent as usual in such situations.* What does Motsepe do? He expresses discontent and promises reforms. More hollow promises. Has he truly kept a single one since 2021? Here too, he keeps the cabbage and the goat: business oblige, he sympathizes with Morocco, and everyone knows why, but says nothing about what must be done. He sails in his obsessive neutrality. He has still managed to disgust Moroccan citizens—and not only them. Many now demand turning their backs on the CAF. **A majority protests no longer want the Women's AFCON in Morocco or other competitions on national soil. Motsepe's response: the Women's AFCON will take place as scheduled. Some read this as a threat...** Moroccans are kind, welcoming, generous, *but above all not naive.* They are fed up with the man's and his institution's hypocrisy, and demand justice. He responds half-heartedly: "Go to the CAS if you want justice..." The lack of courage is blatant. The CAF under Motsepe is adrift.

AFCON’s Transition to a Quadrennial Cycle: Between Global Prestige and Endogenous Development 12036

Imad Khater, 5 mon.
The structural landscape of African continental football is currently navigating a period of significant strategic turbulence. At the heart of the discourse lies the proposed shift of the Africa Cup of Nations (AFCON) from a biennial to a quadrennial frequency. This is far from a mere scheduling adjustment; it represents a profound reconfiguration of the continent’s sports political economy. This transition, oscillating between a desire for alignment with international standards and the preservation of regional specificities, raises a pivotal question: is CAF embarking on a vital modernization, or is it yielding to globalized hegemonic pressures? The Economics of Scarcity: Pursuing the "Premium" Model Proponents of a four-year cycle primarily argue through the logic of asset appreciation via scarcity. Until now, the biennial frequency—while generating consistent cash flow—has tended to dilute the competition’s symbolic and commercial prestige. By opting for an extended cycle, CAF is adopting a "premiumization" strategy modeled after the UEFA Euros or the FIFA World Cup. The Moroccan experience serves as a clear precedent: it demonstrated that top-tier infrastructure, coupled with sophisticated marketing engineering, can capture global investment far more effectively than a succession of editions with inconsistent standards. The objective is to transform a recurring event into a historical landmark, thereby driving up international broadcasting bids and attracting blue-chip commercial partners. Sports Diplomacy and Talent Emancipation The second pillar of this reform is inextricably linked to the power dynamics with European football. The biennial calendar has long been a theater of conflicting loyalties for athletes. For the continent’s elite players, departing mid-season posed a systemic risk to their physical integrity and remained a constant source of friction with their clubs. An AFCON held every four years, ideally synchronized with global summer windows, would serve as a diplomatic de-escalation tool. Players would no longer be perceived as a "liability" or an uncertainty by European scouts during transfer windows, thus bolstering their market value and securing their ascent within the global elite without scheduling impediments. The Downside: Historical Inertia and Structural Depletion However, a comprehensive analysis must account for the risks this shift poses to the continent’s internal dynamics. The Specter of Invisibility and Stalled Progression: In a biennial system, failing to qualify is merely a temporary setback. Under a quadrennial rhythm, missing a single edition condemns a nation to an eight-year absence. For a generation of talent, this often means an entire international career spent without the exposure of a major tournament. Furthermore, this slowdown freezes the record books; dominant nations see their hegemony "sanctified" by time, making it nearly impossible for emerging nations to bridge the historical gap within a human timeframe. Impact on Development and Solidarity: Historically, AFCON has functioned in Africa as a catalyst for public infrastructure projects (stadiums, roads, telecommunications). Spacing out the tournaments inevitably slows this pace of modernization. Moreover, the biennial frequency allowed CAF to redistribute vital funds more regularly to "smaller" federations. A four-year cycle risks drying up these financial flows, which are essential for the survival of grassroots football in less affluent countries, potentially widening the chasm between major nations and the rest. The Shadow of FIFA: Toward a Globalized Order In reality, this mutation aligns with a vision driven by Zurich. FIFA’s role in this transition is decisive, operating through three main levers: Calendar Harmonization: FIFA is pushing for a cycle mirrored on the European model to mitigate friction with employing clubs. Financial Substitution: Through the "FIFA Forward" program, the global body is replacing the event-based financial dependence of African federations with a direct institutional dependence. Format Diversification: Support for new competitions, such as an African Nations League, aims to fill the commercial void left by the AFCON’s spacing, maintaining the continent under permanent structural oversight. The Gamble of Qualitative Sovereignty Ultimately, the move to a four-year cycle is a bold bet on quality over quantity. While this choice may appear as a concession to European leagues and FIFA pressure, it also represents a necessary move upmarket to solidify CAF’s global credibility. However, for this revolution to succeed, Africa must transform the record-breaking revenues of a "Premium" AFCON into robust financial equalization mechanisms. The stakes are critical: ensuring that the excellence of the sporting showcase does not result in the abandonment of local foundations or the marginalization of the continent's most vulnerable footballing nations.

