Jeremy Doku's Choice: Family First Over World Cup
Jeremy Doku has already made his decision. Long before any knockout tie, any team meeting, any tactical briefing, the Manchester City winger drew his line in the sand.
Family first.
The 24-year-old is due to become a father next month and has told Belgium he wants to leave the World Cup camp to be at the birth – even if his country are still in the tournament. For Doku, the choice is simple. The consequences are anything but.
A World Cup, a due date, and a debate
Doku started Belgium’s campaign with 86 energetic minutes in a 1-1 draw against Egypt in Group G, then missed the goalless stalemate with Iran through illness. His wife Shireen is expected to give birth in the second week of July. If Belgium progress, that could collide directly with a quarter-final.
"If you ask me what I want, my answer is that nobody wants to miss the birth of their first child," he told Reuters. Clear. Uncomplicated. Human.
Then reality bites.
"But I also know that football involves many other considerations. I know the federation supports its players and understands their situations. We'll see what we can do."
That tension – between the demands of elite sport and the pull of home – has ignited a row that spilled far beyond Belgium’s camp.
A TV remark that backfired
On French television, L'Equipe presenter France Pierron sparked outrage when she dismissed a father’s role at birth as "completely useless" and described the moment itself as "disgusting".
The backlash was instant and emphatic.
L'Equipe issued a statement apologising, stressing her words were "very far removed" from the channel’s values. Pierron apologised as well, and reports in France said she would not present her show on Monday.
The reaction from across football – and outside it – was united. The idea that a father’s presence is irrelevant jarred with a sport increasingly aware of players as people, not just performers.
Players rally around Doku
Ollie Watkins did not need a script. The England striker, a father of two, spoke from experience.
"I think someone labelled it disgusting and I think for a start that's not a way to label a birth," he said. "I've seen what my wife had to go through and that was quite smooth sailing but I know family members and friends that haven't had it that way.
"It only happens once – welcoming your first child to the world – and it is a blessing. There's a lot of times where you're away from family and friends during the season and it's very difficult, so to miss that would be tough and I see where he's coming from."
Watkins’ words cut through the noise. This is not a theoretical debate for players; it is a lived reality, squeezed into a calendar that rarely pauses for anything.
The Professional Footballers’ Association backed that stance, calling out the cost of relentless demands.
"Demands placed on players should not be at the expense of fundamental family moments," a PFA spokesperson said. "While every situation is different, we believe players should be supported in balancing their professional responsibilities with important life events.
"Supporting players as people, not just athletes, is an important part of creating a healthy professional working environment."
Gladiators, not machines
The Fatherhood Institute, which campaigns for men to be active, hands-on parents, saw something deeper in the reaction to Doku.
"It makes me think of gladiators in the Colosseum," deputy chief executive Jeremy Davies told BBC Sport. "We want these men to be these heroic figures who exist for our entertainment. They get paid lots of money but there are some things that are worth a lot more."
The image is stark, but it lands. Stadiums replace amphitheatres, cameras replace crowds, yet the expectation often feels the same: perform, regardless of what’s happening at home.
A gap in the rulebook
At governing-body level, the imbalance is obvious.
Fifa regulations state maternity leave for female footballers should be "a minimum period of 14 weeks' paid absence" – eight of those weeks after the birth. It is a clear framework, written into the rules.
There is nothing equivalent on paternity leave.
So players in the men’s game improvise. They juggle. Clubs and managers make ad hoc calls, some compassionate, some pragmatic, all shaped by the fixture list.
One club, aware a player’s partner was close to giving birth, kept a car idling outside the ground during a match, ready to whisk him away the moment the phone rang.
Another story comes from a manager now working in the Championship. When his wife was about to have their second child, he skipped travelling to a top-flight European game. He watched from home instead, wired into the dugout by earpiece.
"I was on the earpiece to the bench and 10 minutes into the game she started getting labour pains," he recalled. "We were 2-1 up at half-time but she was getting more into labour. I rang the hospital to say we were going to come in, but had to stop because we got a penalty.
"We scored, I knew we won the game, and we came right in. Our daughter was born two hours later."
It's less common with managers because they are typically older but the game doesn't stop... you need to win the next game.
The line is brutally honest. The game doesn’t stop. Yet life doesn’t wait either.
Footballers choosing the delivery room
Doku’s stance is not new, even if the noise around it feels louder.
In 2018, Fabian Delph left England’s World Cup camp in Russia to return home for the birth of his daughter. The stakes were high, the stage global, but Gareth Southgate and his staff backed him.
David Silva missed two matches for Manchester City the same year after the premature arrival of his son. His absences were treated not as a lack of commitment, but as a necessary step for a father dealing with a fragile situation.
David de Gea was granted extended leave by Manchester United in 2021, during the Covid pandemic, when his partner Edurne gave birth to their daughter. Travel restrictions and quarantine rules turned a personal moment into a logistical challenge, but the club still gave him space.
These decisions did not derail careers. They did not end seasons. They simply acknowledged that some moments sit above the sport.
And those who watched on a screen
Not everyone has been able to step away.
This weekend, Norway defender Leo Ostigard watched the birth of his son on FaceTime while at the World Cup. A once-in-a-lifetime moment, reduced to a phone screen in a team environment he could not leave.
Ruben Neves knows that feeling. In January 2021, the Wolves midfielder watched the birth of his third child on his phone, on the team bus, after a 1-0 defeat at Crystal Palace. His wife had gone back to Portugal to be with her doctor. Neves had planned to join her, but pandemic travel restrictions closed that door.
The modern player’s reality: goals, defeats, long journeys, and a hospital room thousands of miles away.
Beyond football: the same choice, the same pull
This is not just football’s dilemma.
Last week, cricketer Jamie Smith missed England's second Test defeat by New Zealand after the birth of his daughter. A Test match can define reputations, yet Smith stepped away without hesitation.
Sir James Anderson once did the opposite journey. In 2010, England’s record wicket-taker flew back between Ashes Tests in Australia to be at the birth of his second child, then returned to the cauldron.
In the NBA, Anthony Edwards walked out at half-time of a game in 2024 so he could be there when his daughter was born. The stat sheet paused; real life didn’t.
Tennis has wrestled with this too. In 2016, Sir Andy Murray made his priorities plain at the Australian Open. Asked what he would do if his wife Kim went into labour, he did not hesitate.
"I'd be way more disappointed winning the Australian Open and not being at the birth of the child," he said.
Not everyone has taken that route. Darts player Rob Cross missed the birth of his third child in 2017 to qualify for the World Matchplay. A ruthless choice, made in a ruthless sport.
What Doku’s decision really asks
Strip away the noise, and Doku’s stance forces football to look at itself.
Is a player’s value measured only in minutes played and trophies lifted? Or in the way the sport allows him to live the rest of his life?
He has not issued ultimatums. He has not courted drama. He has simply said what many in his position feel: "Nobody wants to miss the birth of their first child."
Belgium will plan, the federation will talk, and a compromise may yet emerge. But the question lingers over every packed schedule and every tournament squeezed into the calendar.
When the call comes from the delivery room, what – and who – really matters most?
