The Letter of September 18 and an Unapproved $2.1 Billion: FIFA's Power Struggle

On September 18, 2026, two letters left two different cities, both addressed to Zurich. The first was signed by Aleksander Ceferin, president of UEFA, from Nyon. The second was signed by Victor Montagliani, president of CONCACAF, from Miami. The content boiled down to a single proposal: FIFA should distribute at least US$10 million to each member association during the 2027-2030 cycle. Multiplied by 211 member associations, that comes to approximately US$2.1 billion. Ten days later, on September 28, FIFA replied with a separate document. Gianni Infantino did not say no. He also did not say yes. He said he would not pre-quantify any amount, that any disbursement would require FIFA Council approval, and that financial checks and audit conditions would be necessary. I read both documents in a small apartment in Tokyo, beside a notebook dense with tactical symbols I have carried through 51 years in this profession. There was no pitch, no formation, no passing data. But the way both sides framed the issue reminded me of matches where I sat redrawing pressing patterns for two hours after the final whistle. In football, and in power negotiations, the decisive thing is rarely the final number. It is who holds the right to set that number. To understand why US$2.1 billion has become the center of one of the largest governance disputes in FIFA's history, it must be placed in three layers of context. The first is FIFA's own financial position. The organization's reserves are projected to reach approximately US$6 billion by the end of 2026. To be clear: this is a figure cited by the confederations themselves in their own argument, not an audited and published number. The distinction between a projection and an audited figure matters more than it appears, and it will return in the analysis below. The second is a recent event. In July 2026, FIFA withdrew from a private-investment plan called "FIFA Forward Enterprise". The plan was designed to raise external capital for FIFA's commercial structures. UEFA, CONCACAF, and earlier the AFC, opposed the plan. Once FIFA withdrew, the confederations gained an additional argument: if FIFA abandoned the search for external capital, that implied internal resources were strong enough to distribute directly to member associations. The third is a specific date. The FIFA Council is expected to meet on October 15, 2026. That is the moment when every number, every proposal, and every statement will confront a concrete decision. Before that date, both sides are hardening their public positions. In an analysis written years ago, I noted that transfers are not a puzzle game; they are a contest of greed and calculation. This story runs on the same logic. Here, the "players" are 211 member associations. The "transfer fee" is US$10 million each. And the "contract clauses" are the audit conditions yet to be written. The only difference from a player transfer is that the seller and the buyer sit inside the same organization. The issue needs to be separated into four layers, the way I separate a match into phases. The first layer is the number and how it was produced. The proposal sets US$10 million per member association for the 2027-2030 cycle. With 211 associations, the total is approximately US$2.1 billion. In their argument, the confederations assert that FIFA can still maintain reserves above US$1.5 billion through the following cycle after distribution. This is a calculation with enormous political appeal, because it delivers direct benefit to all 211 members, regardless of size or geography. In 2026, I was dismissed by editors born in 2026 when I said Expected Goals was a passing fad. They believed I did not understand modern data. In the match where Kawasaki Frontale beat Urawa Reds 4-3 in the J.League, Kawasaki's xG was only 2.8, yet they won through three shots from outside the box. I had to teach myself Python at 58, model 1,200 matches from 2026 to 2026, and recognize one thing: numbers do not speak on their own. They only speak when we know how they were produced, by whom, and in service of what. Apply that principle here. The US$6 billion reserve figure is a projection for the end of 2026, not an audited number. The US$1.5 billion reserve floor was set by the requesting parties themselves, not defined by FIFA as a prudential minimum. The US$2.1 billion figure is a proposal, not a decision. Three numbers, three levels of reliability, yet on headlines they appear to carry equal weight. This is the first point where an analyst must pause. In a match, when I see a team with 65 percent possession but only two shots on target, I do not conclude they are playing better. I look for why high possession is not converting into chances. The same applies here. When three figures sit side by side in a headline, the right question is: which one has been verified, and which one is merely an intention. The second layer is who holds the authority to approve. Under FIFA's governance