When Compliments Turn Suspicious: Morocco Doesn't Need FIFA's Praises... 11168

Aziz Daouda, 5 mon.
The recent statement from the FIFA president praising Morocco for its football development might, at first glance, seem like legitimate recognition of the Kingdom's efforts. Modern infrastructure, successful organization of major events, continental and World Cup performances, seven finals won out of ten played: Morocco has indeed established itself as a central player in African and global football. But behind this flattering discourse, a disturbing question arises: who really benefits from this communication operation, and what is it trying to make us forget? No one can seriously dispute the progress made by Moroccan football in recent years. Structured training centers, massive public investments in stadiums and academies, a continental outreach strategy, organization of CAF competitions and soon FIFA ones: Morocco has become a model often cited in Africa. Yet, it is precisely because these advances are real that they don't need to be buried under layers of dithyrambic discourse. Sporting and structural merit is measured on the pitch, in the stands, in governance not in opportunistic declarations. When the FIFA president multiplies praises, he doesn't just "recognize" progress; he also tries to shape public perception, frame the narrative to his advantage, turning a political and economic relationship into a consensual success story. The timing of these statements is not neutral. They come amid a climate still charged by the incidents during the CAN final, events that deeply shocked Moroccan public opinion and left a sense of injustice and frustration. Yet, in response to these, the CAF and by extension, the politico-sporting ecosystem it belongs to gave answers deemed at best lax, ambiguous, even unjust and complacent. In this context, FIFA's effusive compliments ring like an attempt at "psychological crowd management": stroking egos to help the bitter pill go down. It reminds Morocco that it is an essential partner, admired, "exemplary," hoping the positive emotion from recognition will erase the resentment from how certain files were handled in Africa. Moroccans expect institutions to be exemplary, as Morocco has been sufficiently so. This kind of excessive discourse also creates fertile ground for envy, if not jealousy, on a continent where sporting rivalries are often amplified by political stakes. By recurrently placing Morocco on a public pedestal, FIFA inevitably stirs the sensitivities of neighbors or regional competitors, fueling belligerent actions on and off the pitch under the guise of healthy competition. Rather than easing tensions, these praises exacerbate divides, turning football into a geopolitical battlefield. This type of strategy is not new: when sports institutions are called out, they rarely respond with self-questioning or transparency, preferring communication, storytelling, subtle flattery, and symbolism. Morocco then becomes less a country to respect than a public to calm, an actor to appease with words, without necessarily taking actions that would truly restore trust. In essence, the president's statement commits to nothing. It costs little, repairs nothing, and corrects no dysfunction. It doesn't revisit the controversial handling of the CAN final, question responsibilities, or propose improvements to decision-making or sanction mechanisms. It simply celebrates Morocco as a "good student" in world football, without daring to confront the system's dark spots. This speech is thus devoid of real political weight. It resembles a symbolic gift offered to the Moroccan public to better divert attention from more sensitive questions: the credibility of governing bodies, the fairness of decisions, power dynamics within the CAF and FIFA, and how certain states are favored or penalized based on interests beyond the strictly sporting realm. Didn't Morocco deserve the Doha final? In other words, Morocco is given a compliment meant to soothe, while what its supporters, leaders, and football actors expect are concrete actions, clarifications, and truly fair, transparent treatment. This type of communication also reveals a paternalistic view of African public opinions. As if a football-passionate people could be reassured or "bought" with a few flattering phrases, as if addressing an emotional mass ready to forget serious incidents as soon as a flattering image is reflected back. Yet, the Moroccan public today is informed, connected, politicized in its relationship to football. It understands governance stakes, spots inconsistencies, dissects suspicious decisions. It knows the difference between sincere recognition and a communication ploy aimed at cushioning a shock or protecting an institution's image. It is not gullible. By continuing to favor flattery over responsibility, football's major institutions maintain a disconnect with the maturity of supporters. They persist in believing a compliment suffices to make people forget an injustice, that a handshake will erase a humiliation witnessed live by millions of viewers. Moroccan football does not demand praises: it wants respect, respect for rules, procedures, commitments, equity, and transparency principles. For FIFA to recognize its development is a reality, almost a given. But this recognition only makes sense if paired with coherent behavior when Morocco, or any other country, suffers damaging incidents, especially in major competitions like the CAN. An institution's true value is measured less by what it says in calm times than by what it does in moments of crisis. As long as responses to serious incidents remain timid, ambiguous, or lax, fiery declarations about the "Moroccan example" will ring hollow. Morocco has no need for inconsequential compliments. What it demands, like all peoples who take sport seriously, is football governance worthy of its sacrifices, investments, and passion. Words fade; decisions endure. And it is on those that FIFA and the CAF will be judged.

