The national game merely reflects the mood in a divided nation which is going to the polls with very little faith in the power of democracy

Look, cards on the table: I don’t know for certain, and nor do you, whether Flávio Bolsonaro – the man widely tipped to become the next president of Brazil after Sunday night’s election – really did steal an island from Richarlison. There are lawyers involved, claims and counter-claims, and in any case, adjudicating land ownership disputes between right-wing strongmen and Tottenham reserve-team strikers lies very much beyond this column’s spectrum of expertise. It’s why, for example, this newspaper took no official position on the well-publicised battle between Rodrigo Duterte and Vincent Janssen over that Polynesian isthmus.

According to Richarlison, a few years ago he purchased an island off the southern coast of Rio de Janeiro, and has the documentation to prove it. Richarlison says Bolsonaro tried to buy it from him, and when he refused a lawyer named Willer Tomaz simply turned up and annexed it. “These guys took the island without spending a penny, as far as I know,” Richarlison claimed in an Instagram video that has been viewed more than 31 million times. Tomaz has accused Richarlison of lying, arguing that he has a public deed registered at the notary’s office. Bolsonaro, for his part, has denied any connection with the island in question and described Richarlison’s intervention as “politically motivated”.

Defender may not be blameless in team’s struggles but his criticism goes to the heart of what has gone wrong at the club

Heartbreaking: the worst defender you know just made a great point. And no, nobody would describe Lisandro Martínez as the ideal person to scrutinise Manchester United’s indifferent start to the season, given that his high-profile defensive errors against Fulham and Tottenham are partly responsible for it. “We’re all trying to find the guy who did this,” Martínez burbles on Amazon Prime after United’s 2-0 defeat by Atlético Madrid on Tuesday night, dressed in a hot dog costume and throwing his arms out in mock innocence.

For those with no interest in engaging with what Martínez actually had to say, this alone will be sufficient grounds to ignore him. Already you can sense the squeamishness of former players for whom the violation of an omertà is the real cardinal sin here, a phantom limb that still tingles years after they last stepped into a dressing room. “Disrespectful,” reckoned Wayne Rooney. “I don’t feel like he’s got the right,” agreed Ashley Young. “These things don’t end well, man,” Rio Ferdinand observed on his podcast.

Don’t be fooled by its bickering leaders. Their calibrated fake fighting will probably end in coalition

Kapow! In a warmly received conference speech, Kemi Badenoch turns her fire on Reform UK, describing it as “weird”, and ruling out an electoral pact. Slap! Not to be outdone, her former colleague Robert Jenrick derides Badenoch as a champion of the wealthy, which is quite rich for a guy who looks like he’s just accidentally ingested a bundle of £50 notes through his sphincter. Bosh! Reform’s Richard Tice and Restore’s Rupert Lowe clash online over the result of a council byelection in Derbyshire, in which the Greens profited from a split rightwing vote. “Vote Restore get Islamists,” Tice chides. “Vote Reform, get some random Bangladeshi bloke,” Lowe responds.

Meanwhile, the Conservatives are back. The Kemibounce is real. The Keminaissance is true. We’ve all got a severe case of the Kemirrhoids. And you may wonder why much of the media are talking about a Badenoch revival in a year where her party lost 563 councillors and 40% of its councils, remains about four points below its apparent nadir of 2024, and in which the leader herself appears incapable of doing a broadcast interview without looking like a restaurant diner who received exactly what she ordered and is inexplicably furious at it. The point is that the Conservatives are a serious party of government again, and the reason is that we all said so.

This long-awaited fight is happening exactly as intended: at the sweet spot where commercial potential meets a genuine absence of jeopardy

The 1912 Olympic marathon was held in a brutal Scandinavian heatwave, and before long Shizo Kanakuri of Japan was flagging. His journey to Stockholm had been debilitating; he had barely trained and struggled to sleep. At around the 16-mile mark he finally gave in. Exhausted and disoriented, he stumbled off the road and into a garden party, where – according to his bemused hosts – he sat and drank orange juice for an hour.

The next day, deeply ashamed at his failure to complete the race, he quietly took a boat back to Japan. In Sweden the mystery of the “disappearing runner” took on almost mythical proportions. Kanakuri’s name was on the country’s missing persons list for more than 50 years.

