When the favored side wins, everything appears pristine. When others prevail, mess and controversy follow.
From the minds behind bold claims like “if you don’t belong to any team, join a club and you’ll feel better” and “if you want to win the Champions League, you know what to do,” comes a new controversial chorus: keep clapping even when the music stops. There is a saying that the path is not found but created, one step at a time. A centimeter of progress, they insist, becomes a trail people cannot forget. They proclaimed that victimhood is the lot of the smaller club, and then pressed on with a narrative that tries to shield certain actions behind excuses tied to a famous ethics case whose facts are still debated. If other clubs complain, they are dismissed as small-scale players; if concerns arise from those with access to influence, they are met with a chorus of outrage and a call for a public crusade. The image of a boy from a famous thriller, who sometimes saw the dead, is used to illustrate a world where “boxes” and conspiracies lurk in every corner. Beat by beat, line by line, frame by frame—the story is told and retold with a rhythm that never quite asks for clarity but always demands attention.
When some voices cry foul and claim injustice, the response is ridicule. Critics who fear accountability are branded as self-conscious, and fingers are pointed at those who would rather blame the stones than own up to mistakes. If the player who stutters and stumbles matters to the team, the surrounding atmosphere may overlook the missteps, praising effort as if it were license. This is the culture of being “pleasant,” the climate created by personalities who enjoy poking at others’ intelligence. A class of supporters appears, growing louder and more influential, not by producing fair journalism but by celebrating power. They resemble mushrooms, thriving where authority exerts its grip, appearing whenever a dominant force seems to require submission. The ‘lucky ones’ feel they have hit the jackpot, sometimes through controversial moments that are not fully settled in law or in public opinion. The past two decades have given them constant ammunition, and they work to stay comfortable in their own protective spaces.
Their operational stance is clear: when the right outcome occurs, everything is deemed clean, as if a whistle has blown, even if the circumstances are questionable. When the other side triumphs, the environment becomes dirty, like a messy room, even if the acts were within the letter of the law. The old adage about buying loyalty—“the dog that barks” is simply doing its job—surfaces in the rhetoric. It’s easier to sacrifice decency than the public image that sustains it. Critics, sometimes strangers to nuance, call it scandal; those who trust every official line defend the integrity of the process. The insistence on picking apart images while ignoring audio clues becomes a familiar game. Some advocate for semi-automatic decisions and quick verdicts, while others claim to view the league through a narrow lens, counting every millimeter of distance and declaring the league’s gravity from a great distance. A literary line from a long-ago writer mirrors the tension: mankind, a hair’s breadth away from the ape, is measured by the choices made in that narrow margin between progress and fall.
In the end, the debate revolves around perception as much as fact. The court of public opinion tilts with every new frame, every assertion of advantage, and every rebuttal that appears ready to be weaponized against opponents. The result is a landscape where truth is contested, and accountability often wears a mask. The narrative, crafted with rhythmic insistence, continues to push toward a single question: who benefits from the story that gets repeated again and again, and who pays the price of believing it without scrutiny?
Note: This piece examines the dynamics at play within football discourse, focusing on perspectives, rhetoric, and the persistent tension between power and accountability in the sport.