Between Stadiums That Withstand and Cities That Drown… What Image Do We Want for Sporting Morocco? 9970

Dr Charrat mohammed rochd, 5 mon.
- Politics - Society - Sports -
1.5 min read.
The image Morocco has projected in organizing major continental football events in recent years has been genuinely impressive. Modern stadiums, advanced sports infrastructure, and a level of organization that earned widespread praise—especially during matches played under heavy rain without any impact on pitch quality or the flow of the games. It felt as though the Kingdom was offering Africa a masterclass in readiness, sending a clear message: Morocco has become a serious sporting and organizational power. But on the other side of the picture, the floods in the city of Ksar El Kebir forced us to confront uncomfortable questions. How is it that sports facilities can withstand heavy rainfall with such professionalism, while entire neighborhoods end up underwater? How do we make sense of this stark contrast between stadiums equipped with cutting-edge drainage systems and cities whose infrastructure remains fragile in the face of intense downpours? Today, sport is no longer just about results on the pitch. It has become a showcase for nations—a mirror of their ability to plan and manage. Investing in stadiums is undoubtedly important, especially with major ambitions such as hosting the Africa Cup of Nations and preparing for even larger global events. But a country’s image is not built solely within the walls of sports complexes. The fan applauding flawless organization inside the stadium may be the very same citizen struggling outside with flooded streets and overwhelmed sewage systems. The paradox is painful: advanced rainwater drainage technologies beneath football pitches, while real drainage failures persist in some urban areas. This contradiction raises questions about priorities—not to diminish the value of sporting achievements, but to broaden the meaning of success. Effective sports organization should be an extension of a strong urban system, not a modern island surrounded by fragile surroundings. What happened in Ksar El Kebir should not be dismissed as a passing incident caused merely by exceptional rainfall. It should be read as a warning bell. If we are capable of building world-class stadiums in record time, we are certainly capable of modernizing sewage and drainage networks in cities vulnerable to flooding. The technical expertise exists, the know-how is there; the real challenge lies in applying the same urgency and rigor to projects that affect citizens’ daily lives. Morocco’s sporting ambitions are significant, its aspirations legitimate, and its international image important. But the most powerful image will emerge when our success in organizing matches under heavy rain becomes a natural reflection of cities that can also withstand storms without losses or suffering. Only then will we be looking at a truly coherent development model: one that shines not only under stadium lights and television cameras, but also protects people on the ground in real life.

