Not the kind of tactical mess that can be solved with a new formation or a philosophy borrowed from European champions and 2026 World Cup finalists Spain, but a deeper malaise that speaks of governance, credibility, and the human cost of neglect.
The headlines tell their own story. Joe Zakaria, a businessman, was attacked after being critical of the falsified document scandal that rocked the game.
His willingness to speak out against malpractice on the X platform came at a personal cost.
The same modus operandi was used against journalist Haresh Deol, who was also believed to have been assaulted for his reporting.
Incredibly, his assailant was fined only RM2,000 — a punishment so light it sends the wrong message entirely.
The intimidation does not stop in the real world. Across social media, cybertroopers increasingly use artificial intelligence to generate content designed to smear, harass and discredit media personnel, creating a toxic environment where scrutiny is treated as a threat rather than an essential part of accountability.
Then there is the tragic tale of Rosle Md Derus, once a proud member of Malaysia’s squad at the Under-20 World Cup in 1997 — the same tournament where Lionel Scaloni lifted the trophy alongside Pablo Aimar, Juan Riquelme, and Esteban Cambiasso.
While Scaloni now scales the heights by leading Argentina to back-to-back World Cup finals, Rosle died of stroke, still owed RM100,000 in unpaid wages and allowances.
The injustice was formally recognised. In November 2024, FAM’s Status Committee ruled in Rosle’s favour, directing Kedah Darul Aman FC to pay him RM81,000 in salary arrears and RM27,000 in housing allowance within 30 days.
The decision warned that failure to pay would trigger a transfer ban lasting three registration windows. Yet Rosle never lived to see justice delivered.
His case is not just about unpaid wages; it is about a system that fails to protect those who serve the game.
Rosle would have turned 48 next month. The 1997 World Cup was the pinnacle for him, but his youth career had already been decorated: Player of the Tournament at the Razak Cup in Lumut in 1994, top scorer with 14 goals in the Under 14 competition in Kelantan in 1991, and appearances in the preliminary rounds of the Under 17 Asian Championship in 1994, the Lion City Cup in Singapore, and the Asean Schools tournaments in Jakarta and Brunei.
By making the transition into coaching, Rosle must have expected to earn a decent livelihood. Instead, his tragic end is symptomatic of Malaysian football’s chronic mismanagement.
The contrast with Scaloni could not be sharper. Argentina took the same 1997 generation and built continuity around it. Scaloni was nurtured within a system that valued its past, respected its players, and invested in their growth.
Today, he is entrusted with leading the senior national team, aided by the magical touch of Lionel Messi.
While Argentina’s culture of continuity turned youth promise into senior success, Malaysia’s culture of neglect turned youth promise into forgotten names and unpaid debts.
Against this backdrop, the FAM elections loom in September, with today marking the deadline for nominations. On paper, elections should be a chance for renewal, a moment to reset and rebuild.
In reality, they risk becoming another exercise in recycling the same faces, the same promises, and the same inertia.
The issues are not isolated. They form a pattern: financial mismanagement, lack of accountability, and a culture that prioritises survival over reform.
Football in Malaysia has long been a mirror of broader institutional weaknesses.
The result is a sport that struggles to inspire confidence.
What Malaysian football needs now is new leadership that cultivates a culture that values transparency over secrecy, protection over exploitation, and accountability over empty slogans.
The stories of Joe Zakaria, Haresh Deol, and Rosle Md Derus should not be footnotes; they should be warnings. If ignored, the game risks losing not just credibility but its soul.
The sport cannot afford more scandals, more attacks, or more forgotten figures who gave their lives to the game.
