There’s a special kind of rage that boils within me when I witness the recurring charade of football club chief executive officers (CEOs) performing a disappearing act just as their beloved football clubs teeter on the brink of financial oblivion.
You know the drill. Months of whispers about unpaid salaries, Employees’ Provident Fund contributions and mounting taxes – and poof – the CEO, the so-called architect of the football club, is suddenly “pursuing new opportunities” or “taking a much-needed break”.
It’s an escape act worthy of a magician – only instead of pulling a rabbit from a hat, they’re making millions of ringgit in debt vanish from their ledger of accountability.
It’s as if they attended Hogwarts and majored in Advanced Disappearing Acts for Highly Paid Executives. And make no mistake – this little disappearing act does more than just irritate me.
A CEO’s resignation during a crisis is like dropping a hand grenade into an already burning building. It damages morale among players, employees and fans, further destabilising the club and potentially accelerating its demise. It screams, “Even the boss thinks we’re doomed” – and that kind of message spreads through a team like a bad flu.
Let’s be frank. When a football club – a pillar of its community and a source of immense pride – is staring down the barrel of closure, and the person at the helm decides to swan off, it’s a full-blown act of abandonment. Imagine the captain of a sinking ship quietly slipping into a personal submarine, waving goodbye to the panicked crew and passengers while humming Bye Bye Bye by NSYNC.
Then there’s the infuriating notion of accountability. These individuals, with their fancy titles and fat salaries, are the architects of their club’s financial destiny. Every ill-advised transfer fee, every unchecked expenditure, every ludicrous salary packet – all fall at their feet.
Yet when the chickens come home to roost, they’re nowhere to be found. Their voluntary resignation or disappearance, especially without a public decree from the board, is a blatant declaration of – “Not my circus, not my monkeys anymore”.
And finally, the most bitter pill to swallow – selfishness. While fans are mourning, players are facing uncertain futures, and even the tea lady is wondering where her next pay cheque will come from, these departing CEOs are off to greener pastures, their reputations largely unscathed – perhaps even polished with a carefully worded press release about “difficult decisions”.
It’s a sad reminder that a football club is merely a business venture, a stepping stone, rather than a living, breathing entity that means the world to them. It’s self-preservation masquerading as professionalism – and it stinks like a forgotten belacan left too long at the back of the refrigerator.
I’m not in the business of naming names, but this pattern is so depressingly prevalent in Malaysian football that it needs to stop.
The Malaysian Football League (MFL) and the Football Association of Malaysia (FAM) cannot continue to merely shake their heads. They need to grow some teeth – and bite these runaway CEOs where it hurts them most – their pockets and their professional futures.
Leaving a football club to rot is gross negligence and an act of reckless disregard for the club’s wellbeing.
MFL and FAM, therefore, must step up. We’re talking about more than just a slap on the wrist or a temporary ban from everything football. We’re talking about legal accountability.
If these individuals have driven clubs into the ground through sheer incompetence or, worse, something more sinister – then they should be pursued for damages. Their actions directly impact livelihoods, shatter dreams, and erode public trust in the beautiful game.
For fans who bleed their club’s colours, “voluntary resignation” looks suspiciously like abandonment – and it’s high time those CEOs were held accountable for the mess they left behind.
The views expressed here are the personal opinion of the writer and do not necessarily represent that of Twentytwo13.
