Jeremy Doku Prioritizes Family Over World Cup Participation

Jeremy Doku has already made his World Cup decision. It has nothing to do with tactics, formations or who Belgium draw in the knockouts.

It’s about being there when his first child is born.

The Manchester City winger is due to become a father next month and has told Belgium he wants to leave the camp to be at the birth, even if the Red Devils are still deep in the tournament. In a sport that often demands total sacrifice, Doku has drawn a line.

“If you ask me what I want, my answer is that nobody wants to miss the birth of their first child,” the 24-year-old told Reuters. He knows the stakes. He also knows where his priorities lie.

Family first.

A TV rant, a backlash, and a swift apology

That stance should be uncontroversial. It wasn’t.

On French TV, L'Equipe presenter France Pierron launched a remarkable attack, calling a father “completely useless” at the time of birth and describing the moment itself as “disgusting”. The comments landed like a brick.

The response was instant and unforgiving. From football, from fans, from outside the sport. L'Equipe moved quickly, issuing a statement saying Pierron’s remarks were “very far removed” from its values. The presenter apologised as well, and reports in France say she will not present her show on Monday.

The debate, though, had already broken out far beyond one TV studio.

Doku’s dilemma

On the pitch, Doku remains central to Belgium’s hopes. He played 86 minutes of their opening 1-1 draw with Egypt in Group G, stretching defences with the same direct running that has lit up the Premier League. Illness kept him out of the 0-0 draw with Iran, but when fit he is a starter, a difference-maker.

His wife Shireen is due to give birth in the second week of July. If Belgium progress, that could mean a World Cup quarter-final without one of their most dangerous wide players.

Doku understands the tension between personal life and professional obligation.

“I also know that 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.”

So the calculation becomes brutally simple. Another World Cup knockout tie, or the first breath of your first child.

Teammates in spirit

Doku is not alone in his thinking. Across the England camp, Ollie Watkins listened to the criticism and pushed back hard.

“I think someone labelled it disgusting and I think for a start that's not a way to label a birth,” the England striker 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, a father of two, cut through the noise. This isn’t about luxury or indulgence. It’s about a moment you cannot replay.

Football’s demands, human limits

The Professional Footballers' Association stepped in as well, making the point that the game’s relentless schedule cannot simply bulldoze over lives.

“Demands placed on players should not be at the expense of fundamental family moments,” a PFA spokesperson said. “While every situation is different, we believe players should be supported in balancing their professional responsibilities with important life events.

“Supporting players as people, not just athletes, is an important part of creating a healthy professional working environment.”

That word – people – sits at the heart of this. For many supporters, players exist for 90 minutes at a time. For clubs, they are assets. Contracts. Numbers on a wage bill. But somewhere between the training ground and the tunnel, they go home to partners, children, parents.

The Fatherhood Institute, which advocates for men as active, present caregivers, saw something deeper in the reaction to Doku.

“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.”

A rulebook with a gap

Fifa’s regulations are clear on one side of the parental divide. Female footballers are entitled to a minimum of 14 weeks’ paid maternity leave, eight of those after the birth.

For fathers, there is nothing specific. No standard. No mandated time. Just a gap where policy should be, leaving clubs and national teams to improvise and players to negotiate their own boundaries.

Sometimes that means compromise. One club had a car waiting outside the stadium for a player whose partner could go into labour at any moment, ready to whisk him away the second the final whistle blew. At a top-flight European side, a manager skipped a match entirely to stay with his wife as she prepared to give birth to their second child.

He watched the game on television, earpiece in, relaying instructions to his staff from the living room.

“I was on the earpiece to the bench and 10 minutes into the game she started getting labour pains,” said 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.”

The story is almost absurd in its split focus – a penalty one moment, a delivery room the next – but it underlines how football tries to squeeze life into its margins.

Others who walked away – and those who couldn’t

Doku would not be breaking new ground by leaving a major tournament or key fixtures to be at a birth.

In 2018, Fabian Delph flew out of England’s World Cup base in Russia to return home for the birth of his daughter. Manchester City gave David Silva time away from the club that same year when his son arrived prematurely. In 2021, David de Gea was granted extended leave by Manchester United during the Covid pandemic after his partner Edurne gave birth to their daughter.

For every player who makes it home in time, there is another who doesn’t.

This weekend, Norway defender Leo Ostigard watched the birth of his son on FaceTime while at the World Cup. Ruben Neves did the same in January 2021, watching on his phone from Wolves’ team bus after a 1-0 defeat at Crystal Palace. His wife had returned to Portugal to be with her doctor, but travel restrictions during the pandemic meant Neves could not join her.

He became a father again through a screen.

Across sport, the same conflict plays out. Cricketer Jamie Smith missed England's second Test defeat by New Zealand last week after the birth of his daughter. Sir James Anderson once flew back between Ashes Tests in Australia in 2010 to be there when his second child arrived.

In the NBA, Anthony Edwards left at half-time of a game in 2024 to make it to the hospital for the birth of his daughter. Sir Andy Murray said in 2016 he would have walked away from the Australian Open if his wife Kim had gone into labour.

“I'd be way more disappointed winning the Australian Open and not being at the birth of the child,” he said then.

Not everyone made that choice. In 2017, darts player Rob Cross missed the birth of his third child as he tried to qualify for the World Matchplay. A decision, a sacrifice, and one he has to live with, not the fans.

A different kind of pressure

This is the world Doku now navigates. On one side, a World Cup and the expectations of a nation. On the other, a delivery room and a moment that will never come again.

The winger has been clear: if it comes to it, he wants to go. The reaction to France Pierron’s comments suggests the sport, slowly, is beginning to accept that choice as not only understandable, but necessary.

Belgium may yet face a knockout tie without one of their brightest talents. If that happens, the headlines will talk about tactics, replacements, what Roberto Martínez or his successor decides to do. The debate will rage over whether they missed his pace, his dribbling, his spark.

But the real question hangs over something else entirely: in an era of packed calendars and endless demands, how long can elite football pretend that the biggest moments in life belong on the bench?