Mexico scored in the opening match of the World Cup and the cameras focused on the stands. Two exultant boys appeared there, cell phone in hand. Their phones were pointed not at the field, but at themselves. They were two local influencers and while the stadium celebrated a historic goal, they celebrated themselves because the content, naturally, was them. One of the two later explained that FIFA imposed very strict restrictions on what could be recorded during matches. So if they couldn't record the show, the logical thing is that they would record themselves attending it.
A few days ago it was published that Boca Juniors intends to limit this entire ecosystem. Its new Subscriber Regulations establish that members will not be able to make live transmissions or recordings intended to generate content for social networks or streaming platforms. In recent years, the stadiums have been filled with inhabitants of this new media environment, some with access and privileges that a good part of the traditional press would like for themselves. Of course, there are sports content creators who surpass many journalists in knowledge, rigor, narrative ability and entertainment. That is unquestionable. But there are also influencers outside of sports who are used by federations, sports organizations, clubs or brands with the sole objective of attracting an audience, even if a stadium, a track or a race is for them nothing more than a simple decoration.
Some time ago I asked myself in an article in As if football really needs the mediation of certain influencers, as if a fashion content creator were suddenly going to reveal the existence of LaLiga. But it doesn't just happen in football. Wimbledon, for example, has deliberately sought the presence of influencers in its boxes to shake off its reputation for exclusivity and gain relevance among younger generations. It also happens at Roland Garros, where brands have privileged spaces for their ambassadors. And, of course, it happens in tournaments like the Mutua Madrid Open. “Summit of influencers at the Madrid tennis tournament,” headlined the magazine ¡Hola!. All of these tournaments try to combat their elitist image by reaching out to new generations while reserving their privileged seats only for people who have reached a certain number of followers on social networks. Let's say that exclusivity has been “democratized” by changing the admission criteria.
A few months ago I felt genuine shame seeing an influencer in the stands of a stadium invited by the club. He had recorded himself reproducing ChatGPT phrases to appear knowledgeable about football. He said, laughing, things like “they're missing someone to play between the lines” or “he's always receiving from his back, it's very difficult that way.” The scene also made me angry because by turning football into a prop this girl was inadvertently feeding one of the oldest and most tired clichés in sport, that women are not interested in football.
The recent controversy with content creator Erola Jones chasing Vuelta cyclists while making vulgar comments at them produced the same perplexity in me. Although the problem here was not only the shamelessly exhibited ignorance, but also the lack of education. The organization defended its hiring, claiming that the purpose was to generate entertainment. But the purpose, we all know, was none other than to generate an audience.
