So Achraf Hakimi, the Paris Saint-Germain star and Morocco's captain, is to stand trial for rape. The UK football authorities, ever vigilant, are watching. Of course they are.
They must protect the brand, the great global circus of football from any stain of unpleasantness. But the stain is already there, isn't it? It's a pattern, a tired, predictable pattern of power, entitlement, and the sort of moral decay that would make Gibbon weep.
We have here a young man at the peak of physical prowess, with wealth beyond the dreams of Croesus, and a system that has enabled and indulged him every step of the way. And now we have an accusation, a legal process, and the usual rituals: statements about cooperation with authorities, the presumption of innocence, the careful management of reputation. But let's be honest, shall we?
The presumption of innocence is a legal principle, not a moral one. The court of public opinion has already heard the evidence of our times, the endless parade of footballers, celebrities, and men of power accused of sexual violence. It began with the ancients, with the dramas of Greece and Rome, where the mighty took what they wanted.
But we, in our modern decadence, have perfected the art of outrage that lasts only until the next match. Hakimi's alleged victim is a 24-year-old woman. He is 25.
The act allegedly occurred in February, at his home. The details are predictable: a meeting, an invitation, a drink, and then the conflicting accounts. She says no.
He says yes. The law will decide, but the culture has already spoken. We live in an age where the notion of sanctity, whether of the body, the home, or the soul, has been eroded by a relentless tide of crass materialism and selfish desire.
The football star is our modern gladiator, adored, pampered, and ultimately corrupted by the very adulation that makes him a hero. And the UK authorities watch. They watch, and they will likely do nothing, or something symbolic, a fine, a suspension, a statement.
But they will not address the rot, because that would require questioning the entire edifice: the money, the fame, the worshipping of talent over character. This is not about Moulineaux vs. Hakimi.
This is about us, our society, our values. Are we any better than the Romans, who watched their champions rape and pillage and then cheered them in the arena? We have the same appetite for spectacle, the same willingness to look away from the corpses.
The trial will happen. The circus will continue. And we will forget, as we always do, until the next star, the next accusation, the next reminder that the game is not so beautiful after all.
