Gamal Abdel Hamid Criticizes Hossam Hassan: Global Stars, Press Conferences and the Lesson of Management

"He made 70 mistakes and luck served him." The line landed in the studio of the programme "El Defender", broadcast on Al-Shams channel. The speaker was Gamal Abdel Hamid, a former star of Zamalek and the Egypt national team. He was not targeting a defeat, a substitution, or a tactical error. He was targeting the way Hossam Hassan — Egypt's head coach — handles the two most important things in modern football: a global superstar and a press conference. In a clip replayed many times, Abdel Hamid said: "Hossam Hassan is fortunate when it comes to football and technical matters, but he is not fortunate when it comes to talking." He added: "Had it not been for Ibrahim Hassan, Hossam would have made even more mistakes than that." And finally: "I hope Ibrahim Hassan comes out to the press conferences instead of Hossam." Three sentences, three arrows. Behind them lies a bigger story — the story of Mohamed Salah. Abdel Hamid insisted that Salah holds an exceptional standing on the global stage. "Mohamed Salah is a global icon and deserves special treatment, and it is not acceptable to say that he was left out for technical reasons," he said. Statements that downplay the captain's importance drew his ire too. "It is not acceptable for Hossam Hassan to say about Mohamed Salah that we have 120 million people and that the Egypt national team does not depend on any single individual," he added. This is a case I followed with particular attention, because it is not merely a war of words between a former star and a sitting coach. It is a lesson in how a footballing nation handles its greatest asset. And over many years of youth-academy archaeology, I have learned that the biggest mistakes made by football associations are not made on the pitch — they are made at the microphone. To understand why Abdel Hamid's words carry such weight, we must place them in the context the Egypt national team is currently navigating. Hossam Hassan took the head coach's chair during a sensitive period, when the team needed to navigate qualification and secure a World Cup ticket. That was a goal an entire nation awaited, because football in Egypt carries a spiritual weight that extends far beyond a single sport. When the team qualified, that achievement instantly became a political and media asset. It is precisely in such a moment that how a coach talks to the public matters as much as how he sets up his team. Abdel Hamid points this out clearly: "Hossam should have made use of the World Cup achievement by keeping control of his statements, and he should have given the players their due at the World Cup rather than talking about himself." That sentence contains a subtle observation about the psychology of the press conference. After a collective achievement, a coach has two ways to face the media. The first is to share the glory, to push the players forward, and to place himself in the role of servant. The second is to turn the achievement into a personal story, where the manager is the sole architect. The second approach delivers short-term image benefits but destroys long-term loyalty in the dressing room. This is the point many observers miss when following the turmoil around the Egypt national team. Hossam Hassan's problem, according to Abdel Hamid, does not lie in technical ability. "Hossam Hassan is fortunate when it comes to football and technical matters." This is a diplomatic way of speaking, because it implicitly acknowledges that on the professional side, this coach has produced certain results. But "fortunate" is a carefully chosen word. It suggests that success came from circumstances, from the support around him, from factors beyond the coach's own control. And here, the name Ibrahim Hassan appears. Abdel Hamid said: "Had it not been for Ibrahim Hassan, Hossam would have made even more mistakes than that." Ibrahim Hassan is Hossam Hassan's brother, a legendary former star of Egyptian football, believed to play an important role in the coaching staff and in balancing decisions. Abdel Hamid's suggestion that Ibrahim should face the press instead of his younger brother is a notable psychological blow. It implicitly asserts that the person who truly knows how to communicate is not the one sitting in the hottest seat. I have witnessed similar situations in youth football. A coach can be a genius at training yet fail disastrously when stepping in front of the media. This is no small matter. In modern football, where every statement is recorded, clipped and circulated within seconds, the press conference has become part of the match. A clumsy sentence can create a media crisis lasting weeks, directly affecting player morale. Consider the line about "120 million people". Technically, it is a defensible statement. Football is a collective sport, and no team should depend on a single individual. But in reality, that statement takes on a completely different meaning when spoken by a coach, at a moment when the team needs unity, about a player who is a global icon for the entire nation. Salah is not merely a good player. He is the image of Egypt on the world football map, the pride of a nation with tens of millions of football fans. When a coach speaks about such an icon in a way that sounds