A Masterclass in How to F*ck Up as a Leader - Courtesy of Gianni Infantino
There's an alternate narrative in which Gianni Infantino emerges as a hero. He took over FIFA in 2016 out of the ashes of the corruption scandal involving Sepp Blatter and restored it to its former glory as a financial behemoth. He expanded the number of teams playing in the World Cup. He oversaw the organization of the 2026 tournament, which broke all records, generating a whopping $15 billion in revenue, far surpassing even FIFA's own prediction of $11 billion, courtesy of hospitality and secondary markets. He turned FIFA, a not-for-profit organization, into a financial powerhouse with about $5 billion in reserves.
Instead of being celebrated, this achievement of his presidency at FIFA has resulted in a legal pursuit, an apology nobody is taking seriously, and maybe even the end of his presidency.
What I see here is yet another example of terrible corporate leadership failure. It's such a good story for that purpose that I want to share the reasons why, but most importantly, what we can learn from this story about what it means to be a good leader — or, in his case, a really bad one.
The Move
With money and political power flowing freely through his ranks, Infantino presented plans to create a $20 billion subsidiary of the organization, the "FIFA Forward Enterprise," and sell about 20% of its equity shares to private interests, including one associated with Joshua Kushner. The idea was to raise $4.2 billion to increase development funding to FIFA's 211 member associations by up to three times, thus making each cycle payment rise from $8 million to $20–$24 million.
On the surface, more funding for the member federations looks like a responsible use of money. The problem is that Infantino developed and proposed this plan without consulting FIFA staff or the member associations that actually make up the federation — a "shabby, back room, opaque deal," as UEFA later called it.
As The Guardian reported, the connection between the Kushner family, Trump, and the deal emerged, which led to U.S. Rep. Jamie Raskin filing a records request. Those who should have been consulted about the matter, and who would be affected by it the most, found out about it the same way everyone else did: through the media.
The Collapse
The first to make a statement was UEFA, which announced its decision to boycott all FIFA events until the plan was canceled. Then Concacaf made the same move, and a few other football associations around the globe followed. In less than 48 hours, Infantino changed his mind and withdrew the plan.
However, canceling the plan did not restore trust in Infantino — because the damage was caused not just by the fact that the plan existed or by the attempt to sell out football. As UEFA pointed out, Infantino "has lost UEFA's confidence," calling out his style of management and his lack of transparency, and now demanding an investigation into FIFA's governance.
By August 1, that demand had become an ultimatum: either resign or face a formal vote of no confidence.
And now it has become even more serious. UEFA has already officially informed FIFA of its plans to take legal action over the collapsed plan. This means FIFA is expected to preserve all documents, emails, and electronic communications related to the deal, including those sent to J.P. Morgan and Kushner's fund, with a warning that any deletion of information could result in FIFA being accused of spoliation.
The Apology That Wasn't One
Then Infantino made a move that, on the surface at least, looked responsible: he apologized.
In a statement issued following a crisis meeting in Morocco, FIFA admitted that "mistakes were made," acknowledged a failure to properly consult with member associations, and promised a review.
UEFA was — and I can fully understand why — unimpressed. Its statement was direct: "The proposal is dead. The job of rebuilding trust in FIFA has only just begun."
FIFPRO, the world footballers' union, was even more straightforward, demanding "trustworthy leadership" and a restructuring of FIFA to ensure that such decision-making would never happen again. A few days later, the president of Norway's football federation, Lise Klaveness, explicitly stated that Infantino lacked institutional trust and formally referred him to ethics committees.
This is the key lesson of this story, because mistakes can be easily made, even when trying to address a mistake. And when you address the mistakes without genuine ownership, you essentially screw up the trust of those you lead.
"Mistakes were made," however, is not an apology. It is passive-voice cover-up masquerading as an apology. It acknowledges an error, but does not name the person behind it. It acknowledges a process failure, but not its consequences. And it makes no specific commitment to changing anything going forward.
No one said: "I made this decision alone. I understand that it made 211 member associations feel like they are only partners on paper and props in reality, and here is how my decision-making changes as of today."
That is the sentence that would have started rebuilding trust.
And UEFA, Concacaf, and FIFPRO all picked that sentence as the missing element.
Here's What Good Ownership Actually Looks Like
Compare that with the components of ownership that were necessary in addition to Infantino's statement, because ownership is a discipline that involves three steps — not a feeling:
Identify the mistake precisely — don't beat around the bush. "Mistakes were made" might apply to a typo in the same way it can refer to a $20 billion restructuring of the World Cup. Specificity is the difference between accountability and PR spin. Someone who owns something identifies their specific actions.
Identify the impact on those involved — not just the process. In Infantino's case, he talked about the process (failure to consult), but never mentioned anyone: the federations who felt disrespected, the fans who felt like their beloved sport was put up for auction behind their backs, or the employees who learned of the plan through press releases. Owning up involves addressing the quiet part out loud: "I recognize this made you feel like you weren't listened to, and I understand why you would feel that way." This is how an apology becomes leadership. Skipping that step is how it turns into damage control.
Commit to a specific, measurable action going forward — not just "we'll conduct a review." Ugh, this one makes me want to punch my sandbag, because it reminded me of a toxic leadership team who said exactly those words after reading the brutally honest employee feedback survey about them.
"We will conduct a review" is not a commitment; it is a tactic of delay with a calendar reminder.
Exactly what I observed with that leadership team: they spent months "reviewing," and even after I left, a year and a half later, there was absolutely no change.
Real ownership sounds like: "From now on, any proposal for the restructuring of FIFA's commercial rights will be put to a member-association vote before the announcement, and this is the governance change we're making to guarantee that."
Something that people can hold you to.
