The Football Association of Ireland is experiencing what can only be described as an existential spine crisis. Thirty-nine signatories—including former manager Brian Kerr—have issued an open letter demanding the FAI boycott upcoming Nations League fixtures against Israel, and the moral weight of this decision has apparently bent the organization into a question mark.

Let’s be clear about what we’re witnessing here: a football association is being asked to make geopolitical decisions by people whose primary expertise is remembering which foot to kick with. The letter, signed by former players and managers, treats the scheduling of two football matches as though the FAI had personally drafted the Oslo Accords and gotten them spectacularly wrong.

The urgency is almost touching. While the world processes ongoing conflicts, economic instability, and the slow boil of climate catastrophe, we have found the real emergency: the FAI’s “backbone.” Not their financial planning. Not their youth development infrastructure. Their backbone. As in, their moral spine. As in, the thing that would allow them to tell UEFA, “No, actually, we’re not playing.” The letter essentially reads like a ransom note written by people who have never actually tried to negotiate with international sports bodies.

What’s particularly delicious is the implication that if the FAI simply possessed more backbone—if only they were braver, more principled—they could solve this through football. Two Nations League matches. Two. The suggestion is that canceling them would constitute a meaningful political act rather than, say, a logistical nightmare that would anger UEFA, complicate qualification schedules, and ultimately solve nothing while making Irish football look unreliable.

The signatories are not wrong to care about geopolitical matters. Care away. Write letters to your government. Vote. Donate. Protest in person where it matters. But somewhere in the last decade, we collectively decided that athletes and former athletes are the moral authorities we need to consult on international relations. We treat their social media statements like papal encyclicals. We demand they take stands. We measure their character by their willingness to sacrifice their sport for causes that, let’s be honest, won’t be resolved by a football boycott either way.

The FAI is caught between two groups: one demanding they play, one demanding they don’t. The organization is being asked to choose sides in a conflict where choosing sides through football is approximately as useful as a goalkeeper in a swimming pool.

Here’s what will actually happen: the FAI will either play the matches or they won’t. If they play, 39 people will feel vindicated in their outrage. If they don’t, UEFA will fine them, their ranking will suffer, and the next generation of Irish players will have fewer competitive fixtures. The geopolitical situation will remain unchanged. The Middle East will not be saved or damned by whether Dublin hosts a football match.

But the performance of moral urgency? That will continue. Because we live in an age where the most satisfying thing isn’t solving problems—it’s declaring that you would solve them if only everyone else had the backbone you possess. The FAI’s crisis isn’t really about backbone. It’s about the fact that we’ve decided sports organizations should be the venue for political statements, and then we act shocked when they try to stay neutral.

The real question isn’t whether the FAI has a spine. It’s whether we’ve collectively lost perspective on what sports organizations can actually accomplish, and whether demanding they make geopolitical decisions is brave activism or just expensive theater that makes us feel better while changing nothing.

The letter is signed. The FAI is bent. The matches are scheduled. And somewhere, someone is probably already drafting the counter-letter.