There are no real precedents and emotions are still raw, but good can come from this mess if ownership models change

A 17-year transfer embargo. Replay the entire era with all the original players. Restore the 2009 squad and force them to mount a title challenge with Stephen Ireland, Martin Petrov and Richard Dunne. Force Ferran Soriano to drive a parade bus backwards through Manchester, once for every major trophy won. Ban the Poznan, or at least make City fans do it facing forwards.

Yes, in the week since it emerged that Manchester City have been found guilty of all the financial charges laid against them by the Premier League, a great and cathartic silliness has begun to stalk the land. The Sainsbury’s account on Instagram posting a picture that reads “114 unexpected items in the bagging area”. The relentless trolling from Domino’s Pizza, which claims to have “irrefutable evidence that pineapple is the best pizza topping”.

Jonathan Liew explains the accusations against Manchester City – and Simon Hattenstone explains how it feels to be a fan

Simon Hattenstone, a features writer for the Guardian, has been a Manchester City fan for more than 50 years. He was very young – and recovering from a childhood illness that had nearly killed him – when he started going to matches in his home town with his dad.

For a long time, it was a relationship built on occasional highs and many, many lows. But then something extraordinary happened: Manchester City’s fortune began to turn and it had a glittering decade – until it all came crashing down.

When transnational alliances have scarcely been weaker, the way the club was allegedly run offers a bleak vision of a world driven by brute power and wealth

The cache of leaked emails and documents that would eventually lead to the crisis in which Manchester City are now embroiled was published by Der Spiegel in 2018, and often it was the tone of the club’s communications that was as startling as their content. Of City chairman Khaldoon al-Mubarak, a trusted adviser to the royal family of the United Arab Emirates, it was said that he would “rather spend 30 million on the 50 best lawyers in the world to sue [Uefa] for the next 10 years” than accept a fine.

In the same tranche of documents, City lawyer Simon Cliff asserts that “Uefa doesn’t respond to anything other than aggression”, and threatens the governing body of European football – who were pursuing City over alleged financial irregularities at the time – with “the destruction of their rules and organisation”.

If ever a stadium can be rocked by silence, this was the moment. With no visiting fans allowed at any of this season’s Glasgow derbies, Ryan Naderi’s winning goal was met with nothing but the banging of fists of the clear plastic of the Rangers bench, and the shouting of the broadcast commentators. A screaming void of apathy and atrophy, the sound of a beckoning abyss, of a title race blowing open and a team slowly breaking apart.

That Rangers were unable to celebrate this triumph with their fans in the stadium was, of course, a source of lament, as well as a measure of just how ugly this fixture has become over the years.

Winger was one of the first big-money academy transfers, part of a child labour market that has barely been questioned

“What’s your name?”

“Raheem.”

Surely that’s the lesson the Reform polling furore should teach us. Politics should be about actually helping people, not mastering the line on a graph

Solemn faces all round. We will listen. We will learn. We will hone and improve. Yes, it’s time for the latest bout of profound soul-searching in the UK polling industry following the allegations raised by the recent Channel 4 investigation that a polling firm reportedly failed to declare that three polls it published before the local elections in May were commissioned by Reform. By now these reckonings are becoming a regular occurrence in the wake of big elections: pollsters gather in a room, nibble biscuits, ritually self-flagellate, and pledge to learn all the right lessons from the electorate they’ve just catastrophically misread.

Yet for all its very public ignominies, political polling is one of those rare and precious industries that somehow manages to keep failing upwards. You might think that after botching the 2015 and 2017 general elections, the 2016 Brexit vote and the 2021 London mayoral poll, we might have learned better than to trust in the mystical magic graph. In this parallel universe Keir Starmer is now sitting on a colossal 318-seat majority, as forecast by Survation in its final MRP poll on the eve of the 2024 general election, overstating the actual result by a mere 144 parliamentary seats.

Jonathan Liew is a Guardian columnist

Enzo Fernández and Sandro Tonali had big-money summer moves, but can they hold a candle to past greats?

Perhaps the only thing you really need to know about the modern midfield role is that Enzo Maresca reckons that Marc Guéhi can play it better than Mateo Kovacic. Guéhi, in reality a centre-back, started the season in midfield for Manchester City, ahead of Kovacic, the now-departed Nico González, and Matheus Nunes. In this context City’s purchase of Enzo Fernández for a club record £125m can be seen in one of two ways: either an enormous statement of intent, or a hell of a lot of money to pay for Guéhi’s understudy.