like downplaying his importance, he is not only addressing Salah. He is addressing everyone who sees in Salah a part of their own identity. Abdel Hamid grasps this. "Mohamed Salah is a global icon and deserves special treatment, and it is not acceptable to say that he was left out for technical reasons." The phrase "special treatment" matters here. It does not mean unreasonable privilege, but the recognition that a player of Salah's calibre needs an environment designed specifically to let him thrive. The world's biggest clubs understand this. They build tactics around their biggest star, shield that player from unnecessary pressure, and manage communications to avoid internal conflict. Here, I want to share an observation from my own experience watching matches. In youth football, when an exceptional talent emerges, there are two typical reactions. The first is to try to "level" — to treat that talent like everyone else, for fear that difference will create disunity. The second is to acknowledge the difference and build an environment in which that talent can grow while remaining connected to the collective. The first reaction sounds fair, but in reality it is often the reason exceptional talents leave or wither. Egyptian football, with Salah, faces a similar choice on a far larger scale. Salah is a gift this footballing nation may not produce again for decades. How he is treated will determine not only the outcome of a few matches, but also the lesson for the generations of young players who follow. Digging from the sediment, where names have not yet been carved into legend, I always try to understand why some talents develop and others are forgotten. The answer usually does not lie in talent. It lies in environment. And environment is shaped by decision-makers — including how they speak in public. This case is notable for another reason: it reveals a split within Egyptian football itself. Abdel Hamid is a respected former star, and his words cannot be dismissed as the opinion of a mere fan. When someone in his position publicly says the head coach should yield the platform to another, that is a sign of a problem deeper than a single statement. There is one line from Abdel Hamid that I consider the heart of the whole story: "Hossam Hassan is fortunate when it comes to football and technical matters, but he is not fortunate when it comes to talking." Here, "fortunate" and "talking" are placed side by side as two extremes. One is a field where results can be measured in points and standings. The other is a field where results are measured in emotion, image and trust. The career of a modern coach is split between these two fields. You can win on the pitch yet lose in the public's heart. You can have good results yet lose the respect of your players. And when that happens, results on the pitch rarely last long. In Vietnamese football, where I work, similar cases have occurred. Coaches are sometimes criticized not for results, but for how they treat key players or how they speak after defeat. Fans can forgive a loss, but they find it hard to forgive a disrespectful statement. This is a rule I have drawn after years of observation, from matches nobody watches to headline fixtures. The stands are empty, yet history is still recording every pass. And history also records every statement. In this case, history is recording the moment a former star stood up to protect a global superstar from words that could damage the relationship between player and national team. What is striking is that Abdel Hamid does not demand that Salah be treated differently in training or in team life. He demands only recognition. That is a very basic request: do not say a world-class player was left out for technical reasons when there is no clear basis. Do not speak of a national icon by referencing population figures to diminish individual importance. This is where the story becomes interesting to me as a youth-academy archaeologist. In football academies, conflicts between coaches and young players often stem from a lack of recognition. A young player can accept being benched, can accept having to prove himself, but finds it hard to accept his contribution being denied in public. When a coach publicly says the team does not depend on any individual, that may be philosophically correct, but a specific individual may read it as a denial of his contribution. With Salah, a player who has reached a level where personal prestige is built over years in the world's top leagues, being treated that way can create an unbridgeable gap. And when the relationship between captain and coach cracks, it affects the entire team. This is where I want to raise another angle, one that runs somewhat against conventional intuition. Many will read this case as a war between two camps: those backing Salah and those backing Hossam Hassan. But I believe that reading misses the core point. The issue here is not who is right or wrong in a personal argument. The issue is that the structure of power and communication in Egyptian football is exposing systemic weaknesses. First, the fact that a coach is appointed to the hottest seat in the nation's football, leading a generation of players that may include a global superstar, yet is not equipped with matching communication skills, is a structural failure. In many developed