🇨🇮 Yan Diomandé’s letter to his sister through @PlayersTribune:
“Dear Roxane,
Remember when someone bought me a fake United shirt, and I wrote “Ronaldo 7” on the back with a black Sharpie? We didn’t know what rich or poor was. We only knew happiness.
Remember the 25 people sleeping in just one house back in Abidjan? Mom wanted to watch her soap operas. Everyone wanted to watch movies. Remember how I’d always pretend I was asleep and then sneak to the TV room after midnight? I’d turn the TV way down low. Like, just two volume bars. I’d watch soccer in the dark and dream.
Remember when the grown-ups saw me playing soccer on the dirt and gave me the nickname “Roberto Carlos” because of how hard I kicked? And remember how I secretly got so mad about it, because CR7 was my idol?
Remember when I went to play so far from home? I was 9 years old. Inter Foot Sud Comoé, way out near the border with Ghana. Just a little boy all alone. I don’t know if I ever told you this story, but me and the other kids used to go to the village and steal potatoes because we were so hungry. We called it a “bank heist.” Two kids would distract the shop owner, and the other 18 would run off with two potatoes. They weren’t even good. But they tasted amazing. Hahahah. Even today, it’s my favorite thing to eat. Boiled potatoes with a little oil. It takes me back to those times.
Remember when I got my first real pair of cleats, and I slept with them? Growing up, I always played in those white plastic sandals. Even when I go back home now, I still play in them. It’s our tradition.
Remember when I’d come back home, and you’d tell my neighborhood friends: “Why’d you stop training? Yan’s not gonna buy you cars. You gotta keep working.” You were 10 years old, and you were already my agent.
Remember how we’d sit and dream about moving to France? How we’d go shopping, have our own apartment, and I’d be a rich soccer player, with cars and a big house, and you wouldn’t have to worry about anything. You were the one who always believed I could be the next Cristiano, when everyone else was laughing.
Remember when I moved to the United States for high school, at 15 years old, and I missed home so much? For months, I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying. They sat me next to a French boy, and he’d try to translate everything the teacher said. Remember when I called you and said: “You won’t believe it, the kids here argue with the teachers.” Back home, you know, we wouldn’t even dare blink at our elders.
Remember when I couldn’t believe the boys smoked after school? You used to say it felt like I was in an American TV show.
Remember when they took me for trials at Bournemouth? At Chelsea, Rangers, Olympiacos, Crystal Palace? Eze and Olise came up to me after a training session and said: “Hey, kid, you’re really good.”… but even then, they didn’t sign me.
Even the MLS B teams didn’t want me. I didn’t even know why. They never gave me a reason. The adults handled everything. They just kept taking me all over Europe, and everyone kept saying no.
My visa expired. My dream was over. They sent me back to Africa, and we cried together. You were the only one who never stopped believing. A few weeks later, I signed with Leganés, and we cried different tears.
That was back when I still had emotions. Now, I don’t feel anything. It’s like I’m not even human. Since you died, I’m just empty.”
One thing I’ve always respected about Wazza is he really does respect other people’s cultures and takes time to educate himself
Even when he was playing for him to understand some of his teammates better he educated himself about black history. That’s my GOAT man
🚨🎙️ Roy Keane on Messi’s career ending tackle overlooked by VAR and the referee ;
🗣️”After the match yesterday all you see is Messi’s praises everywhere, the hype, the headlines, the hat-trick talk. Yeah, maybe he deserves some of it — the lad can still play.
But no one wants to say the truth. No one wants to address what went wrong yesterday.
That challenge was an absolute disgrace. Late, studs up, straight into the Achilles — career-ending territory. On any other player, anywhere else, it’s a straight red card and you’re marching off before half-time. But not when it’s Messi.
The referee bottles it, VAR takes a quick look and says ‘nah, carry on lad.’ Give me a break!
This is the World Cup, the biggest stage in the game. This is where the rules are supposed to mean something. Not bent, not softened, not ignored because of the name on the back of the jersey. Players have been sent off for half as much in this tournament. Where’s the consistency? Do the laws of the game suddenly not apply when it’s Lionel Messi?
This is why the game’s gone soft. Big names get protected, the rest get crucified. Absolute joke of officiating on the greatest stage of all.”
He won like 30% of his games, told us we needed to suffer and that there was no other way to do it before immediately being proven wrong by an out of work championship manager.
Oh and he tried to sell our most valuable talent for 40% of his market value.
🚨 VINI JR JUST TOLD FIFA: “WE’LL PAY THE FINE — BUT NOBODY FROM US IS DOING HALF-TIME INTERVIEWS.”
During Brazil’s World Cup match, Vinícius refused the mandatory tunnel interview.
Reporter: “You’ll get a huge fine for this.”
Vini: “We’ll pay. But nobody is coming to the mic.”
This isn’t arrogance. It’s players finally saying enough to FIFA’s corporate circus.
Half-time should be for tactics, water, recovery — not feeding the broadcast machine while the game gets sliced up for ads (sound familiar with those forced “welfare” breaks?).
FIFA under Infantino has turned football into a product. Mandatory everything. Player focus as an afterthought. Suits in Zurich cashing in.
Brazil and Vini just pushed back. Raw. Direct. No bowing to the machine.
The beautiful game belongs to the players on the pitch — not boardrooms selling every second.
Who else is done with this?
Moment Inao oluai got angry at Caicedo for playing recklessly and wanted to fight 😭
But then this beautiful gesture from Caicedo completely melted his heart. The two players calm down, spoke to each other, and apologized. This is the World Cup ❤️
The Bernardo Silva archetype is the definitive blueprint for Amad Diallo's long-term development.
Sticking a player with his level of spatial intelligence, needle mechanics, and elite micro-scanning into a rigid, touchline-hugging winger role is a complete waste of raw footballing intelligence.
When you look back at his Sunderland loan spell, Tony Mowbray gave him that exact structural freedom to drift inside, occupy the half-spaces, and dictate the tempo of the final third.
It’s no coincidence it was his most productive period he needs the ball at his feet in central zones to truly manipulate the opposition's defensive gravity.
Under Michael Carrick next season, a fluid, rest-defense-heavy system that allows him to roam and link play with technical monsters in the half-spaces is genuinely a terrifying prospect for the rest of the league.