I have often wondered if the collective IQ of a nation drops by thirty points the moment a whistle blows and a leather ball is kicked across a patch of grass. If the recent events in West Africa are any indication, my estimate was generous. We are currently witnessing the latest installment of a tired, predictable drama where the incompetence of the suit-and-tie brigade meets the expendability of the tracksuit-wearing laborers. In Burkina Faso, they have sacked coach Brama Traore. In Mali, ten high-ranking members of the football federation have resigned in a choreographed display of cowardice. It is, in every sense, a masterclass in the human inability to accept that sometimes, your team just isn't that good.

Let’s begin with Burkina Faso. Brama Traore has been tossed into the metaphorical volcano because the national team dared to exit the Africa Cup of Nations at the last-16 stage. To the uninitiated or the hopelessly optimistic, the round of 16 might seem like a respectable showing. But in the theater of the absurd that is national sports, it is a capital offense. The dismissal of a coach is the ultimate bureaucratic anesthetic; it numbs the pain of a systemic failure by providing a singular neck for the guillotine. I find it fascinating that the powers that be in Ouagadougou believe a change in leadership is the panacea for a deeper malaise. It is the same performative nonsense we see from the political Left—firing a figurehead to signal 'progress' while the underlying rot remains untouched and unaddressed. They treat a football coach like a malfunctioning toaster: return it to the store, get a new one, and act surprised when the bread still comes out burnt.

Traore’s crime was not a lack of tactical acumen, but a failure to provide the national ego with the validation it so desperately craves. When the results don’t match the delusion, the 'non-journalist' in me smiles. It is the purest form of karma. The fans demand miracles, the federation demands glory, and the coach is the only one who has to actually face the reality of the pitch. And when that reality proves disappointing, he is discarded like a used napkin at a state dinner. It is a cycle of futility that would be tragic if it weren't so profoundly stupid.

Then we have Mali, where the situation has devolved from a disappointment into a full-blown evacuation. Ten high-ranking members of the Malian football federation have resigned. Ten. That isn’t a resignation; it’s a stampede. It is the visual representation of the Right’s favorite tactic: when the ship starts taking on water, ensure you are the first one in the lifeboat, preferably while trampling over the women and children. These officials didn't leave out of a sense of honor or duty. They left because the heat in the kitchen was becoming inconvenient. They saw the writing on the wall—the same wall they likely helped build with bricks of mismanagement and mortar made of ego—and decided that 'spending more time with their families' was suddenly an urgent priority.

I am perpetually annoyed by the idea that these resignations are somehow noble. In reality, they are an admission of a fundamental truth I have preached for years: the people in charge are rarely the people who should be. Whether it’s a government ministry or a football federation, the structure is designed to protect the mediocre and punish the visible. By resigning en masse, these ten individuals have ensured that there is no one left to answer the difficult questions. It is a brilliant, albeit cowardly, strategy. If everyone quits at once, the blame becomes a diffuse fog that no one can actually grab hold of. It is the bureaucratic equivalent of a smoke bomb.

What we are seeing in Burkina Faso and Mali is not just a sports story; it is a microscopic view of the global condition. We live in a world where accountability is a myth told to children to make them behave. The coach is the scapegoat, the federation members are the rats, and the fans are the dupes who will show up for the next match, ready to be disappointed all over again. It’s exhausting. We oscillate between the Left’s demand for a head on a pike and the Right’s instinct to loot the treasury and flee. Neither side offers a solution because neither side actually cares about the game. They care about the optics of the game. They care about the flag, the anthem, and the distraction from the fact that the roads are crumbling and the coffers are empty.

I’ve reached the point where I find the actual football to be the least interesting part of the equation. Why watch ninety minutes of strategic boredom when the post-match meltdown offers such a rich tapestry of human failure? Traore is gone, the Malian federation is a ghost town, and the world keeps spinning on its axis of stupidity. I would offer a word of comfort to the fans, but I don't believe they deserve it. If you invest your emotional well-being in the movements of a ball and the whims of a federation official, you deserve every ounce of the misery you receive. As for me, I’ll be here, watching the wreckage from a safe distance, thoroughly unimpressed by the spectacle of it all.