footballing nations, national team coaches are supported by a professional communications team that helps them adjust statements, prepare for press conferences and avoid unnecessary conflict. Here, it seems the coach is left to fend for himself with statements of enormous impact. Second, the fact that Abdel Hamid had to speak out publicly to protect Salah suggests that internal channels of dialogue may not be working effectively. In a healthy environment, friction between coach and captain should be resolved in the dressing room, not on television. When internal matters become public, it is usually a sign that the system is leaking. Third, the strong public reaction to the "120 million people" statement reveals something important about collective psychology. Egyptian fans do not see Salah merely as a player. They see him as part of the national story, proof that an Egyptian can stand shoulder to shoulder with the world's biggest names. When a coach implicitly downplays Salah's importance, he touches a nerve far more sensitive than a tactical debate. I do not hunt for famous names. I hunt for the moments they were forgotten. But in this case, the very moment Salah was placed in a position of needing to be "protected" by a former star is the most notable moment. It shows that even a global superstar can become fragile in the face of ill-timed statements. There is another aspect I want to analyse, concerning the relationship between achievement and reputation. Abdel Hamid said Hossam Hassan "should have made use of the World Cup achievement". This is a very sharp hint about reputation management. After a big achievement, a coach has a golden window to consolidate his position. If he uses it well, he can turn that achievement into the foundation of a long-term development cycle, build trust with players, and create a legacy. But if, during that golden window, the coach creates conflict, loses the trust of key players, and lets the media revolve around personal disputes instead of collective achievement, then he is trading the future for short-term gains. And over time, such trades always carry a price. Abdel Hamid also offers a predictive judgement when he says that without Ibrahim Hassan, Hossam would have made more mistakes. This is a cautious way of speaking, because it does not entirely deny Hossam Hassan's ability, only points out that his success depends on a support network. In football, this is not rare. Many coaches succeed thanks to good associates around them, people who compensate for their weaknesses. The problem only becomes serious when the coach does not acknowledge the role of those associates and positions himself as the centre of all success. This leads me to a thought about the nature of leadership in football. A good coach is not one who does everything alone. It is one who assembles people better than himself in each field, and who knows how to credit them. When a coach starts talking about himself more than about his players, it is usually a sign of imbalance. In the case of the Egypt national team, this imbalance may affect on-pitch performance. Young players, those seeking recognition, may feel insecure when they witness a big star being treated in a way they consider unfair. And that insecurity, however small, can accumulate over time, creating cracks in the collective. This is why I always pay attention to stories that seem to be mere media spats. Behind every statement is a signal about the health of a collective. And as a youth-academy archaeologist, I have learned that healthy collectives usually do not let internal conflicts become public. When they do, it is usually the tip of an iceberg whose submerged part has existed for a long time. So what happens next? This is the part I want to frame as a hypothesis with a timeline, following the habit I developed after many premature conclusions about young talents. Hypothesis one: if the relationship between Salah and the Egypt coaching staff does not improve within the next six months, we may see signs of change in how Salah participates in national team camps. Not necessarily withdrawal, but a shift in the level of commitment and in how he interacts with the media. Hypothesis two: if Hossam Hassan does not adjust his communication, pressure from the public and the professional world will continue to build. In football, when results are good, communication problems can be overlooked. But when results turn, they become the focus and can lead to a change in the coaching seat. Hypothesis three: Ibrahim Hassan's role will become more important. If what Abdel Hamid says is true, and if Ibrahim is truly the one balancing decisions, then putting him in front of the media could be a temporary solution to ease tension. I will return to verify these hypotheses after the season and the following national team camps unfold. That is how I work: make a judgement, set a timeline, and honestly admit if I am wrong. There is a lesson from this case that I think extends beyond Egyptian football. It concerns how we evaluate a coach. For many years, the main yardstick for a coach was results on the pitch. But modern football has broadened that yardstick. A coach now needs the ability to manage people, manage communications, and manage relationships with individuals whose influence exceeds that of the team. When a