The Casablanca derby, this legendary clash between Raja and Wydad, is now only a shadow of itself. Friday, this match, supposed to embody commitment, intensity and passion, was nothing but a display of mediocrity, where interruptions, brutal fouls and a total absence of creativity got the better of the little play that he remained. If football is sometimes described as an art, what we were served during this meeting between the two biggest clubs in the country is, in fact, only a damning demonstration of everything that plagues the Moroccan championship.
Forty minutes. This is the estimated effective playing time in this match supposed to last ninety minutes. The rest ? Incessant stoppages in play and players collapsing at the slightest breeze. What happened on the field had nothing to do with football. We witnessed a simulation battle where every second snatched from the clock seemed like a victory. This observation exposes a mentality deeply rooted in our football: rather than seeking to produce play, impose a tactical identity or exploit individual qualities, teams indulge in counterproductive practices. We play not to lose, never to win with panache. This short-sighted calculation illustrates the lack of structural ambition which taints our championship.
On a technical level, this derby is an insult to the demands of modern football. The rare attempts to organize a placed attack were stifled by a distressing tactical anarchy. The groupings of players in small areas of the pitch reflected a glaring lack of mastery of the fundamentals: lack of fluid transition between the lines, inability to exploit spaces and blatant technical inaccuracies. In the meantime, we were chipping away at seconds, trying to escape the effort and hoping for a miracle from a set piece or an opposing error. There remained nothing aesthetic, nothing creative, nothing that could arouse enthusiasm.
In such a context, what can a coach hope for, however competent he may be? The greatest strategists in world football would be powerless in the face of this apparent disorder. How can we demand quality, when the very foundations of training prove to be so fragile, the clubs not having suitable infrastructure and the physical and mental preparation shoddy in favor of a culture of approximation? In fact, this disorder is not accidental. It is the product of a structural deficiency. In professional football worthy of the name, players are trained from a young age in reading the game, exploiting spaces and developing tactical intelligence. Here, improvisation reigns. The blatant absence of tactical rigor and discipline on the ground reflects a lack of supervision and generalized laxity. Clubs, instead of focusing on training and innovation, focus on concocting some sort of short-term package and are more concerned with their immediate survival than with building a solid future.
Moroccan football
owes its global success to the fact that
national championship cannot offer him
With all due respect, seeing these players sign incredible contracts, receiving disproportionate salaries, when they do not even deserve to set foot on the pitch as volunteers, is an unbearable affront to collective intelligence. How can we explain that such poor football can be paid at a high price? How can we justify such poor, insipid football being paid for in sums that defy all logic? This unjustifiable financial inflation is not only an injustice, it represents a slap in the face to the passion of supporters, a sort of diversion of resources which could be invested in real reforms of national football. In a just world, these pseudo-professionals, incapable of stringing together two correct passes or maintaining any semblance of rhythm, would be asked to repay what they received and invited to reconsider their vocation.
And what about the refereeing which should be the guarantor of the smooth running of the match? He became a noxious accomplice in this debacle. Violent and repeated mistakes, sometimes dangerous, were only timidly punished. The cards, although essential to contain the aggression, remained in the referee’s pocket.
An almost guilty tolerance which encouraged unsporting behavior and inhibited the rare players who attempted to play clean football. But the responsibility for this failure goes beyond the simple performance of the referee. The entire system of training and evaluation of men in black must be called into question. Laxity in the face of serious errors, lack of responsiveness in the face of wasted time and lack of firmness in the application of the rules are all symptoms of an arbitration which has not yet crossed the threshold of professionalism.
And as if this disaster was not enough, the absence of the public and the silence of the stands dealt the final blow to what remained of the attractiveness of this match. Without this popular fervor, this boiling of emotions which gives life to each gesture on the field, the derby has emptied itself of its substance. What was once a football celebration has transformed into a sanitized spectacle, a sad mirror of a championship which struggles to justify its professional status. But the absence of the public is not a coincidence. It is the result of disastrous management of relations between football authorities and supporters. Instead of building bridges, we built walls. And with them, the soul of the derby was extinguished.
It’s time to stop hiding our faces. The Moroccan championship is in crisis and the derby is damning proof. This confrontation deserves to be a celebration, an unmissable event where talent, passion and intensity combine. Today, it is only a bitter reflection of collective failures. To tell the truth, since the Moroccan championship proclaimed itself “professional”, the hoped-for progress has been slow to materialize. The very structure of our clubs remains archaic. The consequence? A stagnant football, incapable of competing with international standards. If the Casablanca derby continues to be the scene of masquerades, there will soon be nothing left but a bitter memory of a football that could have been great, but which chose mediocrity. Can we still raise the bar? Yes, but not without deep questioning.
It must be said that it is a true blessing that the national team does not depend on what the local championship offers to reach the heights of world football. If it had to count on this poor pool of players without ambition or talent, Morocco would never have hoped to shine on the international scene. Who could imagine a competitive selection made up of players from this slump, where mediocrity, improvisation and amateurism reign? The truth, as crude as it may be, is that our international glory rests on the shoulders of men trained elsewhere, in structures where rigor, demands and discipline are the norm. Without them, the national team would not exist. Our clubs, plagued by struggles for influence and chaotic management, struggle to produce players who would last even a quarter of an hour in the face of the demands of an international match.
It is a bitter observation: Moroccan football owes its global success to what the national championship cannot offer it. Without these players from elsewhere and without the Mohammed VI Academy, the only glimmer of hope, Morocco would never have had its place among the great footballing nations. A brutal reality which should make those responsible for this organized shipwreck blush with shame.
