The Ugly Game: The Qatari Plot to Buy the World Cup

by Heidi Blake

  It was none other than Mohamed bin Hammam.

  The Qatari billionaire had been fleet of foot in forging alliances when he arrived in Zurich to take his place at the FIFA boardroom table back in 1996, and the organisation’s powerful secretary general Sepp Blatter was the main target of his attentions. It was clear for all to see that this stocky Swiss pen-pusher, the darling of president Havelange, was waiting in the wings to seize control as soon as his master stepped aside. Bin Hammam had profited once before by befriending a man on the cusp of power, and he used all the same obsequious charm on Blatter that had won him the trust of Sheikh Hamad back in those early boom years in Doha.

  When Havelange finally stood aside in 1998, Blatter went head to head with the then UEFA president Lennart Johansson for the top job in world football, with Bin Hammam behind him all the way. The billionaire Qatari bankrolled Blatter’s election campaign, supplied private aircraft to fly the Swiss candidate around the world and lobbied vociferously for his victory. The Swiss man quickly discovered that a friendship with Bin Hammam came with royal privileges, and the golden gates of the Amiri Diwan Palace swung wide open. Blatter became well acquainted with Sheikh Hamad, who even gave him the rare honour of using his royal jet on at least one leg of his campaign tour.

  Bin Hammam was with Blatter in Paris in the days ahead of the FIFA congress at which the presidents of all 2031 member associations would come together to vote in his first election in 1998. The pair were planning the last few visits on the campaign tour, when news of a disaster reached them. Bin Hammam received a phone call from his wife Fatima to say that his son had been horrifically injured in a car crash back in Doha. The young man was close to death and Bin Hammam should rush home to be with him, she said. Bin Hammam did not go.

  His decision to stay and fight beside Blatter instead of hurrying to his son’s bedside was a source of great pride, and he would often recount the story of his sacrifice. ‘We were in Paris and we were planning a trip to South Africa in a commercial flight, not belonging to or financed by HRH The Emir of Qatar,’ he would reminisce in a speech to FIFA delegates after the election. ‘The night before we travelled, I received a frantic phone call from my wife with the shocking news that my son, aged twenty-two, had met with a very serious accident and was fighting for his life and his condition was more towards death and was lying in the intensive care unit in a coma. I should immediately return to Doha. I regretted and apologised to my wife, and told her my son doesn’t need me but needs the blessing of God and help of doctors, while it is Mr Blatter who is in need of my help now. So I sacrificed seeing my son maybe for the last time.’ Fortunately, Bin Hammam’s son survived. But his dreadful accident had given his father a valuable opportunity to prove his slavish devotion to his new master – Sepp Blatter.

  When FIFA’s member associations came together in Paris to vote in 1998, Blatter had triumphed over Johansson with 111 votes to 80. It was a commanding victory, and the new president of FIFA was hugely indebted to Bin Hammam – and the Emir. The presidential crown came with astonishing privileges. FIFA was getting richer by the second, and the president commanded that vast treasure chest from his plush office on the uppermost floor of the organisation’s Zurich headquarters. He pocketed a hefty salary but he would hardly ever have to pick up a bill again, because when he travelled the world his first-class tickets, gourmet meals and five-star penthouses all came free as perks of the job. FIFA was now an organisation with truly global power, controlling a game adored by billions of fans in every corner of the planet, so everywhere Blatter went he would be received like royalty by presidents, prime ministers, kings and queens. Yes, he had a lot to be thankful for.

  True, though, that the involvement of his wealthy Qatari friend had not been without its complications. Tawdry rumours of cash-stuffed brown envelopes being shoved under the bedroom doors of the African voters at their hotel in Paris in 1998 had taken some of the sheen off his victory, but Bin Hammam had batted those off by insisting he had simply helped pay the expenses for some of the officials to travel to the vote. Blatter said sums of $50,000 had been given out as cash pre-payments of previously agreed grants to struggling African federations. Then Farah Addo, the vice-president of CAF, had caused a stink by claiming outrageously that Bin Hammam had offered him $100,000 and 18 other officials from the continent had also been offered cash to vote for Blatter. He sued Addo for libel and won: the official had to pay FIFA’s freshly re-anointed president 10,000 Swiss Francs and was banned from football for two years for the wicked slur on his name. Asked by FIFA’s disciplinary committee to provide any evidence that might justify his claims, Addo had handed over a photograph of Bin Hammam at the centre of a group of African officials who he said had signed a declaration alleging the Qatari had paid them to vote for Blatter. The committee was unimpressed, finding that Addo’s claims were baseless and he had ‘undermined the interests of football as a whole’.