structure, allocating money falls to the FIFA Council, not to a single confederation or a group of confederations. In the September 28 letter, Infantino framed the matter as requiring Council approval, along with financial checks and audit conditions. This is the language of someone controlling process, not someone preparing to concede. In more than 50 years observing this industry, I have recognized one thing: when a party proposes "transparent and auditable arrangements", they are usually not speaking only of transparency. They are speaking of speed. Audit conditions are a mechanism that slows the flow of money while preserving decision-making power at the center. This is not wrong as a governance principle. But it must be named correctly: a pace-control mechanism presented in the form of an ethical standard. In football, I have seen coaches ask their teams to "hold the ball more" as a way to slow the match when leading. That instruction sounds like an attacking philosophy. In reality it is a defensive tool. The audit conditions in FIFA's letter operate the same way. The third layer is the coalition structure. This is the most interesting part for me, because it mirrors exactly how a match is shaped by space rather than by the ball alone. The space of this negotiation has four tiers. At the center sits FIFA, controlling reserves and process. The next tier is the large confederations, where UEFA and CONCACAF act as initiators. The third tier is other confederations, where the AFC previously opposed the private-investment plan, expanding the anti-plan coalition beyond Europe and the Americas. The final tier is the 211 member associations, the direct beneficiaries and the votes both sides need. When a proposal delivers equal benefit to all 211 members, it is no longer purely a financial proposal. It is a political instrument. It turns any opponent into someone blocking money from smaller associations. And in world football, where smaller associations hold the majority of votes, this is a position almost impossible to reverse in public communication. It is notable that the AFC's opposition to the private-investment plan shows the anti-plan coalition was not limited to UEFA and CONCACAF. It extended into Asia. This strengthens the proposers' position, because it turns a demand from two confederations into one that appears to represent more regions. But one detail deserves close reading. A flat distribution to all member associations logically reduces UEFA's relative influence, since European clubs generate the largest share of global football revenue. UEFA remains a sponsor of the proposal. That suggests UEFA is building coalitions rather than pursuing direct self-interest. This is a long-term strategic move, not a short-term calculation. The fourth layer is the true nature of the dispute. This is not a solvency issue. FIFA is not an entity in financial distress. The dispute concerns the appropriate level of reserves and the degree of prudence in fiduciary duty. The two sides do not disagree on whether FIFA has money. They disagree on how much can responsibly be released. In their letter, the confederations raised another notable demand: an independent review of FIFA's reserves. On the surface, this is a transparency request. Mechanically, it is a move that weakens FIFA's ability to argue that reserves cannot be released. When you force your opponent to open their books to outsiders, you shift the burden of proof onto them. FIFA responded by shifting the burden of proof back. In its reply, FIFA asked the confederations to provide financial models, assumptions, and supporting data for verification. This is a double move: it signals willingness to cooperate, buys time, and forces the proposers to prove the feasibility of their own proposal. I once witnessed a similar move at match level, though on a much smaller scale. At the 2026 World Cup, when I was the only Asian female commentator invited by NHK, I pushed back live on air against the legend Kunishige Kamamoto. He argued Japan needed massed defense against Argentina. I used Argentina's 4-4-2 to show that Ortega and Batistuta needed only eight seconds to break through if Japan dropped too deep. The shock nearly cost me my place the following match. But after Japan beat Jamaica 2-1, Kamamoto himself called to concede that my spatial analysis was correct, because the goal conceded came from Japan leaving the right flank open. Arguing against a legend on camera taught me that truth does not need permission. In this FIFA story, both sides are trying to make their reading the reading that gets recorded first. One detail deserves close reading: special treatment was flagged for confederations with "demonstrable structural costs". This means the distribution mechanism is not entirely flat. It includes targeted top-ups for confederations carrying specific costs. This is a different design from equal sharing, since it creates a second tier of allocation where the criterion is not just membership but cost structure. For someone who works