We jest, of course. Fernández is in fact a very different kind of midfielder to Guéhi, largely on the basis that he actually is a midfielder. Versatile, able to receive deep from the goalkeeper or the centre-halves; capable of recycling or progressing the ball in tight spots, driving into final-third positions as a No 8, ghosting into the penalty area and offering an advanced goal threat. Like Elliot Anderson, signed from Nottingham Forest for £116m but so long ago that in transfer window time it no longer counts, Fernández is one of the new breed of Premier League central midfielders who seems to offer everything; albeit in modest qualities, and whose primary attribute appears to be the absence of exposed risk he represents.

These things are undermining not just our public spaces but the very nature of being human. Let’s shame them off the streets

So far I am yet to be tempted into purchasing a pair of Ray-Ban Meta glasses. To a certain extent this is a function of possessing a large, misshapen and comically convex head upon which no pair of sunglasses has ever looked remotely appropriate. Nor am I one of those consumers who professes to be “really into gadgets”, a preference I’ve always found weirdly unspecific. It’s subtly telling when people claim to be into “gadgets”, because they’re never talking about, say, a tin opener. What they really mean is something gimmicky and expensive that almost certainly requires the services of a datacentre and enough water to irrigate Kent.

And even if I were to surmount these two obstacles, you then get into the ethics of the thing. I’m nobody’s idea of a PR expert, but if your shiny new product keeps requiring patches and updates to prevent people from using it to do degenerate things to women, perhaps it might be worth walking it back to the research and development stage.

Jonathan Liew is a Guardian columnist

It might be too early to push the panic button but Roberto De Zerbi faces a huge task if he is to turn Spurs around

Time for Tottenham to start panicking? This is, of course, a subtle trick question. Tottenham is one of those clubs that never actually stops panicking. They panic when they concede and they panic when they score. They panic when they have the ball and they panic when someone else does. They have a coach in Roberto De Zerbi whose face evokes a state of permanent alarm, the expression of a man perpetually having a toilet door opened on him. One year they even managed to panic their way to the Europa League. For the ever-rattled Spurs fan, this club is less a treasured devotion and more a lifelong haunting, broken up by occasional panic substitutions.

You could intuit that sense of encrusted resignation pretty much from the moment Anthony Elanga’s improvised shot kissed the post and trickled over the line to give Newcastle the lead. Since beating Aston Villa 4-1 in late 2024, Tottenham have gone behind 44 times in all competitions and come back to win precisely zero of them. There is something innate and endemic here, a chronic case of Long Tottenham for which – despite the new coach, the new leadership structure and more than a third of a billion pounds in transfer fees – there remains no proven cure. Yoane Wissa’s clincher was of zero surprise to anyone.

About to start his ninth season, his first under a club manager who isn’t Pep Guardiola, this could be the year we finally find out who the City enigma is

Phil Foden says he is excited about working under Enzo Maresca, his new manager at Manchester City. We should call this exactly what it is: a very obvious barefaced lie. No doubt Foden is excited about playing football again, about challenging for trophies with his boyhood club, the new Premier League season, his new contract, a fresh start, etc, etc.

But let’s be real. Holidays are something you get excited about. Birthdays. Weddings. Amazon deliveries. The new Charli xcx album. Christmas. Playing for Enzo Maresca inspires plenty of emotions, but excitement would probably feature pretty low down a list. At best, you brace for Maresca. You steel yourself. You look in the mirror every morning and ask yourself whether you’re man enough for him. But if you’re excited, then he simply isn’t doing his job.

Federation leaders are massing forces at the gates, but years after the first proposed selling off of its commercial legacy and the Qatar World Cup

In recent decades the city of Salé, just across the river from Rabat on Morocco’s Atlantic coast, has undergone a remarkable transformation. At the start of this century it was a gritty working-class area, whose old town was still weathered enough to serve as a body double for the Somali capital Mogadishu in the film Black Hawk Down. But in recent decades, under the country’s autocratic government, the area has been transformed beyond measure, and largely beyond control.

