01/09/2026
When conversations quietly began around who should eventually succeed Hugo Broos, with names already circulating in hushed tones among fans and the media, there was one observation I couldn't ignore. I found myself rooting for a âson of the soilâ to take over. The most successful national teams, historically and in the modern game, have overwhelmingly been led by coaches who understand the footballing culture from within.
In fact, the pattern is remarkably consistent at the very highest level. No foreign-born coach has ever won the FIFA World Cup with a nation other than their own in the modern era. When you examine the great dynasties of international football, the trend becomes even more pronounced. Spain's golden era from 2008 to 2012 was masterminded by native tactician. Portugal's Euro triumph and subsequent Nations League success came under Portuguese leadership. France's modern blossom, Germany's efficiency, Italy's tournament pedigree, Brazil's most revered eras and Argentina's recent triumphs, including two Copa América titles and a World Cup, have all been built under coaches deeply familiar with their country's footballing identity.
The same story is increasingly evident in Africa. Morocco's renaissance has been shaped by local coaching influence, while Egypt's iconic AFCON three-peat was masterminded by Hassan Shehata, one of their own. Senegal's rise to continental and global competitiveness has also been shaped by Pape Thiaw. Even Cape Verde, one of the continent's most structurally impressive and cohesive sides, has benefited from Pedro Brito's intimate understanding of the nation's footballing identity.
This isn't to suggest that foreign coaches cannot succeed with national teams. They can, and there are obvious counterexamples of foreign managers achieving meaningful success. But international football is a uniquely different environment. There is limited training time, little opportunity to completely reconstruct a footballing identity and an enormous psychological component to managing players who aren't merely representing a club, but a country, its history and its people.
That is where the âson of the soilâ argument becomes compelling. A local coach doesn't necessarily possess superior tactical knowledge simply by virtue of being local. Rather, they potentially arrive with an inherent understanding of the country's footballing ecosystem: the player pool, development structures, domestic league, footballing traditions, expectations and, importantly, the psychological rhythm of the nation.
For Bafana Bafana, that mattered. I felt that the next coach shouldn't merely be someone capable of selecting the best players and arranging them tactically. He should understand what South African football is, where it has come from, where its strengths lie and what kind of football our players are naturally equipped to execute. There is something powerful about a coach who doesn't have to learn the country's football culture from the outside because he has lived it himself.
Perhaps that is why I said, when the time eventually comes for Broos to leave, I was earnestly hoping South Africa looks inward first. Not out of romanticism or nationalism, but because the evidence suggests that international football is often at its most powerful when the tactical brain guiding the team is also connected to the footballing soul of the country.