We Must Save the African Games... 10016

Aziz Daouda, 5 mon.
Let it be quickly noted that the title is not mine but the one chosen by David Ojong, Secretary General of the Cameroonian Olympic and Sports Committee, for a book he has just published and which is available on Amazon. David Ojong, a dear friend, honored me by asking me to write the postface for this book, which he recently presented at a solemn event in Yaoundé. Along with David and many others, we share the conviction that the African Games, the continent's flagship event, are in peril. Faced with deep structural, institutional, and cultural challenges, they struggle to fulfill their original mission: to unite Africa around Olympic values enriched with a distinct identity. In his book, the author advocates for a renovation of the African Games by clearly posing the question of what role for ACNOA in continental sports leadership?* Today, the Games are torn between the African Union, supported by an organization lacking stature or competence: the UCSA (Union of African Sports Confederations) and ACNOA (the Association of African Olympic Committees), which itself displays chronic weakness. In this particularly African context, David Ojong provides a lucid assessment of the situation and proposes concrete pathways for renewal. This major contribution challenges all actors in the African sports movement, from the African Union to the Association of African National Olympic Committees (ACNOA), amid institutional tensions that dangerously undermine the event. He highlights the latent frictions among stakeholders. ACNOA, meant to play a pivotal role, suffers from flawed governance that erodes the regularity and quality of the Games. Past editions have revealed recurring issues: organizational delays, lack of stable funding, and poorly managed competition with other continental bodies. The author analyzes these dysfunctions through a rigorous methodological framework, legal, sociopolitical, and comparative, to demonstrate that without profound restructuring, the Games risk losing their luster and disappearing altogether. At the heart of these challenges lies leadership. ACNOA must strategically reposition itself, assuming a strong coordination role. Ojong advocates integrating traditional African sports to reconcile the event with its cultural roots and boost its appeal. This approach is no gimmick; it aims to transform the Games into a platform for soft power, promoting African unity on the international stage, including an innovative proposal: creating AOSA. Faced with these challenges, the author advances a bold idea: the creation of an African Olympic and Sports Association (AOSA). This new entity would bring together all vital forcesO, lympic Committees, African Confederations via CASOL (Association of African Confederations of Olympic Sports, recently created under the presidency of Hamad Kalkaba Malboum, president of the African Athletics Confederation), states, and international partners, in an inclusive and forward-looking vision. AOSA would enable unified governance, free from petty quarrels, and pave the way for optimal athlete preparation with known and fixed timelines for the Games. In this context, ACNOA must support African athletes in their preparation to enable a more impactful and effective African participation in the Olympic Games. This vision aligns with proven, low-cost pragmatic initiatives. As I argued in the book's postface, ACNOA should invest in specialized training groups housed in African sports centers. Funded by Olympic Solidarity, these programs would fill the gap left by under-resourced clubs, universities, and federations, especially in the continent's least favored countries. The result? Enhanced performances at the Olympic Games and a daily ACNOA presence among African youth, fostering sustainable development through sport. The book is, in essence, a plea for the future of African sport. Beyond the technical aspects, David Ojong issues a passionate call to all the continent's vital forces for greater vision and seriousness. The African Games are more than a competition; they embody identity-building, an economic and social lever. In a world where regional specificities are gaining recognition, Africa must forge innovative sports leadership. Ojong asks the right questions: How to turn tensions into synergies? How to mobilize Olympic funds for continental excellence? This book is not an end in itself but a starting point. It invites decision-makers, leaders, researchers, and athletes to constructive dialogue. Through his rigor and passion, David Ojong charts a clear path. It is up to the African sports community to follow it, so that the Games once again become the radiant mirror of our dynamism and unity. The renewal of the African Games is a strategic imperative for Africa: David Ojong's call for unified, representative, and effective leadership comes at the perfect time given their current lamentable state.