coach is good at only one of these aspects, his success is rarely sustainable. That is why big clubs tend to seek well-rounded coaches, not merely pure tactical specialists. Back to Gamal Abdel Hamid. Whether you agree with him or not, it cannot be denied that he put his finger on a very sensitive point. He was not only defending Salah. He was defending a principle: that exceptional talents need to be treated in a way that lets them fulfil their potential, and that how a coach speaks can matter as much as how he coaches. In the youth football world I follow, these principles are often underrated. People focus on speed, technique and physique, forgetting that the emotional environment around a player also determines his development. A young player treated disrespectfully can lose confidence. A global superstar treated disrespectfully can lose the motivation to give everything. The story of Salah and Hossam Hassan, from one angle, is an amplified version of what happens daily in football academies around the world. The difference lies only in scale and public attention. But the essence of the problem is the same: the relationship between leader and led, and how it is expressed in public. When a coach says the team does not depend on any individual, theoretically he is conveying a message about collective spirit. But in practice, that message can be understood as a belittling of the contributions of outstanding individuals. And in football, where confidence and loyalty are precious assets, such misunderstandings can have lasting consequences. What I have learned from cases like this is the necessity of recognition. Recognising players' contributions. Recognising the role of associates. Recognising that success is the result of a system, not of one individual. Coaches who understand this tend to build sustainable teams, where players are ready to fight for each other and for their leader. Conversely, coaches focused on themselves tend to create fragile teams, where success depends on external factors and can collapse at any moment. In Hossam Hassan's case, according to Abdel Hamid, those external factors include both Ibrahim Hassan's role and a bit of luck. This is where I want to discuss the concept of "luck" in football. Luck exists. Nobody denies that. But luck is only part of the equation. A coach can be lucky in a few matches, but cannot be lucky across an entire cycle. Over time, true ability reveals itself. And how a coach handles relationships with players and the media is part of that ability. When Abdel Hamid says Hossam Hassan "made 70 mistakes", he is not giving a statistically precise number. He is using exaggeration to convey a feeling. It is the feeling that many of this coach's decisions and statements were not carefully calculated, and that luck has masked those shortcomings. As an observer, I cannot confirm the figure of 70. But I can confirm that in football, there is a familiar pattern: a coach achieves good short-term results thanks to favourable factors, but when those factors disappear, his weaknesses are exposed. And usually, weaknesses in communication and people management are the hardest to hide. I have followed many similar cases in youth football. A coach leads a talented generation to success and is praised as a genius. But when that generation matures and leaves, he cannot repeat the success, because it came from the players' talent rather than from the coach's system. This is a lesson I think can be applied to the Egypt national team's case. If Hossam Hassan's success depends on an exceptional generation of players, including Salah, and on the support of people like Ibrahim Hassan, then the question arises: what happens when those factors change? That is the question I will follow in the coming period. However, I also want to avoid concluding too early about Hossam Hassan as a coach. As I said, judging a person based on a few statements is unfair. What I am analysing here is a management model, not a specific human being. And that model, though expressed through the Egypt national team's case, can be observed in many other places around the world. One thing I am certain of: in modern football, the press conference has become an inseparable part of the match. What is said there can strengthen or destroy a collective. And coaches who understand this usually have a big advantage over those who focus only on tactics. Abdel Hamid ends his remarks with a proposal: "I hope Ibrahim Hassan comes out to the press conferences instead of Hossam." This is a statement that is both critical and solution-oriented. It acknowledges that Ibrahim Hassan may be the more suitable person to engage with the media. And it raises a question about the division of roles within a coaching staff: should the good communicator take on the communication role, rather than the leader doing everything? This is an idea I think many teams should consider. In modern football, the head coach's role has become overloaded. He must manage tactics, manage people, manage communications, and manage relationships with the federation and the public. No one can be good at all of these. Therefore, delegation and role division are necessary. The most successful teams usually have a strong support staff, where each person takes on the role they are best at. And in the Egypt national team's