In difficult times, what still matters

It hasn’t been easy, plain and simple.

The results haven’t come the way we hoped. Campaigns have ended without intended end results, performances haven’t turned into wins, and once again we find ourselves asking the same questions—where do we go from here?

But this isn’t about blame. It can’t be. This is one of those moments where everyone connected to the game has to take a share of the responsibility—administrators, players, coaches, media, even the supporters. Football and sport in Trinidad and Tobago belong to all of us, and when things aren’t right, we all feel it.

Anybody who cares will feel that. But beyond the frustration, there has to be some honest reflection.

Someone who I do not know personally messaged me last week and said, ‘It’s the same rhetoric every few weeks.’ We keep hearing the right things, but we are not seeing the difference…you and all with your nice words need to take a closer look.” I got messages of this nature last November also when the men’s campaign ended. This has not been a new occurrence.

The easy reaction is frustration. The truth is, we’ve been here before. Periods where belief feels tested, where optimism starts to sound repetitive, where the message of “we go again” risks losing its meaning.

But even in that, there’s a quiet understanding; we cannot afford to stop pushing. Not now.

Look around Trinidad and Tobago right now. The headlines are heavy. Too many stories of loss. Too many “freakish” occurrences that shake you – accidents, crime, sudden deaths, things that make you pause and wonder where we are as a society.

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed. Easy to feel like things are slipping. And in the middle of that, sport almost feels small. But it isn’t.

In fact, it might be one of the few things we have that can still pull people together, still create structure, still offer a path. We had just under 3000 fans at the Hasely Crawford Stadium on Friday night to witness the T&T Women versus El Salvador match. Not a big crowd by any means but still hundreds of persons who showed up, wanting to be part of something together as a people.

Sport, when done right, can save lives, inspire many and provide hope. Not in the dramatic, headline-grabbing way but quietly, consistently.

If every week we help shift directions for eleven persons, at the end of a year… that could be 500-plus lives. And that is just touching the surface.

It gives a young boy in Laventille or Chaguanas somewhere to be at 4pm instead of on a block. It gives a young girl in Sangre Grande or Plymouth a reason to dream beyond her immediate surroundings.

It gives discipline, routine, and mentorship.

It teaches accountability and makes people belong like they belong to something. And those things sometimes matter more than a result.

We’ve seen it before in our own history. Players who came from nothing, who used football as a ladder out into education, into careers, into global exposure. That pipeline still exists. Maybe not as strong as it should be, but it’s there.

And globally, the evidence is even clearer.

In Colombia, sport became a deliberate tool to combat youth violence. Football programmes were introduced in high-risk communities, not just to develop players, but to build social cohesion.

Studies showed reduced crime involvement among participants, improved school attendance, and stronger community ties. Francisco Maturana told me many stories about life in Colombia during his time here in 2008/2009, and our young footballers saw it themselves when they travelled to Cali for youth tournaments.

In Iraq, after years of conflict, the national team’s 2007 Asian Cup victory wasn’t just a football achievement—it was a unifying moment for a fractured country. Our men’s team beat Iraq 2-0 in a friendly at West Bromwich in 2004 courtesy a double by Stern John.

Bosnia and Herzegovina, still carrying the scars of war, invested in youth sport development as part of its rebuilding process. Football clubs became safe spaces. Places where young people could interact, grow, and move forward together. Both Bosnia and Iraq have qualified for the 2026 World Cup. Different ethnic and religious groups rallied behind one team. For a moment, sport did what politics couldn’t.

These are bigger nations, yes. Different histories. Different resources. But the principle is the same.

The question is, are we using it that way?

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: we cannot keep asking the public to believe if we are not showing clear, visible progress behind the scenes.

Hope cannot just be a message. It has to be backed by systems. We need proper structures—youth leagues that run consistently; facilities that are safe and accessible; and qualified coaches who understand development beyond just winning games. And this is not knocking anyone. It is letting it be known that there is an acceptance that more should be done.

We need environments where young players feel protected. Where parents feel confident sending their children. Where talent is nurtured, not lost.

We need inclusivity—not just in words, but in opportunity. For boys and girls. For communities that have traditionally been left behind. And we need accountability.

Because progress is not just about passion—it’s about planning, execution, and follow-through.

There are signs that we’re trying. Efforts being made. Conversations happening. Initiatives starting. But in a country where trust has been tested—not just in football but across institutions—people need to see, not just hear. They need to feel like something is changing.

And that’s where the pressure comes in for those of us telling the story. We can’t ignore the reality of results. We can’t dress things up and pretend everything is fine. The public deserves honesty.

But at the same time, we have a responsibility to highlight the bigger picture.

To remind people why this matters beyond 90 minutes. Because if we walk away from sport, if we allow it to decline further, we lose more than games. We lose one of the few structured pathways that still exists for young people across this country. We lose a platform that can unite us, even in difficult times. We lose a tool that can help address some of the very issues we’re all concerned about.

But this is where we respond, not with words alone but with action. With better systems. With stronger collaboration. With a renewed commitment to doing things properly.

And so must be the solution. Not when there are still kids lacing up boots every afternoon. Not when there are still coaches giving their time on weekends. Not when there are still players wearing the red, white, and black with pride, regardless of the result.

Maybe the wins will come. Maybe they won’t come as quickly as we want.

But if we get the foundation right, if we truly invest in systems, in people, in environments, then hopefully the results will follow.

And even before they do, the impact will already be there. Their lives changed. In hope that is no longer just spoken but seen. Because in times like these, sport isn’t a distraction. It’s a necessity.

Hopefully, when the time comes that I’m no longer around, no longer part of this space, this won’t read like just another recycled message but as something that, in its own small way, helped push things forward and make a difference.

Editor’s note

Shaun Fuentes is the head of TTFA Communications. He was a FIFA media officer at the 2010 FIFA World Cup in South Africa and the 2013 FIFA U-20 World Cup in Turkey. He has travelled to over 90 countries during his journey in sport. “Pro Look” is his weekly column on football, sport, culture and the human side of the game. The views expressed are solely his and not a representation of any organisation. [email protected]