Arda Güler and the Sigh of a Lone Genius

I sat in the twelfth row of the stands, a spot that did not offer an ideal view of the entire formation. But at sixty-eight, I have learned that the most important moments do not lie in the center of glory, but in the overlooked corners that people tend to ignore. That night, when the clock struck the fifty-sixth minute, Arda Güler received the ball on the right flank, looked up for a split second, and delivered a beautiful line-breaking pass that eliminated the entire Italian defense. The ball reached the feet of Barış Alper Yılmaz. A goal was scored. But the linesman raised his flag. Oğuz Aydın was offside. The goal was disallowed. And in the stands, I saw Güler tear the bandage off his wrist and throw it forcefully onto the grass. A small gesture. But to me, it contained a story far longer than any match report could convey. I am Kobayashi Hiroshi, born in Japan but having spent over thirty years living and working in Brazil. Throughout my career, I have witnessed countless young talents rise under the spotlight and crumble under its pressure. I have seen seventeen-year-olds hailed as saviors of an entire football nation, only to quietly disappear from the professional map three years later. So when I watched the match between Turkey and Italy from the stands, what caught my attention was not the disallowed goal. What troubled me was Arda Güler's act of throwing his wristband, and more importantly, the way European media are constructing the narrative around him. Look at the bigger picture. Turkey conceded three goals in the first half alone. Three goals. Against an Italian side that is tightly organized and possesses superior squad depth. In football, conceding three goals in the first forty-five minutes is not merely a technical issue. It is a sign of a broken defensive system, of tactical gaps left unfilled, of a disconnect between the lines. And in that context, Arda Güler was still the only one creating a breakthrough moment. A line-breaking pass in the fifty-sixth minute. A chance created from nothing. But the goal was not awarded due to a teammate's offside. As I recorded my observations in my worn notebook, I asked myself: Who is truly responsible for this defeat? What will the Italian and Spanish media say? And more importantly, are they inadvertently placing a burden on a twenty-one-year-old that no one could carry? I have witnessed this too many times in Brazil, in Japan, and now in Turkey. People always need a hero. They always want to believe that one exceptional individual can save an entire collective. But football does not work that way. AS, the sports daily based in Madrid, published enthusiastic lines about Güler's performance. They called it a feast. They praised his pass as a work of art. And they cited unsourced comments that Güler is alone in a national team that cannot reach his level. This is where I need to pause and think carefully. Because when a newspaper affiliated with a player's parent club writes about his performance for the national team, we need to read between the lines. AS has a close relationship with Real Madrid. And Arda Güler is a Real Madrid asset. A twenty-one-year-old in the most rapidly appreciating phase of his value curve. This newspaper praising him is not merely sports reporting. It is part of a brand-building strategy. When they write that Güler is alone in the Turkish national team, they are sending a message: this talent deserves a higher level, a better collective. And in some way, they are protecting their asset from criticism that could affect his transfer value. I am not saying Güler is not talented. He is talented. The pass in the fifty-sixth minute is the most eloquent proof. It was a line-breaking pass, disrupting the opponent's defensive structure, creating a direct scoring opportunity. In technical terms, we call it a vertical progression action. It demonstrates game reading, vision, and passing technique at a high level. But one pass does not make a team. And a twenty-one-year-old cannot be the sole burden for an entire football nation. What worries me more is how the media are handling the moment Güler threw his wristband. They call it anger. They say he was the only one showing emotion about the team's play. They turn an outburst by a young player into a statement of dissatisfaction with his teammates. And then they spread it. The video spreads. The article spreads. The story spreads. But no one asks: Was Güler actually criticizing his teammates? Or was he simply frustrated with himself for not being able to create more? Or perhaps, was he in pain in his wrist and the bandage was causing discomfort? I have watched that video multiple times. The bandage on his left wrist. It could simply be a support bandage for a minor pre-existing injury. Removing it and throwing it away does not necessarily have to be a political statement. Sometimes, in football, the smallest actions are assigned the grandest meanings. And that is one of the most common mistakes in sports media. But let us return to the more important question: Is Turkey truly wasting Arda Güler's talent? This is a question I have heard repeatedly throughout my career. In Brazil, people asked whether Ronaldinho was wasting his talent in a national team that was not strong enough. In Japan, people asked whether Hidetoshi Nakata was alone in a squad lacking depth. And the answer, in most cases, is no. Because football is a team sport. An exceptional player can create a moment. But to win, you need a system. Turkey is a second-tier national team in European football. They can compete for major tournament qualification, but they are not top seeds. This does not mean they lack talent. It means they are in the process of building a new generation. Arda Güler is the brightest gem in that generation. But one gem does not make a crown. It takes time. It takes patience. And above all, it takes the right development environment. As I write these lines, I remember a boy named Elias whom I once tracked in Nova Iguaçu, Brazil, in 2026. He did not score. He had no decisive pass. But he was the one setting the rhythm for the entire team. He dropped back to support the defense, maintained distances, and created space for his teammates. No one wrote about him. No one called him a genius. But his team won the Guanabara Cup youth tournament that year. Football is not just about moments of glory. It is also about the silent backs. And that is what I want to say about Arda Güler. He has talent. He can become one of the greatest players of his generation. But he cannot do it alone. And the media constantly portraying him as a lone genius does not help his development. It only creates pressure. It only creates expectation. And when expectation is not met, it creates disappointment. I have witnessed too many young talents crushed by the weight of expectation. In Brazil, we have a word for such players: joia bruta. Raw gem. They shine brilliantly for a moment, then disappear. Not because they lack talent. But because they were not properly protected. They were not developed in an environment that allowed them to make mistakes, learn, and mature. Arda Güler is at a crossroads. On one hand, he has all the qualities to become a great player. He plays for Real Madrid, the greatest club in the world. He has technique, vision, and the ability to make a difference. On the other hand, he faces pressure from all sides. From the club, where competition for a starting spot is fierce. From the national team, where he is expected to be the savior. And from the media, where he is portrayed as a genius trapped in a mediocre collective. What I want to see is a different story. A story of development. Of a young player given the chance to grow without being burdened by unrealistic expectations. Of a national team built around multiple talents, not just one. Of a football nation developed sustainably, rather than chasing fleeting moments of brilliance. I am old. I have witnessed too many cycles of rise and fall in world football. I have seen young talents shine and then fade. I have seen national teams built around one individual collapse when that individual is no longer at their peak. And I have seen football nations that are patient, investing in systems, in youth development, in sustainable growth, reaping success in the long term. Arda Güler can be part of that success story. But he needs time. He needs patience. And most importantly, he needs an environment that does not make him the sole burden of an entire football nation. Because in football, there are umbrellas in the rain that no one sees; they only see the person standing under them when the rain stops. Arda Güler is standing in the rain alone. But he should not be. No one should be. When the referee blew the final whistle, I closed my notebook and walked out of the stands. On the way back to the hotel, I thought about Arda Güler's future. About what he could become. About what he could achieve. And about what Turkish football needs to do to help him achieve it. The answer does not lie in one match. It lies in a process. A long, patient, and sustainable process. A process that I hope will be written not only by moments of glory, but also by the silent backs behind them.