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the excesses of coach Macron

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Emmanuel Macron with Kylian Mbappé, Sunday evening December 18, after the World Cup final. (JEAN CATUFFE / DPPI VIA AFP)

Didier Deschamps’ friends are worried about his future, seeing the increasingly clear shadow of Zidane to succeed him at the head of the Blues? Wrongly. His real competitor, you can rub your eyes, is called Emmanuel Macron. During the last sequence of the World Cup in Qatar, we saw it everywhere. In the locker room, haranguing the players with the conviction of a South American coach, on television sets, distilling his knowledge of the game, his love of the jersey and then, supreme intrusion, at the end of the final lost against Argentina, on the still bubbling lawn of this epic match, he played the leader of an imaginary psychological cell, throwing himself on the players, still in their bubble of despair, surrounding them with his arms of great consolation, like Saint Vincent of Paul leaned on the needy.

Striking image to observe this president in search of human warmth, like a fanatical supporter. The Blues seemed a little stunned by this overly thoughtful troublemaker. With this gifted president, we always have a moment of amazement, not to say great embarrassment, in front of this festival of hugs. Of course, impossible not to mention the political recovery wanted by the Elysée, just to raise the rating of the Head of State in the polls. A few points gained would not harm the pension reform bill. All presidents have done it, with more or less success. But with Emmanuel Macron, there is something else.

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His passion for football is not fake. At the beginning, from the first days of his first five-year term, we remember his communication operation during which we see him going so far as to train with the players of OM, his favorite club. Would Macron be a missed football player? Who would have thought that an ex-Rothschild banker had a secret dream, that of kicking a ball like thousands of suburban kids? Put an end to this image of top of the class, of president of the rich. Why not. Each human being has his hidden side, his buried dreams. But this man – it’s probably stronger than him – always does too much. Like a supercharged winger, he overflows, leaves the frame, adds to it, overplays his role as a good friend of Dédé and the Blues.

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An octopus hug

During the medal ceremony, again, he threw himself like a starved on Didier Deschamps and his troop. The latter tried to free himself from this interminable and irrelevant embrace. An octopus embrace, that of an insatiable politician always wanting to bring light to himself, with a gluttonous hunger. Of course, the shock of defeat could justify these gestures of empathy, of solidarity, in the face of failure, towards athletes exhausted by the superhuman efforts they have made for a month.

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Since his re-election last June, political oracles have been wondering what this President-twelfth man could do in 2027, when he can no longer stand for re-election. The answer is obvious: become a coach or president of a football club. Marseilles, perhaps?

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