It takes a while for the voice to emerge from the background haze, a mist of generically noodling electronic music, the kind of music that comes filled with a comforting sense of death, hold music from the executive euthanasia clinic.
Finally the voice emerges, whispering through your headphones in that familiar rich, reverent Euro-tone, like being spoken to by the sun. This is a voice that says: I am here to command. But I am also just a conduit for a divinity that flows through me and into you. Although mainly, and let’s be absolutely clear, through me.
This is the voice of fully realised corporate schmaltz. The voice of a seven-star rooftop infinity pool filled with mountain water, new-car-smell and human deceit, that has somehow learned to say words like hope, joy, unity, Jude Bellingham, a billion dollars. It is of course the voice of Gianni Infantino in public‑speaking mode, a man addressing you from the bridge of his private asteroid made of hope.
You do have to admire Infantino at moments such as this, if only for the way he has become an instantly recognisable human brand, always the same sounds, same look, iconic blue suit and tennis shoes, eyes that seem alarmingly flat and painted on, a standard-issue bald Swiss man transformed into a living corporate logo. Celebrity is a mask that eats into the face. Have a look at what football can do.
It has been a huge week for Infantino, with the launch of Fifa’s final marketing drive for the Club World Cup. We are now into the period of hard sell, with fewer than 80 days to go this weekend to the opening game, Inter Miami v Al-Ahly at the Hard Rock Stadium in Miami.
This month has already brought a soft launch with the unveiling of the trophy, a sinister and horrible golden plate that, at the turning of a key, can be transformed into a sinister and horrible golden sphere, and that is still there on Donald Trump’s desk, still spectating idly on history. And now we have this, Infantino fronting up on Fifa’s broadcast channel, offering some detail on prize money, and also an idea of the kind of ideas and phrases around which this thing will be pegged out.
He talked about “a new benchmark for football”. He talked about access and equity, a genuinely creative piece of double-think given this is the most elitist club competition ever devised. This will be the playbook. Universal opportunity and the ever-giving hand of love. Who knows, if you say it enough times it might even somehow be true.
Mainly Infantino talked money. Understandably, because this is the one big wow factor element here, not least in the US, where there remains a celebratory reverence for money, where people will stand up at fancy charity dinners and applaud you simply for being rich. The headline figure is a jaw‑dropper. Infantino loves saying it. One billion dollars! It is a genuinely transformative bounty. But that massive money is also a massive problem, one that speaks to the central faultline beneath all of this.
Gianni’s billion will be parcelled out among the 32 teams. Most of it will go to Europe, because Europe has 12 clubs taking part who are likely to dominate. So the richest continent will get richer. And within that the CWC will create a separate layer of inequity because the sums involved are just too big, too distorting of domestic leagues, in some cases equal to an entire season’s broadcast revenue.
The winners will take almost £100m. Chelsea, to offer a non-random example, could pocket £40m for getting out of the group stage, in the process undermining the carefully laid details of domestic financial rules. This is Fifa digging its fingernails right into the club game, careless of the consequences, dangling bundles of cash in front of the ownership class as an act of gaudy self-promotion.
What is its mandate for this? Fifa is supposed to be a trustee. Its mission is to oversee, promote and regulate. And yet here it is acting as an investor-disrupter and general sop to the powerful. Fifa knows this is a problem, judging by the announcement of “a target of an additional $250m as solidarity for non-participating clubs”. But how will this work? Why is it only a target? What difference can it actually make in the face of this invite-only summer trough-fest?
It is just as interesting to ask where the money actually comes from. There is a simple cause and effect here. Keep your eye on the $1bn. I am going to place it under this cup. Now follow the cup. Late last year it emerged Saudi Arabia’s sovereign wealth fund planned to buy a $1bn stake in the broadcaster Dazn, which has now come to pass. Shortly afterwards Dazn paid Fifa $1bn (keep your eye on the cup) for the rights to the CWC. Fifa will now pay $1bn to its participating clubs.
As a subplot, a side issue, some of those taking part may well be owned by funds that also have Saudi investment. In theory it could come to pass that money given by Saudi Arabia to Dazn, by Dazn to Fifa, by Fifa to the clubs, ends up back in the pocket of an entity part-owned at one remove by its initial donor. Only connect.
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Even without this level of deep conspiracy chat, money is being disbursed here that will undeniably skew the domestic leagues even further. Something tangible is being bought, some element of the future. Hence the ramping up of noise this week, because in the end money will always talk loudest, blurring out all other concerns.
Dazn has, we hear, “a very aggressive plan” to retail this thing by leveraging the global reach of its stars on social media, and, let’s face it, nobody ever went broke overestimating the power of mass celebrity fawning. Fifa has even given itself licence to fiddle around with the rules, allowing a confusing 10-day transfer window just for this competition, with some wild talk Cristiano Ronaldo could even move from Al-Nasr just to play in it, which sounds odd until you consider Lionel Messi is somehow taking part.
Already this is breeding confusion over timings and window planning. More widely there is just a feeling of lost control, elements dissolving in real time. What lies behind all this? To some degree, a kind of land grab. Todd Boehly gave an interesting speech at the recent Business of Football Summit. Despite appearing oddly drained of life on stage, like a man talking aloud about visions and plans just to keep himself awake on a long drive, the Chelsea co-owner kept coming back to one point, the fact the long-term future of the sport is in some form as a streaming product, blobs on a screen, piggyback for some future global tech service.
This is a part of the noise behind all these developments, a jostle for position, every party gearing up and testing its reach, prepping to take a slice of whatever the new frontier looks like, from Fifa to the clubs to the people pumping in money from the fringes.
The future is, as ever, up for grabs. It starts here, with an act of commercial disruption couched as benevolence, with a voice from the digital mist, out there saying unity and equity and growth, saying $1bn, just keep your eye on the $1bn.
Barney Ronay was named columnist of the year in this year’s Sports Journalism Awards
Source: theguardian.com
