World Cup Story Feed / 世界杯事情流
World Cup Story Feed / 世界杯事情流
Tunisia suffered a crushing 1 5 defeat to Sweden in their first World Cup Group F match. Within 24 hours, a farce unfolded on Instagram with posts being published and then deleted. Head coach Lamouchi was dismissed, and 57 year old French veteran Hervé Renard urgently flew to Monterrey to take charge, with only six days remaining until the crucial match against Japan.
At Guadalupe, Monterrey, Mexico, the Swedes showed no mercy to Tunisia.
The final whistle blew, and the scoreboard read: 1-5.
Alexander Isak and Viktor Gyökeres, two Nordic strike forces, took turns firing. For a Premier League striker who can net 20+ goals in a single season, Isak found Tunisia's loose, defenseless backline like a practice match. Gyökeres was even more ruthless, bagging a brace. Yassine Ayari, a midfielder, scored a brace himself, and Mattias Svanberg added the final dagger before the end, etching the scoreline into a number that made every Tunisian fan want to shut off their screens.
Tunisia's only bright spot all match was a consolation goal from former Arsenal defender Omar Rekik, a goal that felt like a token gesture. A defender stepping up to score when his team needed it most might sound like a heroic story, but in a 1-5 loss, it's like finding a coin in the rubble—it can't buy anything back.
The goalkeeper charged out at the wrong moments, the defenders collectively dozed off during crucial tackles, and the entire backline seemed to hit the pause button. Every Swedish through ball landed perfectly in the no-man's land between Tunisia's two center-backs, every second-ball recovery was a step slow, and every clearance off a high ball went straight back into their own half. This wasn't tactics being broken down; this was collective soul departure.
To make matters worse, just a month earlier, Tunisia had lost 0-5 to Belgium in a friendly. Two matches, 10 goals conceded, equal to their total goals conceded in the previous 10 international matches combined.
This isn't a collapse; this is a landslide.
The aftershocks of the landslide were more thrilling than the match itself—less than 24 hours after the game, the Tunisian Football Federation's official Instagram blew up. A statement that should have announced history was posted, then quietly deleted within hours. The entire football-watching public in North Africa froze: Did they change the coach or not?
Lamouchi took over in January, replacing the sacked Sami Trabelsi.
All told, five months.
Five matches, one win, one draw, three losses. The only victory was a 1-0 win over Haiti, which in the context of Tunisian football is essentially meaningless.
The Frenchman Lamouchi was a member of the 1998 World Cup-winning French squad as a player, but ultimately missed the final roster and never lifted the trophy. At the peak of his playing career, fate played its cruelest joke on him—he was closer to that trophy than most players who never made a World Cup, but he could never cross the threshold.
His managerial career has taken him through lower leagues and African teams, from Sochaux in Ligue 1 to the African circuit, and then in 2014, he took Ivory Coast to Brazil for a World Cup group stage exit. Hired by the Tunisian federation, he was expected to help fill the void left by the post-World Cup qualifying slump.
Whether he filled that void is unknown, but he certainly dug another canyon.
After the 0-5 loss to Belgium in the pre-tournament friendly, Lamouchi was already sitting on a volcano. His in-game management, tactical choices, and rotation rhythm were all roasted by public opinion. The local Tunisian fans' reaction was blunt: Get out.
With another 1-5 loss in the opening match, the fuse was fully lit.
The real Achilles' heel of this team is that collective brain freeze on defense, that "I don't know what I'm doing" mindset. Two 5-0 losses and a 1-5, 11 goals conceded in three matches—the numbers are there, and it's tough for any coach. Lamouchi can be the scapegoat, but the hole under the pot isn't something you fix by just swapping out the person.
Five months ago, he was brought in to put out a fire; five months later, he himself was the one being cremated. This kind of twist of fate, in the world football script, is written harsher than any novel.
The most exciting drama unfolded after the match.
