The beautiful game has revealed its ugly underbelly once more, as Moroccan international Achraf Hakimi prepares to swap his football boots for a defendant's dock. The Paris Saint-Germain star, known for his blistering pace down the flank, now faces a sprint of a different sort: a full-blown rape trial in a UK court, where the only assist he'll receive is from his legal team. Let the kicking and screaming begin, but this time, it's the justice system doing the tackling.
The FA, ever the vigilant guardian of the nation's moral compass, has confirmed they are 'monitoring the case with vigilance'. At least they have something to do, other than debating whether to use VAR in tribunal hearings. One imagines a room full of blazers nodding solemnly, perhaps over a cup of tea, before adjourning for a spot of lunch. The statement was as predictable as a Harry Kane penalty: 'The FA takes all allegations of sexual violence extremely seriously.' How seriously? Let us count the ways. There will be a 'full investigation,' a 'rigorous process,' and, of course, a 'respect for the judicial system.' These are men who have turned due process into a contact sport.
Meanwhile, the Moroccan football federation has gone into a defensive formation usually reserved for stoppage time against Brazil. They cite their captain's good character, his charitable work, and his impeccable passing accuracy. As if a well-weighted through ball precludes the possibility of committing a heinous act. This is the world's oldest playbook: when in doubt, deploy the character witnesses. Let's hope the jury is not impressed by a few YouTube compilations of him waving at orphans.
Now, let us talk about the real victim here: the beautiful game. How dare this woman, this mere accusation, tarnish the sanctity of sport? Cue the inevitable thinkpieces about 'the pressure on young athletes' and 'the need for a support network.' Because nothing says support like a legal team that bills by the hour and a PR machine that spins faster than a football in a washing machine. The subtext is clear: his career might be ruined. Never mind the alleged victim's life, whose trauma will be dissected in open court under the glare of a million lenses.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves. In Britain, we are fond of the presumption of innocence. It's a quaint tradition, like warm beer and apologising for the weather. The courts will do their job, slowly and methodically, while the tabloids run themselves into a frenzy. Headlines will oscillate between 'Soccer Star's Nightmare' and 'Woman's Story Unravels' depending on which barrister bought the lunch. By the time the verdict arrives, we will all be exhausted, and the next scandal will be waiting in the wings, ready to take centre stage.
So, Achraf, prepare for a different kind of pitch. One where the grass is AstroTurf, the goals are made of legal statutes, and the referees wear wigs. Your fans will chant your name, your teammates will offer cryptic social media posts of solidarity (with the 'praying hands' emoji), but ultimately, it will be between you, a jury, and the truth. Or, as it is fashionably known in these parts, a 'he said, she said' with a multi-million pound defence. Good luck, son. You'll need it.