AFCON 2025: When Realpolitik and Institutional Influence Overpower the Rule of Law 10317

Imad Khater, 5 mon.
The ruling issued by CAF on January 29, 2026, regarding the tumultuous conclusion of the Morocco-Senegal final, transcends mere sporting arbitration. It signals the emergence of a structural denial of justice where Realpolitik has effectively superseded codified norms. By delivering this verdict of convenience, CAF has squandered a pivotal historical opportunity. Legal recourse through the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS) now stands as the sole remaining avenue to restore the primacy of law over political maneuvering. This step is essential to transform a denial of justice into a redemptive legislative precedent, capable of dismantling the impunity of those who believe they can subvert the system through "pitch-side sedition." Tactical Obstruction and the Legal Grey Zone Contrary to the radical interpretations circulated in the heat of the moment, the Senegalese squad never executed an irreversible physical withdrawal from the field. By remaining within the technical perimeter, the actors de facto neutralized the application of Article 82 of the CAF regulations. However, this technical distinction does not diminish the gravity of the events. We witnessed a strategic "hostage-taking" of the match. By instrumentalizing the pitch's grey zones, Senegal exerted overwhelming psychological and administrative pressure on the officiating crew, paralyzing the natural flow of the game. This "perimeter sedition" constitutes a major breach of sporting ethics: a manifestation of "might makes right" rather than the rule of law. By validating this conduct, CAF has effectively sanctioned the threat of withdrawal as a legitimate negotiating lever during a match. The Urgency of a Sui Generis Disciplinary Framework The current continental sporting law is trapped in an obsolete binarism: a match is either played or abandoned. In the face of such systemic obstruction, the existing legal regime resembles a "tree bearing bitter fruit." It is now imperative to establish a specific offense of obstruction. The law cannot remain silent when a team saturates the technical space to freeze the clock and coerce a favorable outcome. Future reforms must focus on intentionality: any refusal to resume play, even if the team remains on the sidelines, should result in an automatic forfeit. Without this "scientization" of sanctions, African football is condemned to permanent legal insecurity. Institutional "Entrisme" and the Shadow of Hard Power Analysis reveals a glaring asymmetry of power. While Morocco has invested in contributory "Soft Power," Senegal appears to have secured judicial "Hard Power." It is now evident that the Senegalese Federation is deeply embedded within the inner sanctums of CAF. The presence of a national figure at the helm of the Disciplinary Committee—notwithstanding any formal recusal—creates an insurmountable structural bias. This "Solomonic justice"—sacrificing a fuse (the coach) to protect the institution (the trophy)—is a calculated maneuver of Realpolitik designed to appease a federation whose institutional influence now dictates the tempo of verdicts at the expense of equity. The Referee’s Report: A Veil for Incompetence The Disciplinary Committee has retreated into willful blindness by relying exclusively on the reports of referees and officials, disregarding material, chronometric, and video evidence. The "Judge and Party" Conflict: The referee, whose loss of authority was the primary catalyst for the chaos, cannot be considered a legitimate or objective narrator of the facts. Administrative Distortion: By relying on these often laconic or biased minutes, the Commission deliberately prioritized administrative finality over the reality of the pitch. This creates a vicious cycle where officials are shielded to avoid applying the full rigor of the law against the champion. Conclusion: From Influence to Modernity For months, a complacent media narrative attempted to portray Fouzi Lekjaa as the "demiurge" of CAF. However, this verdict demonstrates that real power lies elsewhere. By prioritizing political stability over legal rigor, CAF has undermined its own credibility. Morocco, guided by the strategic vision of His Majesty the King, must now act as the champion of institutional modernity. A referral to the CAS is not merely a protest; it is a necessity to break the cycle of impunity and ensure that no entity can hijack the system through political leverage.

