If there were a World Cup for flattering powerful men, Gianni Infantino might already be polishing the trophy.

The FIFA president has become so adept at appearing beside heads of state that one wonders whether he sees himself as football’s chief executive or its chief diplomat.

Wherever political power gathers, Infantino rarely seems far behind beaming for the cameras with the enthusiasm of a man who has mistaken access for achievement.

His relationship with Donald Trump has become the latest exhibit in this travelling gallery of political proximity. Of course, the United States is hosting the 2026 World Cup, and any FIFA president would be expected to work with the White House. Nobody seriously disputes that. The question is why professional cooperation so often appears wrapped in such conspicuous admiration.

Diplomacy is supposed to involve maintaining enough distance to protect an institution’s independence. Infantino’s version sometimes resembles a masterclass in enthusiastic deference.

Critics have not accused him merely of being pragmatic; they have questioned whether he has become too eager to celebrate political power for its own sake.

The pattern is familiar. Before Trump, there were warm relationships with leaders in Qatar, Saudi Arabia and elsewhere. Different flags, different ideologies, different controversies but remarkably consistent smiles. The message appears refreshingly uncomplicated: governments may come and go, principles may be debated, but FIFA’s president is always ready for another gormless grin and a handshake.

It is almost as though Infantino believes football’s greatest asset is not its billions of supporters but its ability to orbit power. Every summit becomes a stage. Every state visit becomes another opportunity for carefully choreographed symbolism. Every photograph whispers the same message: look who I’m standing next to.

The irony is difficult to ignore. FIFA routinely lectures the football world about unity, inclusion and keeping politics out of sport. Yet its own president often appears irresistibly drawn toward the political spotlight. Football, it seems, should stay out of politics unless politics offers excellent television coverage and a prominent place in the front row.

Defenders insist this is simply how global sport works. World Cups require governments. Governments require diplomacy. Fair enough. But diplomacy does not demand applause. It does not require the tone of a grateful courtier addressing a generous monarch. Institutions earn respect by demonstrating independence, not by appearing dazzled by those who temporarily occupy positions of power.

Perhaps this is the defining feature of the Infantino era. FIFA no longer merely governs football; it performs power. The president’s calendar increasingly resembles that of an international statesman, while the game’s recurring problems governance, transparency, player welfare and competitive integrity often struggle to command the same public attention.

History is usually kind to administrators who leave behind stronger institutions than they inherited. It is less generous to those remembered mainly for cultivating the powerful. If Gianni Infantino wants to be seen as the guardian of the world’s game rather than its most enthusiastic political networker, he may eventually need to discover that the most valuable seat in football is not the one closest to a president.

After all, the real VIPs are not in the presidential box. They are the billions of supporters who pay to watch the game not the performance in the hospitality suite.