French journalist Romain Molina broke the news: The Tunisian Football Federation had posted an announcement on its official social media—by mutual agreement, they had officially dismissed head coach Sabri Lamouchi. The interim replacement was technical director Mondher Kebaïer.
The announcement was posted.
Then what?
It was deleted.
The Instagram post vanished without a trace. The federation's executive committee was reportedly confused internally—the nominal president, Moëz Nasri, was unreachable, while the vice president with real power, Houssem Jenayah, was still hesitating. Sports director Ziad Jaziri strongly advocated for the official sacking, but the process halted midway.
This raises a very Tunisian question: A federation can't even complete the most basic administrative process of firing its own coach? What have they been doing all year?
Even more absurd: After the post was deleted, Lamouchi himself continued to lead team training.
Yes, you read that correctly. The official announcement was deleted, and the coach was still on the sidelines, blowing his whistle, as if nothing had happened. When the team returned from the training ground to the hotel, Lamouchi didn't even show up—he wasn't at any official events, nor did he return to the hotel with the team. The French coach's presence in Monterrey had become so thin it was nearly transparent.
According to M6, some high-ranking Tunisian federation officials threatened: If Lamouchi stays, we leave. Team manager Khemais Hamzaoui was accused of "wandering around like a tourist," failing to even oversee the first team's daily affairs. Calling a manager a "tourist" is basically a direct insult for being a sinecure.
This internal division playing out during a major international tournament is a disaster in itself. For whom are the players playing out there? For a coach who is supposedly already dismissed but not quite? For a federation that posts an announcement today and deletes it tomorrow? For a president who is missing in action?
It wasn't until the next day (June 16) that the Tunisian Federation officially announced Lamouchi's dismissal.
The command center of a national team can be this chaotic.
And buried in the middle is another unexploded bomb: Lamouchi's son.
Tunisian local radio station Mosaique FM broke another story: Lamouchi's son was traveling with the team but held no official position.
What does that mean? A national team participating in a World Cup, with the coach's family member mixed in "unofficially," flying together, staying together, going in and out of training grounds together. In the highly image-conscious world of football, this operation itself is a ticking time bomb.
After the match, the younger Lamouchi got into a confrontation with an angry Tunisian fan. Security intervened, and the fan was lightly injured. Yardbarker's report directly listed this incident as one of the key drivers for Lamouchi's dismissal.
A coach who can't even keep his own family in check can hardly command 22 men to play respectably under the World Cup spotlight. What do the players think when they see the coach's son wandering the locker room hallway? What do sponsors think? What do the fans think when they see the coach's son loitering on match day?
Lamouchi himself said he was "disappointed" and "called on the team to respond."
But what responded to him was that posted-and-deleted Instagram post from the Tunisian Federation.
That mess with his son shoved this team, already on the fire, even deeper into the frying pan.
Six days later, the second group match against Japan awaits. Tunisia has no time for a leisurely coaching search.
They chose Renard.
The 57-year-old French veteran was only sacked by the Saudi national team in April. Two months ago, he was wandering the Middle East; on June 16, he was at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, waiting to board a flight to Monterrey. From the Saudi desert to Mexico's humidity, Renard's geographical span in the last six months is a road movie in itself.
Upon arriving in Monterrey, Renard said: "No need to overthink it."
This veteran's international coaching resume reads like an African football chronicle. In 2012, he led Zambia to shock the world and win the Africa Cup of Nations. In 2015, he led Ivory Coast to another AFCON title. Two trophies, both as underdogs—this is Renard's biggest label: a specialist in defying odds and tackling the impossible. He coached Morocco at the 2018 Russia World Cup, led Saudi Arabia to a stunning 2-1 upset over Lionel Messi's Argentina in the 2022 Qatar World Cup group stage, took over the French women's team in 2023, and left after the 2024 Paris Olympics.
Three World Cup appearances as a head coach.
