Another Asian campaign for the Red Giants collapsed in a glorious, predictable mess. I’m talking about a defeat so humiliating it should have come with a parental guidance warning.
And naturally, the pitchforks are out. The mob is baying for blood, and their chosen sacrifice – the visible villain of the piece – Selangor FC chief executive officer Johan Kamal Hamidon.
This is the great, recurring tragedy of Malaysian football fandom: they’ve decided to commit financial suicide to protest a football result. Seriously, look at the demand: fire the CEO.
It is, of course, an act of passion – but it’s also an act of profound, self-defeating silliness. The loudest voices are demanding the immediate execution of the only person who is demonstrably keeping the lights on and ensuring they have a stadium to shout in next year.
It’s akin to protesting a bad meal by firing the waiter. It’s glorious, nostalgic rubbish that modern football has long rendered obsolete.
So let’s discuss the difference between the boring world of business and the emotional circus of football, shall we? Because clearly, many fans have not grasped it.
Imagine dining at a fancy restaurant. The soup tastes like regret, the steak has the texture of an old rubber slipper, and the dessert is offensive. Who do you ask to speak to? The chef – the person responsible for the actual product.
In Selangor FC, fans are demanding the removal of what would be, in restaurant terms, the general manager – the person who manages the service staff, handles reservations and ensures the rent is paid. As CEO, Johan’s job is tedious but essential: revenue, sustainability, risk assessment, making sure the youth academy can afford new light bulbs.
He is accountable for the club’s long-term survival.
The director of football or technical director, meanwhile, is the chef. Their job is volatile, glamorous and often inviting: transfers, tactics, and ensuring the team doesn’t concede a goal that looks like it was choreographed by the bookies. They are accountable for the next game.
Here’s the hilarious irony: while supporters are furious about a dish that belongs in a bin, they want to sack the man who negotiated multimillion-ringgit sponsorship deals that keep the club alive.
They demand the execution of the general manager because the chef ruined the main course. Their demand implicitly asks him to violate his own mandate and take the blame for decisions made entirely in the sporting vertical – a vertical he exists purely to fund. Targeting him only gives the real culprits a temporary, undeserved holiday.
Let’s get specific about the “chef” who deserves the pitchforks. The sporting vertical is where the magic should happen, or in Selangor’s case, where the horror show unfolded.
The director of football or technical director should be under siege, not the CEO. They sign off on the transfer budget, scout players, and – crucially – hire the head coach whose tactics currently resemble the output of a rusty random number generator.
The CEO can give them RM10 million or RM20 million, but if they spend it on a striker who plays like he’s wearing lead boots, the failure is entirely theirs. They are responsible for the product on the pitch, and they’ve delivered a sack of regrets.
The CEO only pays for the ingredients. If the chef burns the steak, you don’t fire the cashier.
Now imagine Johan being shoved out the door. The momentary burst of fan satisfaction would be a two-day dopamine hit. The resulting financial instability would be a two-year hangover.
The message to sponsors would be toxic: we are an unstable, emotionally driven operation that prioritises mob rule over sound management.
Why would any serious multinational company sign a multi-year partnership with a club whose executive leadership can be rewritten by a few loud people with scarves?
They won’t. They’ll move their money elsewhere. This is not just about a name on a jersey. This is the lifeblood of the club. Without the money man, there is no money.
Suddenly, that RM10 million transfer budget disappears. Stadium maintenance halts; the ground starts to resemble a post-apocalyptic film set. You can’t sign good players; you scrape the barrel for rejects and half-fit loanees.
You guarantee a poorer, smaller, less ambitious future for the Red Giants – all for the catharsis of firing a competent CEO.
The fans are confusing passion with arson. They want to remove a capable executive to soothe their wounded pride. If they succeed, they’ll get their short-lived high, only to wake up to a financially crippled club.
To protest is to be passionate. But be smart. Instead of storming the CEO’s office, demand governance reform in the sporting department. Hold up banners demanding transparency in scouting. Ask for a clear, written tactical philosophy from the technical director.
Organise a non-attendance protest – a financial hit that directly targets the product on the pitch, not the financial foundation that pays for everything.
What is happening now is a tragic, self-defeating act of love. The path to becoming a successful, modern football club is not paved with hysterical overreactions. It is built on sound financial management and accountability from those paid to deliver results on the pitch.
Now put down the pitchforks, turn around, and find the real chef. And for crying out loud, don’t burn him alive.
The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the writer and do not necessarily represent that of Twentytwo13.
Image: Selangor FC