Africa of Narratives: The Media Silence That Handicaps Rabat... 10414

Aziz Daouda, 5 mon.
The press is never neutral and never will be.It doesn't just report facts: it ranks them, amplifies them, or stifles them. In Africa, where the battle for influence plays out as much in newsrooms as in chancelleries, media power is a central indicator of real leadership. In this game, the comparison between Morocco and Senegal, judged by the facts recorded during the CAN final, is brutal. It's a textbook case. It highlights a disturbing truth: Morocco acts massively across the continent but speaks little or goes unheard, while Senegal, with more limited means, imposes its voice. Senegal boasts an age-old media capital, forged by history, a culture of debate, and a press that has never fully abandoned its critical role. Dakar remains a nerve center for francophone African discourse. Its media transform a national event into a continental issue, a local controversy into a pan-African debate. They master the art of storytelling: giving meaning, creating emotion, shaping opinion. A quick look at *Le Soleil*, the historic state newspaper and circulation leader, or *Walfadjri*, a powerful, conservative, and critical group, is enough to gauge its reach. **Morocco presents a striking paradox. The country invests, finances, builds, trains, and advances by giant strides. It promotes win-win partnerships, positions itself as a major player in African development, and claims a deep continental strategic footprint. Yet this ambition runs up against a glaring weakness: the absence of a Moroccan press that is audible and influential on the African scale. Moroccan media abound, sometimes technically proficient, but remain confined to internal dialogue. Africa often appears there as diplomatic scenery, rarely as a living space for debate.** This shortfall carries a heavy political cost. Without powerful relays, the Moroccan narrative, when it exists—struggles to take hold. Its successes go unnoticed, its positions are poorly understood, its silences interpreted as admissions of weakness or lack of humility. While others seize the space, Morocco lets the battle for perceptions slip away. In Africa, those who don't tell their own story accept others telling it for them, with their biases and lies when bad faith enters the mix. The Sahara affair demonstrated this for decades, with persistent residues: the neighbor's narrative took root in many minds, peddling falsehoods, historical distortions, even geographical falsehoods. This absence of voice is also reflected in the silence of the elites. Moroccan ministers are discreet, if not absent, from African airwaves. Ambassadors shy away from major continental debates. Moroccan experts are invisible in pan-African media: Morocco is present physically and materially, but absent narratively. In contrast, Senegalese figures, political, diplomatic, or intellectual, flood the regional media space. They explain, justify, challenge, fully aware that influence is built through public discourse. Football, too often reduced to mere spectacle by shortsighted decision-makers, brutally exposes these imbalances. A heavy defeat can remain a minor incident or become a political and symbolic event. When a sports fact circulates in Africa, it's not the score that strikes but how it's told, commented on, debated. Things may go well on the pitch; what matters is the media narrative. The sanctions from the Confederation of African Football (CAF) confirm this reality. Their impact goes beyond sport: they become subjects of debate, tools of pressure, levers of influence. Where some media amplify, contextualize, and politicize the event, others suffer it, whine without convincing. Morocco too often adopts this defensive posture, lacking a press capable of imposing its reading of the facts and a solid narrative. Today, the impression prevails that the continent has ganged up against the Kingdom, seen as a corrupter of the system and absolute master of the CAF. In reality, we are far, very far from that. Yet try convincing a young African otherwise: some even view the sanctions against Senegal as unfair. *The problem is not quantitative but strategic. Morocco doesn't lack media; it lacks an African vision. Few correspondents on the continent, weak multilingual presence, absence of pan-African platforms: so many handicaps in a hyper-connected Africa. Add to that an editorial caution that stifles debate, while influence arises from clashing ideas.* The diagnosis is irrefutable. Morocco cannot sustainably claim a central role in Africa without investing the media field. It needs offensive, credible media capable of speaking to* Africa and with*Africa;* visible, assertive voices present in controversies and substantive debates. Modern power is no longer measured solely in kilometers of highways, banks, or signed agreements, but in the ability to impose a narrative. **Morocco must never forget the all-out war waged against it, including in the media. It must integrate this as a core component of its African policy.** As long as it leaves this terrain to others, those who, jealous and insecure, bet on disinformation, slander, and lies, its ambitions will remain fragile at best. **Good faith never wins alone: it advances alongside bad faith.** It's the swiftest, most composed, most persuasive, the one that hits back, that triumphs in the end.