Somewhere between England's third goal against Mexico on Sunday night and my second glass of something cold enough to hurt, my phone got the news that FIFA had suspended Folarin Balogun's one-match ban.
Not upside down, you understand. It has been suspended. He was put on “probation” for a year, like a sixth grader caught smoking behind the bike sheds who promised, hand in hand, never to do it again.
The ban came about for the most boring reason you can think of: regulations. Balogun was sent off against Bosnia and Herzegovina for a bad stamp on Tarik Muharemovic's ankle, VAR checked, and a red card was issued. Under FIFA rules a straight red brings an automatic one-match suspension. No complaining, no haggling. That's the whole point of the word automation.
Except, it turns out, when the president of the nation holding the phone picks up the phone. Donald Trump confirmed, with great joy, that he called Gianni Infantino to ask for the card to be reviewed, on the basis of an expert that, in his words, “I didn't know what a red card was.” Days later FIFA's disciplinary committee reached Article 27 of its code, suspended the ban, fined US Soccer $40,000 for the form, and Balogun left for Belgium in Seattle on Monday night.
And all I could think of, watching this happen, was Biff Tannen.
He misses Biff. Back to the Future II. A school bully who finds a sports almanac in the future, bets on the results he already knows, and builds a casino empire with his name in front lights. Screenwriter Bob Gale confirmed years ago that the older, richer, gold-lifting and scary version of Biff was modeled on a certain New York real estate developer. It was a joke in 1989. The joke is now off the screen, he took the national belt from home and started crying at the referees.
Because the almanac never mentioned winning. The almanac was about certainty, the sweet knowledge that the rules that bind everyone don't. Biff didn't miss a beat. He worked in the market where he was alone knowing that the outcome would be negotiated. And Hill Valley's 1985 remake wasn't rich with it; it was a smoking ruin with a single tower shining brightly in the center.
Students of business will recognize this pattern immediately, for this is precisely why law, rather than oil or talent or sunshine, is the most valuable economic asset any property can own. No one invests when the courts take calls. No one signs a contract they should have if law enforcement depends on who the co-worker knows. FIFA's own rules prohibit political interference, and Infantino insists that his judicial bodies act independently, which would be a relief if the beneficiary was not the host's star striker, days after the president's call. UEFA said FIFA had “crossed a red line”. Wayne Rooney called it a disgrace. Belgium appealed and were told they had no standing, which is a brave thing to say to real opponents in a real game.
The floodgates are rightfully opening. Less than a day later, the French federation asked FIFA to reconsider the yellow card shown to Michael Olise, and Thomas Tuchel was asked with a straight face, whether England should start inviting their red cards as well.
Sponsors pay billions for the tournament with the understanding that the product is more sports than scripted television, and analysts are already questioning what political photography is doing in that equation. I wrote last week about air-conditioned stadiums and whether this world cup is fair; I admit that I did not expect the field to tilt so quickly.
It's the same disease I experienced when CBS canceled Stephen Colbert to keep the White House interesting: institutions discover, under pressure, that their rules were only suggestions. And with the promised rise of the World Cup failing to show in American employment numbers, the real benefit of the tournament, trust, is the one asset the hosts can't burn.
Here's a little treat. Balogun played. And the United States lost 4-1 to Belgium and were out of the World Cup. Even Biff, clutching his almanac, eventually discovers that defying the odds is not the same as being good. You can rely on the referee, suspend the suspension and announce the great injustice that has been canceled on your social network. The scoreboard, bless it, is always one of the last institutions that doesn't take calls.
