Jeremy Doku's Decision: Family First at the World Cup
Jeremy Doku has already made his decision. Long before any knockout tie, before any pre-match anthem, the Manchester City winger drew a clear line.
Family first.
The 24-year-old is due to become a father next month. If Belgium are still at the World Cup when his wife Shireen goes into labour, he wants to leave the camp and be there for the birth of their first child. No caveats. No half-measures.
"If you ask me what I want, my answer is that nobody wants to miss the birth of their first child," he told Reuters. He knows what that might mean: missing a World Cup quarter-final if Belgium get that far. He also knows how the sport works. "Football involves many other considerations," he said. "I know the federation supports its players and understands their situations. We'll see what we can do."
That tension between the job and the life outside it exploded into public view when L'Equipe presenter France Pierron dismissed the idea of Doku leaving the camp. She called fathers "completely useless" at the time of birth and described childbirth as a "disgusting moment".
The backlash was immediate, and it cut across football’s usual dividing lines. 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 message from the game itself was far more unified: this is bigger than football.
A winger, a World Cup, and a line he won’t cross
On the pitch, Doku has already played his part. He started Belgium’s World Cup with 86 busy minutes in a 1-1 draw against Egypt in Group G, stretching the game in the way only he can. Illness then kept him out of the 0-0 stalemate with Iran.
Off it, his calendar is non-negotiable. Shireen is due during the second week of July, right when the tournament hardens into its decisive phase. For most players, that is the moment careers are defined. For Doku, it might be the moment he walks away.
He is not asking for sympathy. He is asking to be treated as more than a pair of fast feet on a touchline.
England striker Ollie Watkins, a father of two, did not hesitate to back him.
"I think someone labelled it disgusting and I think for a start that's not a way to label a birth," Watkins 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 about whether the sport allows them to be present for the moments that shape the rest of their lives.
Football’s demands, human limits
The Professional Footballers' Association stepped in with a clear stance. The union warned that the demands on elite players cannot come at the expense of "fundamental family moments".
"While every situation is different, we believe players should be supported in balancing their professional responsibilities with important life events," a PFA spokesperson said. "Supporting players as people, not just athletes, is an important part of creating a healthy professional working environment."
That idea – players as people, not just performers – still jars in a sport built on sacrifice, on the old mantra that nothing comes before the team. Yet the reality of modern life keeps forcing its way into the dressing room.
The Fatherhood Institute, which campaigns for men to be hands-on fathers and caregivers, saw something deeper in the reaction to Doku’s stance.
"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 comparison is blunt, but it fits. Players are celebrated, criticised, sold, and traded. Their schedules are dictated by broadcasters and governing bodies. Somewhere in the middle of that, they try to become partners and parents.
The rulebook’s blind spot
Fifa’s regulations on maternity leave are clear. Female footballers are entitled to a minimum of 14 weeks' paid absence, at least eight of those after the birth.
For fathers? Nothing specific.
The absence of any formal paternity framework leaves players and clubs improvising. Some do it quietly. One club kept a car idling outside the stadium for a player whose partner was close to giving birth, ready to whisk him away mid-match. A manager at a top-flight European side once skipped a game entirely to stay with his wife as she prepared to have their second child.
He watched from home, headset on, feeding instructions to his staff. "I was on the earpiece to the bench and 10 minutes into the game she started getting labour pains," recalled the manager, now working in the Championship.
"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.
That final line hangs over Doku’s situation. The game doesn’t stop. But sometimes, players do.
A growing list of choices
Doku would not be a pioneer if he left Belgium’s camp. He would be joining a list.
In 2018, Fabian Delph flew home from England’s World Cup base in Russia for the birth of his daughter, then returned to rejoin the squad. The same year, David Silva stepped away from Manchester City for two matches after his son was born prematurely, with the club’s blessing and the public’s understanding.
When David de Gea’s partner Edurne gave birth to their daughter in 2021, Manchester United granted the goalkeeper extended leave during the Covid pandemic. The club absorbed the disruption. The world understood.
Not everyone has had that option. Just this weekend, Norway defender Leo Ostigard watched his son’s birth on FaceTime while away at the World Cup. Ruben Neves experienced the same distance in January 2021, staring at his phone on Wolves’ team bus after a 1-0 defeat at Crystal Palace as his third child arrived back in Portugal.
Neves had planned to be there. Pandemic travel restrictions made it impossible.
The pattern repeats across sport. Cricketer Jamie Smith missed England’s second Test defeat by New Zealand last week after his daughter was born. In 2010, James Anderson flew home between Ashes Tests in Australia to be present for the birth of his second child, then flew back into the cauldron of an away Ashes series.
Basketball star Anthony Edwards walked out at half-time of an NBA game in 2024 to make it to the hospital in time for his daughter’s arrival. Sir Andy Murray said in 2016 that he would abandon the Australian Open mid-tournament if his wife Kim went into labour. "I'd be way more disappointed winning the Australian Open and not being at the birth of the child," he said.
The choice is not always made in favour of family. Darts player Rob Cross missed the birth of his third child in 2017 to secure qualification for the World Matchplay. His decision was brutally simple: miss this event, risk the career.
Every story, every decision, sits on the same fault line: the point where professional ambition collides with private life.
What Doku’s stance really asks
Strip away the outrage and the noise around Pierron’s comments and Doku’s position is not complicated. He wants to play for his country at a World Cup. He also wants to be there when his first child enters the world.
He is not demanding a new rule or a special exemption. He is asking a question of the sport that employs him.
Does football accept that the men who fill its stadiums are allowed to be fathers at crucial moments in their lives? Or does it still expect them to be those gladiators in Davies’ Colosseum, always available, always performing, no matter what waits for them outside the arena?
Soon enough, Belgium’s World Cup path will answer one part of that story. The other part will be decided in a delivery room, somewhere far from the roar of a stadium, where Jeremy Doku intends to be more than just a winger in red.