in tactical analysis, this resembles how a team allocates resources: not every line receives the same investment, but each according to function and specific pressure. In football, however, the criterion for resource allocation has been debated for decades. Here, that criterion remains undefined, and that very gap is where decision-making power can be retained at the center. One further aspect deserves mention: the private-investment plan was withdrawn in July. The fact that FIFA once sought external capital shows the center had considered financing options beyond existing resources. When that plan was shelved, the confederations gained another reason to argue that internal resources are sufficient. But that argument overlooks a question: was the plan withdrawn because it was unnecessary, or because it could not survive political opposition? This distinction matters because it changes how the entire story is read. If the withdrawal resulted from political pressure, then the confederations now using that withdrawal as ammunition are making a deliberate move. They are not merely asking for money. They are redrawing the boundaries of power. In more than 50 years following this industry, I have recognized that financial disputes at governance level are rarely resolved by the final number. They are resolved by determining who has the right to set the number. When the confederations publicly stated the US$10 million figure before the October 15 meeting, they were not simply making a proposal. They were fixing an anchor in the negotiation, so that any lower outcome becomes a concession. FIFA refused to confirm that anchor. Infantino stated clearly he would not pre-quantify any amount. This is agenda control. By keeping the number open, the center retains the right to define what counts as "the greatest level that can responsibly be delivered". That phrase appeared in FIFA's reply, and it matters more than it appears. It shifts the question from whether to distribute US$2.1 billion to what the limit of responsibility is. Two different questions, with two different sets of criteria. Another point concerns the time mechanism. In its reply, FIFA proposed the "shortest reasonable timetable" and stated clearly that if no recommendation emerges by October 15, no automatic breach or default arises. This is a procedural safeguard. It means delay is not treated as failure. For someone who has followed governance cycles at multiple sports organizations, I recognize this pattern. A timetable is a flexible instrument. It lets the party controlling process extend time without being accused of obstruction. At the same time, it keeps the issue inside a procedural channel, where pace is set by review steps rather than external pressure. External pressure here comes from media. The September 18 letter was reported by Reuters as having been seen by Reuters. That means one of the parties deliberately leaked the document to the press ahead of the Council meeting. In analytical work, I always ask: who benefits from this information appearing at this moment? The answer, in this case, is the party seeking to generate public pressure ahead of a meeting whose agenda it does not control. This is a subtle point of communication tactics. When you cannot control the timing of the decision, you try to control the timing of the information. By making the US$2.1 billion figure public and tying it to the interests of 211 associations, the proposers put FIFA in an awkward public position: if FIFA refuses or delays, FIFA becomes the party blocking money. In 2026, at the match between Yomiuri FC and Furukawa Electric in the Japanese national championship, I was the only female journalist granted a press credential. The security guard at Mitsuzawa Stadium asked me three times to present my card, then phoned the organizers to verify. When the match ended 1-1, I stayed two hours to draw Furukawa's pressing pattern and discovered they had deliberately pushed their defensive line high to trap Yomiuri offside. My analysis appeared in Soccer Japan the following week, and coach Saburo Kawabuchi himself called to praise it. The person blocked at the J.League gate in 2026 now writes about how data changes tactics. The lesson I took from that night is that control over information about what happens on the pitch is a form of power, and it does not naturally belong to anyone. In this FIFA story, whichever side shapes how the public reads the US$2.1 billion figure before October 15 will hold the greater advantage at the negotiating table. In 2026, when the pandemic emptied stadiums, I lost many of the indicators I had grown used to. Crowd pressure on referees, motivation from support, all became meaningless. I found a new direction when an acquaintance who did audio engineering for a broadcaster sent me a recording of coach Ange Postecoglou shouting instructions during the Yokohama F. Marinos match against FC Tokyo in August 2026, which ended 2-0. I analyzed the frequency of "drop back" and "push up" commands over 90 minutes, and