case, if Ibrahim Hassan is truly the better communicator, then letting him take on that role could be a reasonable solution. However, this is also a solution that can create its own problems. If Ibrahim Hassan becomes the official voice of the team, then Hossam Hassan's role as head coach may be overshadowed. And in football, when a coach is overshadowed by his associate, it usually leads to new internal tensions. So this is a solution that needs careful consideration, not only in communication terms but also in terms of power structure. Broadly speaking, this case reflects a challenge many footballing nations face: how to manage global superstars in an environment where the coach's traditional authority is being challenged. Previously, the coach had the final word, and players had to comply. Today, with the growth of social media and the personal brand power of stars, the balance of power has shifted. A player like Salah can have a social media following far larger than a football association. His voice has influence extending far beyond the pitch. In that context, a coach trying to assert authority by downplaying that star's importance is a high-risk strategy. It may win the support of part of the public, but it also creates a powerful opponent. I think this is the most important lesson from this case. In modern football, power no longer comes only from position. It comes from mutual respect and the ability to build relationships. A coach can order a player to run a certain way, but cannot order a player to respect him. That respect must be built, and it begins with how the coach treats and speaks about the player. In the Egypt national team's case, the biggest question is not who will win the argument between Abdel Hamid and Hossam Hassan. The biggest question is whether the team can find a balance between respecting a global superstar and maintaining collective spirit. That is a hard equation, and how it is solved will determine the team's future in the coming years. One thing I have always believed after years of observing football: successful collectives are those that know how to respect difference. They do not try to level everyone, but create an environment where each person can perform at their best, while still serving a common goal. With a star like Salah, that means acknowledging his calibre and designing an environment that lets him shine, without harming the collective's cohesion. This is a challenge any team with a superstar must face. And how they solve it is often the deciding factor between success and failure. Teams that succeed in managing superstars are those that understand that the greatness of an individual and the strength of the collective can complement each other, rather than necessarily being opposed. When Abdel Hamid spoke out, he was not only defending Salah as a player. He was defending a vision of football where exceptional talents are treasured and where leaders understand that their true strength lies in lifting others, not in asserting themselves. That is a vision I share. And that is why, even though I only followed the case through clips, I still find it worth analysing. Because behind words that seem like mere sparring lie deep questions about how we understand leadership, respect, and the responsibility of those in positions of power. This story is not over. It will continue on the pitch, in press conferences, and in the minds of millions of Egyptian fans. And I will keep following, not as someone seeking drama, but as an observer who wants to understand why some collectives grow and others fall apart. Because in stories like this, we can see lessons applicable to every level of football, from the biggest stadiums to empty training grounds. Perhaps the last thing worth saying is this: in football, results can mask many problems, but they cannot mask them forever. Over time, problems in people management and communication always find a way to surface. And when they do, the question is not only who is right or wrong, but what lesson can be drawn so that similar situations do not repeat. For the Egypt national team, that lesson may be the necessity of building a professional communications structure, where statements are carefully considered and stars are treated with the respect they deserve. That is an investment, not a cost. And footballing nations that understand this tend to reap more sustainable rewards. As for those of us who watch football from the outside, perhaps this story reminds us that football is not only what happens in 90 minutes. It is also what happens in the dressing room, in the press room, and in the relationships between people. And sometimes, the moments that shape a team's history are not goals, but words. So what is being recorded right now? Perhaps a chapter about how Egyptian football learns to treat its greatest asset. And like every chapter in history, it will have heroes, villains, and lessons for the generations that follow. I will return to this story when there are new developments. But whatever the outcome, one thing is clear: the moment Gamal Abdel Hamid spoke out has become a landmark, a point from which people are forced to ask questions about how the Egypt national team is being run. And those questions, though sometimes uncomfortable, are exactly what is needed for football to progress.