  On the eve of the 2002 election in Seoul, the delegates watching the African voters proceeding into Bin Hammam’s penthouse had good reason to ask questions about what was going on behind that closed bedroom door. Everyone in the atrium that night remembered the rumours from Paris. Nothing had come of all those accusations of bribery and brown envelopes, but then FIFA’s hilltop headquarters was a place where allegations of that sort came to die.

  The morning of the vote, Bin Hammam stood at the entrance to the Grand Hilton congress hall in all his flowing white finery, greeting the delegates with the gracious condescension of a royal host receiving visitors. ‘We’re going to see fireworks today,’ he told one passing official. Sure enough, the continent of Africa swung its weight behind Blatter, and Hayatou’s candidacy was demolished 139 votes to 56. Days later, the treacherous secretary general Zen-Ruffinen who had tried to foment insurrection with his claims of financial malpractice announced he would be leaving FIFA on ‘mutually agreed terms’, and the 11 members of the executive committee who had brought the criminal complaint against their president thought better of their disloyalty and agreed to drop the action. All was well again, and Blatter gazed out over the Zurich skyline from his office once more and looked forward to another four years in charge.

  Bin Hammam had snatched victory from the jaws of defeat for his master, and the ambitious Qatari had extracted a promise in return. The president had vowed privately that two terms of office would be enough for him. The next election wasn’t until 2006. By then he would be 70 and it would be time to reach for the proverbial pipe and slippers and retire to his home canton in the valley of Visp. Once he had stepped aside, he would do all he could to ensure that Bin Hammam would become his successor, just as Havelange had done for him, and the Qatari’s dreams of dominance in world football would at last be fully realised.

  The same year Blatter was re-elected, Bin Hammam became the president of the Asian Football Confederation (AFC), overseeing its 45 member associations. This was real power, and Bin Hammam ran the AFC like his own personal fiefdom. It was good enough for now, but it would not keep him happy forever. He wanted the top job.

  Blatter was so definite about his promise to stand aside and make way for his ambitious Qatari friend at the next election that he agreed to revise the FIFA statutes to limit presidents to just two terms of office. True to his word, when he returned to Zurich from Seoul in 2002 he called in his officials and told them to begin drafting the new set of rules right away. The new statutes would sharpen up the FIFA constitution in several respects: as well as confining the president to two stints in power, there were new regulations governing the status and transfer of players, and the rights of home nations to field national teams. The proposals were to be put to a vote at an extraordinary congress of FIFA on Bin Hammam’s doorstep in Doha in October 2003, and Blatter kept a beady eye on his staff’s progress in drafting the new statutes as the deadline approached.

  Then, at the last minute, something changed. In a meeting with his aides to discuss the new rules, Blatter suddenly
railed testily against the mention of the cap on presidential terms. That proposal was being dropped: ‘Bin Hammam can wait,’ he announced. The congress went ahead in Doha that October, but the new statutes put before FIFA’s member associations concerned only player transfers and the status of national teams. Term limits were nowhere on the agenda. Instead, Blatter asked the congress to extend his current term of office by another year, to 2007. They granted his wish.