discovered how a coach controls match tempo from the touchline. The piece, "A Match Through the Ear", was shared 40,000 times on Twitter. That lesson applies directly here. When there is no pitch to read, I read through sound. When there is no match result to read, I read through the rhythm of documents. In this FIFA story, the rhythm of the two letters shows one thing: the proposing side is accelerating, while the process-controlling side is decelerating. The gap between those two rhythms is where the dispute truly unfolds. There is an aspect rarely discussed: the practical meaning of US$10 million across different tiers of associations. For a large association with a professional league system, US$10 million is a significant addition but does not change structure. For a small association in Oceania or the Caribbean, the same amount could fund years of youth development, infrastructure, and development programs. This is why the "US$10 million each" framing has such political force: it is not just money, it is a promise of redistributed opportunity. I have observed how small associations operate across funding cycles. A steady distribution can transform an association from reliance on scattered grants into an organization with multi-year planning. At the same time, it creates a new network of dependency, where political support in votes often comes with expectations of cash flows. Tactical analysis teaches the same thing: resources are never neutral. Whoever allocates resources shapes the behavior of recipients. Another aspect is the precedent effect. If the confederations succeed in shaping the center's reserve policy through a public proposal, that precedent opens a new pattern in FIFA-confederation relations. In later cycles, similar proposals with larger numbers could follow. This is a long-term risk both sides can see, and it explains why FIFA chose process control rather than an immediate number. What many commentaries I read on this topic overlook is the assumption that US$2.1 billion is a near-final proposal. It is not. It is a publicly made proposal, and in governance negotiations, public proposals are usually the opening step, not the closing one. The second overlooked assumption is the US$1.5 billion floor. This is a figure set by the requesting parties, not FIFA's own safety threshold. No FIFA prudential reserve minimum has been published. This gap lets the confederations' framing dominate public narrative. That is an information advantage, not a data point. The third overlooked point is the real risk. The greatest risk here is not solvency. FIFA holds substantial reserves. The greatest risk is erosion of governance legitimacy. If the October 15 process produces delay or opacity rather than a clear resolution, trust with confederations and member associations will be damaged. And trust, in an organization built on representation, is the hardest capital to rebuild. The fourth overlooked point is the potential return of the private-investment plan in another form. The withdrawal of a plan does not mean the need for external capital disappears. Over the next six to twelve months, if financial pressure rises, the possibility of a new proposal is real. Confederations will have to prepare for that scenario, which may be why they want an independent reserve review now. One further point I want to state plainly. An independent reserve review sounds entirely reasonable as good governance. But it must be remembered that any review has someone asking the questions. If the questions are designed to confirm that FIFA has money, then the review becomes a tool to push distribution, not a tool to test accountability. Both sides can use the language of transparency to serve their own interests. None of this means either side is right or wrong. In football, I have never searched for the right side. I search for the mechanism in operation. And the mechanism operating here is a power mechanism, where the number is made public before it is approved, and where procedure is used to control pace rather than merely to ensure correctness. October 15, 2026 will answer one question: will FIFA produce a number, or extend a timetable. If it produces a number, the negotiation has reached an anchor. If it extends a timetable, the dispute is merely deferred, and it will return, perhaps at the next Council meeting, perhaps at the FIFA Congress. I will follow that meeting the way I follow a match without goals: by recording how many times the ball enters dangerous areas, not by waiting for a cheer. An analyst reads rhythm, not results. And the rhythm of this dispute, so far, is slowing, not accelerating. If that continues, we will know the process-controlling side still holds the initiative. If the rhythm suddenly accelerates before October 15, we will know one side has found a way to change the situation. All my life I have followed the rolling ball, but only when I stepped away from it did I truly understand: the biggest decisions in football are often made in places where there is no ball.