The population has trebled in the space of 40 years. Slums have been cleared, often forcibly, to make way for grand megaprojects: a new tram system, luxury tourist spaces, a sparkling marina, a blue-chip business park called Technopolis, and – since last July – the African headquarters of Fifa. And in a way, this hub of disruption and avarice, unshakeable volition and rampant capitalism, feels like the perfect location from which a besieged warlord might choose to make his desperate last stand.

Gianni Infantino’s reign as Fifa president is in severe peril after the collapse of his plans to sell off parts of the World Cup to private investment. Many Concacaf countries are considering following Europe’s lead by formally removing their support for the Fifa president, and there are widespread calls to remove him from his post. Lucy Hough speaks to columnist Jonathan Liew

It was framed as a perfect storm because nativists dearly wanted it to be. Looking on, progressives failed to meet the moment too

The live streams are still running, training their cameras on the beach at Ceuta, where nothing is happening. The self-styled citizen journalists are still pounding the streets, capturing their shaky smartphone footage. Zia Yusuf of Reform UK was out there at the weekend, wearing a crisp white shirt and smart tailored trousers, lest anyone confuse him with the other brown people there. The bad brown people.

Why was the migrant incursion at Ceuta, on the Spanish-Moroccan border, such a big story across the world? How did it manage to pique the interest of Donald Trump and Elon Musk, to feature on NBC’s Nightly News, not – shall we say – a programme massively predisposed to spotlighting news stories from continental Africa? What about it so exercised Europe’s heads of government? What made it an irresistible front-page story in the Daily Mail, the Daily Express and the Daily Telegraph?

The champions are capable of shattering every record in a temporary aligning of the planets, the elusiveness of pure perfection

Treble-20. “Ohh, he couldn’t.” Treble-19. “Oh, you spiteful young man.” Bull. “You spiteful person! That is ridiculous!” As ever, Wayne Mardle – commentating on the World Matchplay final for Sky Sports on Sunday night – put it most succinctly of all.

The great individual champions require a vindictive streak. The ability not just to harness their own strength, but to tessellate it with their opponent’s moment of greatest vulnerability. To sense weakness, recognise doubt and pounce mercilessly upon it. To nurture and desire the very same qualities we try to extinguish and discourage in our children. To find a 167 checkout, when your opponent is sitting on double-10, in a major final.

From the wrong headset in an F2 garage to Fifa overturning a red card, we are in a landscape where fairness is the enemy

A funny and very small thing happened at the Formula Two race at Spa on Sunday. Noel León, of Campos Racing, carved his way through the field to finish seventh, earning himself six points in the drivers’ championship, and promptly left the circuit to go and do whatever it is Noel León likes to do after a race. Take a nap, hit the Belgian brews, congratulate himself on his palindromic name – whatever. Anyway, while he was doing that, more than three hours after the chequered flag, the FIA governing body called a meeting and decided to disqualify him.

The reason: a serious breach of appendix 5 and article 21.5 of the F2 Sporting Regulations – and assuming you don’t have those to hand, it’s the rule governing the use of headsets. During the race, a guest of León had been spotted in the Campos garage wearing what was deemed the wrong type of headset. According to the aforementioned appendix 5, only listening devices may be used by non-team personnel. This headset had a microphone, albeit upturned and unused.

Kazakhs cheering Uzbeks, Bengalis wild for Argentina … This tournament was once a playground for nationalism. Now it shows how flimsy that allegiance is

It’s the World Cup final, so you pick a side. And don’t worry if you happen to be part of the 98.9% of the human race that is neither Spanish nor Argentinian – just make something up. Maybe you like the Spain kit. Maybe you’ve always been an admirer of Lionel Messi. Maybe you’re still raw about the Falklands or Diego Maradona, maybe you disagree with the Pedro Sánchez government’s stance on Palestine/Israel, maybe you once ate a dodgy empanada on your gap year. Nobody needs to see your working. Only two rules really apply: be partisan and be quick about it.

The MetLife Stadium on Sunday night was a melting pot of colliding incongruities and temporary identities. The former heavyweight boxing champion Mike Tyson was wearing an Argentina shirt. The comedian Trevor Noah wore a Spain shirt. Indeed, ticket sales data suggests that an overwhelming proportion of the crowd was American. The most consequential fixture in international sport was, as it turned out, little more than a grand cosplay for the New Jersey leisure market.

Jonathan Liew is a Guardian columnist

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