32 Days of Christmas: Day 8
For someone who never played football in primary school, high school, or now in university, I sure do talk about it a lot. But doesn’t everyone who loves the sport? When you ask men, and nowadays women too, why they love football, it’s almost impossible to express in words. It’s more of a way of life than a simple choice.
No matter how many times Man United lose, or how often Arsenal finish second best; no matter how embarrassingly Madrid fall in El Clásico, or how many fights erupt in the Mashemeji Derby, people will still love their teams. I’m no different. I may not give any impression of someone who knows anything about football, but this I know:
I talk about football because despite my inability to kick a ball, I understand that certain aspects of the game mirror life.
In relationships of any kind, people often assume they have endless choices. I’ve written about this before—the idea that the grass is greener on the other side, which is sometimes, not always, far from true. We convince ourselves that options exist everywhere, especially if we believe we possess qualities that are rare or valuable.
This is the illusion of choice, and football explains it better than anything.
Traditionally, football wisdom suggests that the better a player is, the more clubs they should be able to choose from. But in the modern game, where elite teams have unprecedented success, the opposite is happening: the world’s best footballers have fewer choices than ever.
As an accounting student, according to the laws of supply and demand, this is how football should work: world-class players should have numerous offers when they decide to leave their clubs for different countries, or different leagues. The player should have a choice to make: which coach to play for, and in what tactical system, surrounded by which teammates. They are the scarce resource. Yet in today’s inflated football economy, the marketplace treats them as though they are not. Their opportunities are narrow, and their landing spots almost predetermined.
Consider a few examples.
In the past, world-class players like Ronaldinho and Beckham had countless options. Ronaldinho moved from Grêmio in his homeland of Brazil, to PSG, then to his legendary years at Barcelona, followed by AC Milan, and later stints in Brazil (Fluminense) and Mexico (Querétaro). A highly sought-after player, he had genuine freedom to choose where he wanted to play.
Beckham, one of the pioneers of footballers as global brands, played for Manchester United, Real Madrid, LA Galaxy, AC Milan, and PSG. He won titles in England, Spain, France, and the USA—the first Englishman to win championships in four different leagues. He moved when and where he wanted: Madrid as his peak faded, then LA Galaxy “for fun”, as many would put it. He had real choice.
Fast forward to August 2023, Harry Kane provided the perfect counterexample. Arguably the world’s best goal scorer at the time, he was determined to leave Tottenham. Yet he had shockingly few options. Only one realistic destination, and it was less than ideal: Bayern Munich. Bayern is obviously a bigger and far more successful club than Spurs, but he arrived just as old leaders like Müller were phasing out, and Bayern had gone three years without a Champions League trophy. Fan patience was wearing thin. He needed to perform immediately or he’d be considered a flop. His move highlighted the shrinking space at football’s summit, and described a few different issues of transfers of elite players.
First, there are now very few clubs that can afford elite players. Italian football continues to struggle financially, made worse by the repeal of the growth decree in 2023 which had provided tax breaks for high-income earners. In Spain, Barcelona’s crippling debt ruled them out, while Real Madrid were uninterested because they already had a Ballon d’Or striker in Benzema and were focused on getting Mbappé in the future. La Liga’s strict spending limits also restrict how much clubs can invest each season.
Elsewhere, Arsenal and Chelsea were unlikely options due to historic London rivalries. Manchester City already had Haaland, and Manchester United were constrained by the Premier League’s profit and sustainability rules. PSG still had Mbappé, and Ligue 1 is generally not a desirable destination for a player chasing major trophies like Kane.
Kane’s problem is simple: players of his calibre are too expensive for almost every club.
Messi experienced a similar fate when Barcelona could no longer sustain his wages, and not a single Premier League club could afford him over the long term. Only PSG, with their limitless oil funding, could.
My GOAT Cristiano Ronaldo, after the breakdown at Manchester United found no European club able to meet his demands and eventually moved to the Saudi league.
That’s one issue.
The second is timing. Big transfers depend on vacancies at big clubs: one player must leave for another to arrive. Today, the top five European leagues are imbalanced. The richest clubs and highest-paid coaches are clustered mainly in England and Spain. The Premier League attracts everyone: the Gyökereses, the Ekitikes, the Marmoushs. When Kane leaves Spurs, the Kolo Muanis step in.
With all these factors combined, elite players face fewer choices, and ironically the more talented or expensive they are, the worse the problem becomes. Kane. Messi. Neymar. Ronaldo. The list grows every year.
European football has become littered with examples of enormously talented players whose career moves are constrained by circumstance: limited playing time for youngsters, tactical mismatch, loss of the spotlight, financial imbalance, or simply poor timing. In today’s era these players have far less choice about their career steps than they would have had in the past. Some transfers may be financially rewarding to the players, but they often fail to provide the optimal scenario on the pitch. With so few viable destination clubs, the chances that a player’s ambitions and a club’s needs align have become increasingly slim.
Of course some transfers are a perfect marriage, Jude Bellingham to Real Madrid for instance. He has been given an ideal role in the squad and is surrounded by similarly aged teammates who complement his abilities. I hope Mbappé’s story turns out similarly, even though he has had to adjust because both he and Viní thrive on the left. The fact that even a player like Mbappé faces complications shows how limited optimal options really are.
Jude Victor Bellingham.
This illusion isn’t limited to football. It shows up everywhere.
A degree holder may think better opportunities lie elsewhere, only to realize companies are cutting costs by training and retaining their own staff for years, hiring only when absolutely necessary, and often preferring diploma holders whose salary demands are lower.
In dating, someone might treat their partner poorly because they believe a “Prince Charming” is waiting just in case, simply because they’re attractive or educated. Likewise a handsome, well-built man might assume he can leave any relationship and replace it effortlessly, thinking his abs and pink lips guarantee options.
But in Theodore Bagwell’s words, we are captives of our own identities, living in prisons of our own creation. He meant that the roles, labels, and expectations we create can become limiting, and we can become trapped by the image we've built in our heads.
I’d like to extend that idea: sometimes our success becomes its own prison. The very traits we think give us endless choices may actually reduce them. We are not always as free as we believe. Often the illusion of choice blinds us to the reality of constraints—whether in football, careers, or relationships.
✍🏽Reagan.