  It was a bitter blow for Bin Hammam. He told himself he was a fool to have trusted Blatter. That sly old Swiss fox had double-crossed him. After all he had done! But by now the FIFA president was building up a formidable power-base all of his own. He knew how to keep the troops happy, and he splashed FIFA’s cash liberally around the globe, bumping up pay and bonuses and writing cheques for hundreds of thousands of dollars to national member associations in the name of football development. He was building a solid coalition of support throughout Asia and Africa, with promises of more and more money as FIFA’s coffers bulged. It would be suicide to challenge Blatter head to head when the next election finally came round in 2007 – and anyway, that sort of confrontation was not in Bin Hammam’s nature. The softly spoken Qatari would have to put his dreams of becoming FIFA president on ice for at least another eight years, until the next term of office ended in 2011. By then, Blatter would be 75. Surely he would be ready to stand aside and let Bin Hammam take his turn?

  Sure enough, when the 2007 election arrived, Blatter was returned unopposed. This time around, he didn’t need the same kind of leg-up from his wealthy Qatari allies. But the following year, when Blatter celebrated his tenth anniversary in power, he wrote to Bin Hammam remembering what his friend had done to secure those first victories in 1998 and 2002. ‘Everyone knows that in football, very few matches are won by one player alone. Therefore I would like to thank you for your support and above all your tireless work back then. Without you, dear Mohamed, none of this would ever have been possible,’ he wrote.

  And then Blatter asked his friend to lift his chin and think ahead. ‘I have absolutely no doubt that we will look to the future with the same drive and commitment and that we will continue to work together in our duty to put football on the right path for the years to come.’

  The servant was back, and the men in the majlis held out their delicate golden cups as he poured out some fresh coffee. Bin Hammam was still talking in his low growl. He recalled all he had done for Blatter, and how Blatter had failed to stand aside as he had promised. The old fox had smoothed the betrayal over with lashings of charm, of course. Bin Hammam was a proud man and the letter of thanks for his loyal service to the president, acknowledging in plain black ink that Blatter would be nothing without him, had also gone some way to consoling his bruised ego. But, he said, after the disappointment in 2007, nothing had prepared him for Blatter’s next big move.

  The FIFA president had jetted into Doha early in 2008 to visit the Emir and Bin Hammam. On the morning of 11 February, he was taken to see Qatar’s Aspire Academy for talented young footballers and he made a characteristically gushing speech for the benefit of the television cameras. Blatter had been critical of Aspire in recent months, and the time had come to smooth things over. The academy had been founded by royal decree to talent-spot and train Qatar’s most promising up-and-coming footballers in 2004, but on the eve of the FIFA presidential election in April 2007 it had announced a bolder ambition.

  The Aspire Africa Football Dreams project would send 6,000 talent-spotters to screen more than 500,000 boys in 700 impoverished locations across Algeria, Cameroon, Ghana, Kenya, Nigeria, Senegal and South Africa. From each country, 50 would be selected to compete in a week of trials. Three victors from each country would then be flown to Doha for four weeks of training, and the most talented players would be enrolled in Aspire and airlifted out of poverty forever. The rest would be packed off back to Africa.

  News of the massive talent hunt had discomfited Blatter. Qatar was attempting to buy up future football stars from across the continent to top up its languishing national team with some real world-class athletes. It was all part of the 30-year plan to turn Qatar into a truly modern country and a sporting powerhouse. But Africa was the foundation of Blatter’s influence, thanks to Bin Hammam’s generosity in 1998 and 2002, and now those Qataris were trying to park their scooters on his lawn. Handily, there was growing disquiet among human rights campaigners who likened the Aspire Africa programme to a human trafficking scheme, and Blatter was not slow to take advantage. In a written reply to five concerned members of the European Parliament, mysteriously leaked to the Observer newspaper, he wrote: ‘Their establishment of recruitment networks in these seven African countries reveals just what Aspire is all about. Aspire offers a good example of . . . exploitation.’

  Blatter’s criticisms had stung badly. But now here he was at the Academy on 11 February, slathering the Emir and the Aspire officials with all the emollient charm he could muster. ‘This was a wonderful opportunity to see Aspire and to discuss the important role of sport in youth development and education,’ he simpered at the TV cameras. ‘The essence of football is education, because it teaches teamwork, discipline and respect for your peers and your competitors. The fact that Aspire has been able to combine both education and sport in one institution is remarkable.’

