In a modest house nestled in a quiet neighborhood in Bamako, Mali, two brothers sat across from each other at the dinner table. The younger brother, Adama, a professional soccer player, leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed as he listened to his older brother, Amadou.
“Little brother, it looks like you might manage to get a transfer to the next club,” Amadou said, his voice calm but carrying a weight of experience. “FIFA just published an opinion that some of their transfer rules go against EU law. That could mean things will be easier for players like you when switching clubs.”
Adama sighed deeply, glancing down at his hands. “Hmm,” he mumbled in response, not fully engaged in the conversation.
Amadou raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you happy? This could be good news for you.”
Adama shook his head slowly. “I didn’t want to transfer in the middle of my contract. I liked my previous club.”
Amadou’s expression hardened slightly, his tone sharpening. “What are you saying now? Listen, I’m the one who taught you how to play soccer. I’m the one who helped you become a professional. And now look at you—selected for the French national team, a hero back here in Mali. You’ve got everything ahead of you.”
“I don’t need more money, Amadou. I’m happy if the kids back home look up to me,” Adama said quietly, his voice steady but conflicted.
Amadou sighed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “You’re still a kid yourself if you think like that. Do you even understand why your previous club signed you for four years? It’s because they figured your body wouldn’t last longer than that. That’s all you are to them—a commodity.”
Adama’s eyes narrowed, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “But my previous club treated me like a person, not just a player.”
“Don’t be fooled,” Amadou shot back. “What the professional soccer industry does is no better than a slave trade. They tie you down with contracts, squeeze every bit of talent from you, and then move on when you’re spent.”
Adama exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “All the players know that, Amadou. But we still love the game. We love soccer. That’s why we play, even when we know the industry is flawed.”
Amadou softened, sitting back and crossing his arms. “I get that, little brother. But just remember, the game you love can be unforgiving. You have to protect yourself too.”
The room fell into silence, the weight of their conversation hanging between them. Adama knew his brother was right in many ways, but his heart was still tethered to the joy he found on the field—a joy that no contract or legal ruling could ever take away.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms.
EU top court says some FIFA player transfer rules breach EU law
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