Paddy O'Dea

INTERNATIONAL SPORTS ADMINISTRATORS tend to be a wily breed. If a footballer’s great talent lies in their feet, for the suits in HQ, it is in their political nous.

As is well documented by now, Fifa president Gianni Infantino is up for re-election in March 2027, a contest that until three weeks ago appeared a foregone conclusion. This summer’s 2026 World Cup was to be his victory lap.

Instead, barely a month post-tournament, Infantino’s Fifa career hangs on by a thread, following the spectacular unravelling of his proposed private equity deal for governing body’s commercial rights. Last Thursday, the FAI became the latest member association to withdraw its support for his re-election, citing concerns about “governance, transparency, and the lack of meaningful consultation.”

First reported on 28 July, Fifa Forward Enterprise (FFE) went from leaked deck to abandoned wreckage within four days. In doing so, the concept lasted just 24 hours longer than the ill-fated European Super League (ESL) before collapsing under near-identical pressure.

While more than five years and a very different cast of characters may separate the two implosions, the public sentiment shares many parallels. More telling, from a communications perspective, the failings are near identikit: a nakedly self-serving concept, an overly narrow sales pitch, a failure to mobilise credible advocates, and an execution that felt more ambush than opportunity to its voting constituents.

Infantino held crisis talks with senior football figures in Morocco earlier this month. AP Photo / Alamy Stock Photo AP Photo / Alamy Stock Photo / Alamy Stock Photo

– A self-serving concept, again –

The original ESL failed largely because it never escaped the perception that it existed solely to enrich a dozen elite clubs at the expense of the wider football pyramid.

FFE was instantly judged by the same cynical standard, but rather than lining the pockets of European super-clubs, it appeared designed to benefit Infantino and a select group of hand-picked insiders.

More curious again, sitting on a debt-free balance sheet and fresh off a record €11 billion World Cup cycle, Fifa appeared to have zero financial imperative to sell off the crown jewels.

– Selling the vision –

However, the ESL’s fatal flaw wasn’t just the concept, it was also the total absence of anyone credible willing to publicly sell it. When the story first broke, Gary Neville and others quickly responded by casting the narrative as a battle for the soul of English and European football.

In the absence of anyone from the ESL publicly challenging this framing, this narrative took root. ESL chief ringleader and Real Madrid president Florentino Perez made a single belated appearance on a late-night Spanish talk show, but his message was too late and disjointed to reframe the debate.

Five years later, this lesson has gone unlearned. FFE’s sales pitch was aimed squarely at the administrators holding voting cards, ignoring fans, players, sponsors, and the wider football ecosystem. Instead, Fifa gambled that a €20 million cash injection per member association would paper over the initial secrecy and rushed voting timelines.

But with no trusted voice to articulate the vision, the sales strategy relied entirely on the high-risk assumption that money alone would do the persuading. It didn’t.

Carlos Cordeiro, left, resigned his post as Fifa presidential adviser after the FFE proposal was made public. Ron Sachs / CNP/AdMedia/Alamy Stock Photo Ron Sachs / CNP/AdMedia/Alamy Stock Photo / CNP/AdMedia/Alamy Stock Photo

– A fractured front –

The ESL splintered as soon as its own participants faced real pressure. The six English clubs all abandoned ship within 48 hours, leaving Perez isolated as its sole public defender. Cracks appeared in the house of Fifa just as quickly. Fifa presidential adviser Carlos Cordeiro resigned in protest within the first 72 hours, labelling FFE “a bad deal for football”.

Meanwhile, Fifa chief operating officer Kevin Lamour accused Infantino of deception and intimidation, calling it “a project of one person”. By the time the plan was shelved, Infantino was without a single public ally willing to champion the plan or Infantino in public. President Trump’s belated, dreaded ‘vote of confidence’ succeeded in only further fanning the flames.

– Governance by ambush –

Tellingly, both concepts were undone by the manner of their arrival as much as their substance. The ESL was announced late on a Sunday night with no meaningful prior consultation, and players and managers from the participating clubs learning the details from the same press release as everyone else.

FFE followed an almost identical pattern: a tightly guarded information circle inside Fifa, a media leak that forced disclosure before the plan was fully baked, and member associations discovering the scale of what was being proposed only once media had already reported it. As a result, key Infantino’s allies realised they were firmly outside the tent looking in and felt betrayed.

In both cases, the secrecy was intended to prevent exactly the kind of backlash it ended up giving rise to. However, while the idea of high-stakes corporate strategising happening behind closed doors is hardly unusual, the trade-off is that the absence of any political groundwork becomes the story in itself.

In effect, member associations didn’t just object to the terms of the deal, they objected to being asked to vote through such a seismic development, drafted in secrecy, at a matter of weeks’ notice.

– Lessons unlearnt –

The FFE story is ultimately one of one man’s personal ambition versus the wider football pyramid. The episode has prompted a broader conversation about who are the true custodians of global football and what should the role entail. Inevitably, the sport will continue to serve as a sought-after chessboard for geopolitics and private capital. And, as most football supporters will attest to, typically those with the deepest financial pockets win out, on and off the pitch.

However, both the ESL and FFE collapses suggest that in the highly-charged world of professional football, financial clout alone will only get you so far when looking to push through radical change. Yes, it will buy access and influence behind closed doors, but without the political narrative to defend it in the open, momentum may quickly run aground – a political reality that Uefa and some of football’s key regional power brokers are already capitalising on.

In recent days, it has been reported that Uefa, Concacaf, and the Asian Football Confederation are working on a policy document to redefine Fifa’s role into the future. If Infantino refuses to engage, a presidential challenger will likely embrace the opportunity to build their campaign around delivering these proposed reforms. It could serve as a template for a breakaway organisation.

For future disruptors – whether motivated by self-interest or genuine reform – delivering material change will require more than capital: it means having a clear story to tell, paired with footballing cultural fluency and a smart political ground game.

Above all, they must solve the fundamental problem that sank both the FFE and ESL: how to achieve structural change without alienating the very ecosystem that gives the sport its legitimacy and soul.

Paddy O’Dea is a director at PR and public affairs agency Fenton Fitzwilliam.