In a sweltering press room at Real Madrid’s Valdebebas training ground, president Florentino Pérez summoned journalists for what became a surreal spectacle. Instead of addressing the club’s on-field struggles or the future of the coaching position, Pérez used the May 12 appearance to declare he was calling club elections—offering no date, no electoral commission, and not even the required resignation to trigger a vote. The 79-year-old’s rambling, hour-plus monologue left the room exchanging uneasy glances, as directors and reporters alike realized they were witnessing a leader veering off script.
From the start, Pérez made clear that sporting matters were off the table. There was no mention of the disappointing season, no reflection on the coach (with José Mourinho’s name notably absent), and no analysis of what went wrong. Instead, the press conference descended into a repetitive, often incoherent tirade against perceived enemies. Pérez’s own staff reportedly tried to end the session, but the president pressed on, insisting “my health is perfect” while gripping a phone and ignoring the papers before him.
Pérez has dominated Real Madrid for decades, essentially running unopposed since 2009 thanks to statutes that require any presidential candidate to be a Spanish citizen, have 20 years of club membership, and provide a bank guarantee of €187 million. These rules have turned elections into formalities—he stood alone in 2009, 2013, 2017, 2021, and 2025. By again announcing elections without a clear timeline, Pérez left many wondering whether any real contest would materialize, or if this was merely a theatrical gesture to reinforce his authority.
The bulk of the outburst targeted the media, which Pérez described as a conspiratorial network working to damage both his reputation and the club. He singled out Spanish digital outlet Relevo, accusing it of being founded solely to attack Madrid before going bankrupt €25 million in debt—a “moral” lesson. He also announced he was canceling his subscription to ABC newspaper after reading aloud a line that called him “tired,” then confronted an ABC journalist in the room who hadn’t written the piece. María José Hostalrich, a reporter from The Guardian, was present and described the scene as one where “questions weren’t answered, they were cues to say the same thing.”
Among the many targets, Pérez revived the unresolved Negreira scandal, the case involving payments by Barcelona to a former refereeing official. While the matter has loomed over Spanish football, Pérez now claimed Real Madrid is preparing a formal dossier to send to UEFA—escalating the club’s institutional response. He even calculated that he had been “robbed of seven leagues,” a statement that, while unverified, underscores his siege mentality and willingness to use the controversy to rally supporters.
The president’s language grew increasingly foreboding as he addressed what he called “internal enemies” and challenged any rival to come forward. “They’re going to have to shoot me, because I have the support of all Madrid’s members,” he said. “I’m going to finish the bad people.” Without naming names, he alluded to a potential challenger with a “South American accent” speaking to major electric companies—possibly businessman Enrique Riquelme—but offered no path for that person to actually run under the club’s restrictive rules.
For Real Madrid, the spectacle raises uncomfortable questions about governance and succession. While Pérez boasted that he runs a “world leader” with €50 billion annual turnover and has won 66 titles across football and basketball, his erratic public presentation suggests a leader increasingly isolated and prone to conspiracy theories. The lack of any concrete election plan means the club remains in a holding pattern, with no clarity on when members might have a say or who might eventually replace a man who has been at the helm for over a decade.
The press conference also highlighted the ambivalent role of the media in Pérez’s world: simultaneously summoned to hear his grievances and then immediately cast as villains. For a club of Madrid’s stature, the president’s raw public airing of grievances—while providing no substantive updates on the team—risks distracting from the urgent footballing decisions that lie ahead this summer. With the season in disarray, a more conventional address about sporting strategy would have been expected.
Ultimately, the hour-long rant left observers with more questions than answers. No election date was set, no electoral process was initiated, and the anticipated explanation for Madrid’s mediocre campaign never came. Pérez’s insistence that “I don’t want to defend myself for myself, I want to defend the institution” felt at odds with a performance that seemed entirely about personal grievance. As the room emptied, the sense lingered that this was less a newsworthy announcement and more a window into the mind of an emperor unwilling to relinquish his throne.
Based on reporting from The Guardian.
