In FIFA Career Mode, managing both a club and a national team is a walk in the park. You’re juggling transfer windows on Monday, coaching your national team to World Cup glory by the weekend, and somehow everything fits perfectly. No angry fans, no scheduling headaches, no real-life consequences.
Indian football, in all its boldness, tried to replicate that fantasy. When the All India Football Federation handed the reins of the national team to Manolo Marquez in June 2024 while he continued as head coach of FC Goa, it felt like a daring move. After all, Marquez had earned his stripes in the ISL—smart, composed, and technically sound. If anyone could make this work, maybe it was him.
But nearly a year later, the experiment looks like a bad glitch in the matrix.
India’s national team is in shambles—bottom of their qualification group, three matches without a goal, and fresh off a humiliating loss to 153rd-ranked Hong Kong. What was meant to be a visionary double role is now an awkward cautionary tale.
Losing grip on both
This was never going to be easy. Being the boss of a club like FC Goa takes everything out of a manager—training sessions, tactical prep, squad management, post-match breakdowns. Now add to that the job of reviving a struggling national team that hasn’t qualified for a major tournament in years, and you’ve got a recipe for chaos.
The calendar doesn’t bend. While Marquez focused on the ISL for half the year, the national team had to make do with part-time attention. There was no long-term plan. No time for deep scouting. No time for building chemistry. And when it came time for Marquez to switch hats and take charge of the Blue Tigers, he found a side that had no rhythm, no confidence, and no clue in the final third.
No bite, even with Chhetri
One of the biggest criticisms of Marquez’s tenure has been India’s complete lack of attacking threat. In desperation, Marquez even coaxed 40-year-old Sunil Chhetri out of international retirement—India’s greatest ever striker, a man whose finishing is still sharper than most in the squad. Chhetri’s return should’ve added calm, experience, and most importantly, goals.
But in the crucial match against Hong Kong, Marquez benched him. And when India’s new-look frontline—including the likes of Ashique Kuruniyan—missed a golden opportunity with an open goal in the 39th minute, the decision came back to haunt him. Chhetri’s absence was felt immediately. If it had been him on the end of that chance, many believe the ball would have kissed the net instead of the sky.
It wasn’t just tactical confusion. It felt like a team caught in between generations, with no direction and no trust in its own firepower.
Snubbing the I-League
Another worrying trend under Marquez has been his apparent disregard for the I-League—the same competition that once nurtured some of India’s biggest stars. From Sandesh Jhingan to Jeje Lalpekhlua, the I-League has long been the launchpad for raw, hungry talents who later made their name in the ISL and the national team.
But with his tunnel vision locked onto ISL fixtures, Marquez has shown little interest in recognising or rewarding performances outside the ISL bubble. That’s not just an oversight—it’s a missed opportunity to scout the next Chhetri or Gurpreet before they’re priced out of reach.
“People speak about I-League, but there is a difference between I-League and ISL. The strongest position in India is ISL. To play 2, 3, 4, 5 good games in I-League is not enough; you need to perform good in ISL,” Manolo told reporters ahead of India vs Maldives.
If the national coach doesn’t look at the second tier, who will? Indian football doesn’t have the luxury of ignoring grassroots or lower-division talent. The I-League isn’t just a relic—it’s still relevant. And for a country that needs depth more than ever, brushing it aside is a critical failure.
Flat results, angry fans
Let’s be real—losing to Hong Kong stung. Not just because of the rankings (India were 26 spots above them), but because of how flat India looked. There was no urgency, no spark. That result followed a goalless draw with Bangladesh and another against Thailand. Three games, zero goals, and a growing wave of fan frustration.
Post-match, Marquez tried to hold it together: “The dressing room is like a funeral,” he said. And it probably was. But at some point, the emotions have to be matched with solutions. And so far, they’ve been missing.
India now need to win all four of their remaining qualifiers to stay alive. But even one win feels like a long shot at the moment.
No scouting, no depth
A national team job is not just about picking the best eleven players—it’s about building a pipeline, finding talent from every corner of the country, and nurturing them. But how do you do that when you’re already occupied running a club?
Marquez, locked into FC Goa commitments, never had time to look at players outside the obvious ISL names. The scouting structure didn’t evolve. Youth players stayed on the fringes. And India’s attacking woes, defensive lapses, and tactical disarray were all signs of a team that had no one fully invested in its progress.
In FIFA, all your scouting reports arrive in a neat list. In reality, it takes time, effort, and patience—none of which this dual setup allowed.
Clock ticking
With matches against Singapore on the horizon in October, pressure is mounting. Marquez hasn’t said he wants to step down, but there’s growing noise that a change might be coming.
And maybe that’s for the best. Eleven months into a two-year deal, the idea has clearly not worked. Indian football needs a coach who can dedicate everything to building this team from the ground up—not someone switching roles midweek.
This isn’t FIFA
What Marquez’s stint has taught us is simple—this isn’t a game. You can’t manage a club and a national team like it’s a save file on FIFA. Indian football needs full-time commitment, fresh ideas, and a system that supports long-term growth.
For now, it’s time to put the controller down and fix what’s broken. Because in real life, there’s no ‘simulate match’ button—and definitely no restart.