  But, hang on: the assembled reporters were confused. Had Blatter not accused Aspire of exploiting poor African youngsters only months before? Quite the contrary: ‘This visit has provided me with the opportunity to learn about the Aspire Africa programme first-hand and I have to say that I am very relaxed and supportive about the project now that I understand how it works. Aspire has a balanced plan for youth development, which supports education and sport for Qatar-based and scholarship students from the developing world. This is making a very important contribution.’

  So now all was happy and bright again, and Bin Hammam, Blatter and the Emir could celebrate their renewed friendship over a delicious banquet that evening. It was at the meal that Blatter suddenly played his surprise hand. The election was out of the way; the differences over Aspire settled. Blatter was grateful to Bin Hammam for standing aside in 2007, and he remembered all that his wealthy Qatari friends had done to help him win power in 1998 and stamp out the scourge of Hayatou in 2002. It was time, at last, to give something back. Bin Hammam recalled what Blatter had said to him in front of the Emir at that private dinner as clearly as if it were yesterday, he told his friends in the majlis. He remembered it because it shocked him. It was impossible. It was insane. The president of FIFA had waited for a pause in the conversation, sipped his drink and leaned back in his chair with a twinkling smile.

  ‘We are going to bring the World Cup to Qatar,’ he said.

  Two

  Brother Jack, Der Kaiser and a Man with a Parrot

  The drone of air catching on lowered wing flaps shuddered through the private jet as its speed dipped in preparation for landing. From his cream leather seat in the cabin, Mohamed bin Hammam could see a gleaming citadel of glass, steel and concrete across the waters of the Persian Gulf. He was proud of his home and everything that his fledgling state had achieved. But ever since the Emir had made his wish known, Bin Hammam had been gripped by a gnawing anxiety that touching down in Doha in the summer months did little to dispel.

  It was early June 2008, and Bin Hammam was returning after FIFA’s annual congress in Australia. He came home with far more reason to be worried than when he had left. Sepp Blatter had caught him off guard when he stood up in front of a packed auditorium at the Sydney Opera House and told more than a thousand delegates that Qatar was one of the countries interested in bidding to host the World Cup. Now the genie really was out of the bottle, and there was no way to put it back. By announcing this private ambition so publicly, the FIFA president had left Bin Hammam with no choice but to do everything in his power to make the Emir’s pipe-dream a reality. But how could he do it?

  Ever since Blatter had set thi
s hare running at that private dinner in Doha in February, Bin Hammam had tried his best to persuade the Emir that the country risked humiliating defeat if it attempted to achieve what the FIFA president had promised. Qatar was simply too hot; it had no international standing as a footballing country; there was only a small fan base; and, to top it all, it didn’t even have the stadiums to accommodate the world’s biggest sporting competition. If Qatar entered a formal bid, it was guaranteed only one vote on the executive committee which determined the host for the tournament – his own. What if none of his 23 Exco colleagues backed him with support? Wouldn’t that bring humiliation and shame upon Qatar? Would that not be an affront to the country he loved so dearly? But it was all to no avail: the Emir wanted the world’s best-loved sporting tournament on his doorstep, and nothing Bin Hammam said could change his mind.

  As the cabin doors opened onto Doha International airstrip, Bin Hammam slipped on his signature aviator sunglasses and stepped out into the penetrating white light of the desert sun. Alongside him was the familiar figure of Mohammed Meshadi, his constant companion, gopher and confidant. Meshadi revelled in the high life that came from travelling the world with a multi-billionaire. While Bin Hammam kept his figure trim with discipline and a daily exercise routine, Meshadi was losing the chiselled good looks of his youth and, now several pounds heavier, was sweatily lumbering across the airport tarmac carrying the bags behind his master. Within Bin Hammam’s close entourage, Meshadi was known as a lovable bear of a man with a twinkle in his eye. The female assistants liked to gossip girlishly about his playful role as the office flirt, but they were also wary of his quick temper. He had a sharp tongue that he used to keep hotel staff and office juniors on their toes. For Bin Hammam, the short walk to his waiting black Mercedes through the searing midday heat did nothing to diminish his nagging doubt about the size of the task ahead of him.