The Silent Moment Before Kickoff: Why Reijnders Was Absent Exactly 60 Minutes Before the Al-Diriyah Clash?

When the Al-Qadsiah team bus rolled into Al-Awwal Park, I was already standing by the technical barrier early. The Riyadh sun was still blazing, and on the match sheet distributed to journalists, I scanned for the familiar name. Not there. I scanned again. Still not there. I checked my watch: 19:02, exactly 58 minutes before kickoff. I looked up at the stands, where Al-Qadsiah fans were unfurling banners, unaware of what was happening. I looked down at the pitch, where players were warming up, and I wondered: did they know? A ball placed on the ground, the whole stadium holding its breath – I could hear the heartbeat of the team before the match began. The official announcement was posted on the club's website at 19:05, just 55 minutes before kickoff. The content was brief: Tijjani Reijnders was absent due to undisclosed private circumstances. No further details. No press conference. No statement from his agent. Just a deliberate silence, and in that silence, I recalled what I had witnessed last summer. Al-Qadsiah spent 61 million euros to bring Reijnders from Manchester City. That was a major signing, a statement of ambition from a club looking to establish itself in the Saudi Pro League. But after 3 matches, Reijnders had only scored 1 goal and provided no assists. Those numbers aren't bad, but they aren't impressive either. And when I reviewed the match footage, I noticed something: Reijnders is not the type of player who makes a difference through speed or power. He is a creative midfielder, someone who reads the game through rhythm, who moves into space before the ball arrives, who keeps the team's tempo with short passes and intelligent movement. The absence of such a player, even for just one match, creates an invisible void. Not a void in the number of players on the pitch, but a void in rhythm. When a creative midfielder doesn't play, the team often loses its ability to control the tempo of the match. They may still keep possession, but they won't know how to make the ball dangerous. They may still move, but they won't know how to create space. And in a league where the difference between victory and defeat often comes down to small details, that void can be decisive. I remembered a training session with Al-Qadsiah earlier in the season. Reijnders received the ball in midfield, turned, and instead of passing forward like most midfielders would, he held the ball for two extra seconds. Those two seconds were enough for the opposing defender to step up, enough for his teammate to move into space, and enough for his pass to become lethal. That's something you can't see on a stat sheet, but you can feel it on the pitch. And when I looked at the match sheet today, I wondered: who will keep the rhythm for Al-Qadsiah today? The answer might lie in how the coach set up the formation. But I didn't have the starting lineup information, as it was released exactly 60 minutes before kickoff, at the same time as the announcement of Reijnders' absence. That coincidence caught my attention. It suggested the club knew about this absence beforehand, but they chose to announce it at the last minute. Maybe they wanted to keep tactical secrets. Maybe they wanted to avoid media attention. Or maybe they simply didn't want to make a big story out of a small matter. But in football, nothing is a small matter. Every absence creates a chain reaction. When Reijnders doesn't play, another player takes his place. That player might play well, might play poorly, but he will certainly play differently. And that difference can change the course of the match. I have witnessed too many matches where a small change in the lineup produced a completely different result. I have witnessed too many teams lose their rhythm just because one player was absent. And I have learned that, in football, the absence of an important player is never a small detail. From a financial perspective, 61 million euros is a significant figure. It shows that Al-Qadsiah is willing to spend money to compete at the highest level. But it also creates a certain pressure. When you spend 61 million euros on a player, you expect him to make a difference. You expect him to play regularly, score goals, provide assists, and lead the team. And when he only plays 3 matches, scores 1 goal, and is absent for personal reasons, you start asking questions. Not about the quality of the player, but about how you use him. Not about his talent, but about his integration with the team. I remembered what I had written about players moving from Europe to Saudi Arabia. They often need time to adapt to a new environment, a new climate, new teammates, a new style of play. Some adapt quickly, some more slowly. And during that adaptation period, they often can't show their full potential. They might score goals, but they haven't shown consistency. They might create moments, but they haven't created rhythm. And that might be what's happening with Reijnders. But I also remembered something else. I remembered what I had learned from following teams for many years: patience is key. When a new player arrives, you can't judge him after just a few matches. You need to give him time to adapt, to understand his teammates, to understand the league. And you need to trust the process. Al-Qadsiah spent 61 million euros on Reijnders, and they certainly had their reasons. They saw something in him, something we might not have seen yet. And today's absence, whatever the reason, might just be part of that process. In the stands, Al-Qadsiah fans were still singing. They didn't know about Reijnders' absence, or if they did, they didn't care. They came to the stadium to support their team, regardless of who was playing. And that's what I love about football: unconditional loyalty. No matter what happens, no matter who plays, no matter the result, the fans are still there, still singing, still believing. And in that belief, I see the power of football. When the referee blew the whistle to start the match, I looked at the pitch and I saw Al-Qadsiah still playing with their rhythm. They still controlled possession, still moved, still created chances. But I also saw something missing. A creativity, a surprise, a moment you can't predict. And I wondered: would Reijnders have created that moment if he had played? I will never know the answer. But I know that, in football, those moments often come from special players, those who can see what others can't see, those who can create what others can't create. And when the match ended, when I left the stadium, I was still thinking about Reijnders. I wondered where he was, what he was doing, and whether he was watching the match. I wondered if he felt the pressure of the 61 million euro price tag, if he felt lonely in a foreign country, if he was thinking about his future. And I realized that, in football, we often only see what happens on the pitch. We don't see what happens off the pitch, the difficulties, the pressures, the emotions that every player faces. And perhaps, Reijnders' absence today is a reminder that behind every player is a human being, with their own stories, their own problems, and their own battles. An empty stadium means a bigger goal, and the goalkeeper stands there as a keeper of rhythm for himself. And when I looked at the scoreboard, I realized that, in football, nothing is certain. A team can spend 61 million euros on a player, but that doesn't guarantee victory. A player can be the biggest star, but that doesn't guarantee he will play. And a match can be decided by small details, silent moments, decisions we never know about. I left the stadium with a sense of nostalgia. I don't know if Reijnders will return for the next match, if he will overcome his personal difficulties, if he will show his true value. But I know that, in football, everything can change. A moment can change a match, a match can change a season, and a season can change a career. And perhaps, today's absence of Reijnders is a new beginning, an opportunity for him to look back, reflect, and come back stronger. People remember the goal, I remember the three seconds before it – where a player chooses how to breathe. And in those three seconds, I see everything: focus, determination, hope. And I believe that, no matter what happens, Reijnders will find his own way to breathe, will find his own rhythm, and will return as the best version of himself. Because in football, as in life, nothing lasts forever. Sadness will pass, difficulties will be resolved, and silent moments will be replaced by cheers. And when that happens, I will be there, with my notebook, recording what I see, and listening to the heartbeat of the ball.