Infantino offered UEFA nothing concrete to hold him accountable to. That is exactly why his apology "changed nothing," and that is exactly why the boycott remains active.
That's exactly my point: Ownership is a rare enough thing that its absence results in immediate and tangible consequences. It can be a boycott, a union strike, or talent leaving for greener pastures.
When Leaders Decide in Secret
I am a leadership coach for a living, so I am providing you here with a guide to the distinction between authority and legitimacy.
Infantino had the authority to make this call. He never had the legitimacy — because legitimacy isn't granted by title; it's loaned to you by the people you lead, and it can be recalled, publicly and fast.
Good outcomes don't excuse bad process.
Infantino wasn't nearly ousted because the idea was necessarily terrible — although we can debate whether private capital belongs in sports governance. The issue is the way he managed to get there and then reacted when he got caught red-handed.
Secret decisions do not equal speed. They come with an added cost: loss of trust.
Not gaining people's consent doesn't mean that time has been saved; it just delays — or, in this case, blocks — the entire project or outcome. Plus, it adds the need for an apology that has to work twice as hard because of the lack of sincerity.
The same company with toxic leadership I mentioned earlier made the same mistake: they made all the important decisions without the input of the staff who would have to execute those decisions.
When I flagged it and encouraged them to create a decision-making process that included the voices of the staff, they said: "We don't have the time to listen to all their feedback nor the interest to have people make decisions."
They refused to understand that investing that time would get them buy-in.
Instead, it got them dissent. Just like Infantino.
And collective dissent is data, not disloyalty.
The employees at that company remained loyal to the cause but severely mistrusted the leadership, then and now. When leadership makes a unilateral call that threatens trust, and the community — in the case of FIFA and its members — or the employees of that company openly make their disagreement heard, it shouldn't be considered just noise.
The biggest lesson here: Trust cannot be built by saying the right kind of words. It is built by showing that the behavior has changed.
Because ownership means taking the right kind of action.
"It's Not a Sport, It's an Institution": What Rebecca Welton Already Told Us
If this whole saga feels familiar, it's because we've watched a version of it play out fictionally, with eerie precision.
In the show, billionaire businessman Akufo suggests the creation of a "Super League," a closed, exclusive competition designed to ensure profit through television broadcasting, exclusively for rich people who have little to do with the fan community that created these clubs from scratch.
Rebecca Welton's retort is the point where the show really earns its reputation as not only a comedy. She does not appeal to economics but goes straight to the heart of the matter, telling Akufo and the rich club owners that football "is a part of something, of a club, of a family feeling" — working-class fans, their generations — and that some already-rich owners cannot unilaterally decide to sell it.
This scene is far from being made up out of thin air. It is based on the real story of the collapse of the European Super League in 2021, when twelve of the richest clubs in Europe attempted to do exactly the same thing and had to back down within 48 hours under pressure from public protests by players, managers, and fans.
It is exactly for this reason that Infantino's proposal was viewed as a betrayal rather than a savvy business move.
Football was not born in a boardroom. It was codified in 1863 by the English working men who played football in factory yards and common lands and spread the sport through mining towns, dockers' trade unions, and church leagues, creating the people's game.
The entire history and culture of the sport is based on the principle that a shipyard worker and a banker can stand in the same stand, singing the same song because the club belongs to everyone who comes to see the game.
That very idea was the source of the tournament's enormous economic value — the $15 billion in revenue and the $5 billion reserve fund.
So when Infantino attempted to take away 20% ownership of that tournament and give it to a fund run by the Kushner family, without even a discussion with the owners of the tournament, he wasn't simply making a mistake in governance.
He was doing exactly what Rebecca warned against: trying to treat a common inheritance as a personal possession, and then apologizing not for the action but for the process of making the decision.
What If the Fans and Federations Were a Union?
What would this look like if FIFA's stakeholders had the same power a unionized workforce has?
Because, in essence, that's exactly what happened.
UEFA's and Concacaf's threats to go on strike were the equivalent of voting on whether to strike. A vote of no confidence is exactly the kind of action unions take when they are not satisfied with management decisions. Demanding legal action to ensure that evidence is not lost during future negotiations is exactly what a union's lawyer does when they believe evidence may be tampered with.
And this is the actual purpose of collective action.
On their own, individual stakeholders have very little power against those who don't want to ask for permission. But organized and unified, they can force a reversal in 48 hours that no individual complaint ever could. And they can keep the pressure on even after an apology drops, refusing to accept "sorry" as a substitute for structural change.
The message for leaders is that if they fail to provide any mechanism for listening to people's grievances, people will create a mechanism to make themselves heard — and an apology will not help stop them.
In fact, I've been at two companies where, because the staff was unheard and invalidated, they unionized to protect themselves and to hold those in power accountable for their actions. Unlike this football story, though, I did not see the same impact or results from the unionization.
The Takeaway for Leaders (Football Federation, Retailer, Platform, or Otherwise)
Whether you run a non-profit, a retail company, or a SaaS startup: The people you are leading should not be an audience to your decision-making; you need to engage them in it. And when you get it wrong, they are certainly not an audience to your apology. They are the ones who get to judge whether it's genuine.
Effective leadership does not mean you don't make mistakes. All leaders make them.
The critical question is whether you admit the mistake by identifying it precisely, naming precisely whom you have wronged and how, and committing to something concrete and specific so that you can be held accountable — or whether you try to gloss over your mistake and hope everyone will move on.
Infantino had all the qualities of a great leader: vision, financial acumen, a world stage, and an unprecedentedly successful tournament in his portfolio.
What he is lacking — twice now — is the crucial quality of a great leader that keeps him in power: bringing people into the decision-making process before implementation and, when making a mistake, apologizing in such a specific manner that you can rebuild trust rather than simply survive the fallout.