A firefighter coach taking over a team that just lost 1-5 at the World Cup, with a nonexistent defense and a simmering locker room, with just six days to prepare. For anyone else, it's Mission Impossible. For Renard, it's his comfort zone.
Germany's Bild newspaper even noted: This guy looks like Jaime Lannister from Game of Thrones, with that flowing blonde hair. This joke was already made when he coached Morocco in 2018, and it's been resurrected for the 2026 World Cup. The Lannister of North African football—this title is more viral than any trophy.
Renard brought his own team this time: video analyst Nicolas Baudeuin, fitness coach David Barriac, and goalkeeper coach Gilles Le Floch. The whole crew parachuted into Monterrey. Lamouchi's assistant Olivier Pedemas was terminated on the spot, with no grace period.
The only one retained is former Sunderland player and Tunisian legend Wahbi Khazri. He was originally invited by the Tunisian Federation to assist Lamouchi; now he stays to support Renard. Khazri's weight in the Tunisian locker room is equal to Renard's stabilizing presence on the sideline.
Tunisian Federation President Moëz Nasri personally confirmed the appointment. Renard was expected to lead his first training session at the Monterrey Football Club training center at 8 PM local time on June 16. One training session, six days—the distance between them is called either a miracle or a joke.
June 21, BBVA Stadium, Monterrey: Tunisia vs. Japan.
This is Renard's debut and Tunisia's do-or-die match.
Lose, and they're almost certainly eliminated. Sweden already has three points, and the Netherlands is one of the tournament's favorites, with Van Dijk, De Jong, and Gakpo, a string of players who can score in various ways. For Tunisia to advance, Renard needs to piece together a team that is defensively broken and mentally shattered in just six days.
It's almost an impossible task.
Historically, mid-tournament coaching changes at the World Cup: three teams tried it in 1998, and none succeeded. The most recent "successful change" was Ivory Coast winning the 2023 Africa Cup of Nations under interim coach Emerse Faé—but that's AFCON, not the World Cup. The margin for error in continental competitions is entirely different from the big stage.
Tunisia itself has fallen into this trap before. At the 1998 France World Cup, they sacked Henryk Kasperczak mid-tournament. After the change, they still got eliminated. The script from 28 years ago looks like it was written by the same author—the difference being that back then, they at least posted the announcement and that was it; this year, they posted, deleted, and reposted, adding an Instagram debacle.
According to reporters' statistics, Tunisia became only the second team in World Cup history to change head coach after just one match. The first was Scotland in 1954.
A rarity not seen in 72 years, and it falls on this Tunisian team.
Even more daunting is Japan. Even with Renard's ability, he's not facing a team that's given up; he's facing an Asian technical side known for discipline, possession, and set pieces. Japan drew 1-1 in its opening match against a more favored team and will have a psychological edge against the chaotic Tunisians. Renard must, in these six days, first plug the defensive hole, then install a stabilizer in the attack, and finally inject a sedative called "forget the 1-5" into his players.
Three days for psychological conditioning, three days for tactical integration.
Even a god would need overtime.
The posted-and-deleted Instagram announcement is the perfect footnote to this team's mental state.
A federation that can't even cleanly "fire its own coach"—how is it supposed to lead a team on a 0-5, 1-5 losing streak? A firefighter coach who just got off a plane and hasn't gotten over jet lag—how is he supposed to teach a soul-departed team to defend again in six days? A group of players who just got ground into the dirt on the field—how are they supposed to stay calm under the barrage of coaching changes, team restructuring, and Instagram incidents?
All the question marks point to that 90 minutes at the BBVA Stadium on June 21.
Can Renard create a miracle in six days? Or will the Carthage Eagles take another beating in front of their own fans under that night sky?
Seventy-two years ago, Scotland's 1954 World Cup team changed coach after their opening match and ended up going home in the group stage.
Will the script be different this time?
The answer is written in those 90 minutes—or perhaps in another Instagram post that will never be deleted.