The transition from the pitch to the studio is often framed as a natural career progression, but it is anything but simple. On shows like Monday Night Football, the pundit is no longer just a former player, they are a celebrity in their own right, commanding attention, shaping narratives, and influencing public perception. For many players, the media offers a more appealing “second act” than the grueling, uncertain world of management, where job security is fleeting and scrutiny is relentless.
Yet this move comes with a cost. Shifting from locker room comrade to studio critic requires a subtle divorce from the team mentality. Suddenly, the bonds that once defined your identity are complicated by the need to be analytical, candid, and, at times, critical. This tension, the push and pull between loyalty and objectivity, is at the heart of the pivoting from player to pundit.
Retirement brings an identity crisis. On the field, your sense of self is bound up in the team, in the shared victories and defeats. In the studio, that collective identity dissolves, replaced by a solitary spotlight. I’ve found that the microphone often scratches the same competitive itch that made me live for matchday: the pressure, the adrenaline, the knowledge that every word is being dissected.
The language shift is subtle but revealing. On the pitch, it’s “we”, we defended, we attacked, we failed together. In the studio, it becomes “they”, they played poorly, they lacked intensity, they made mistakes. This distancing is necessary to analyze games honestly, but it creates a psychological friction with the teammates or players of your ex-club you once trusted implicitly.
Perhaps the most difficult aspect of moving into media is the perception of betrayal. The locker room operates under a code: what happens in there stays in there. When a former teammate critiques effort, decision-making, or temperament on national television, it can feel like a violation of that unspoken contract.
We’ve all seen situations where even with the best intentions, pointing out a tactical error can be misread as questioning character or commitment. Coaches often assume that former pros “know better,” that the former pros would or should understand how such things go. But analysis demands honesty, and that honesty sometimes cuts against old loyalties.
The challenge intensifies when friendships persist. Criticizing a close friend, even with careful phrasing, can feel disloyal. Even without direct confrontation, the challenge is obvious: offering honest analysis of someone you once played alongside can feel awkward. The paradox remains, being a respected pundit requires criticism, yet maintaining credibility with players and/or coaches often demands a degree of restraint.
Then there is the commercial dimension. Producers and social media demand “hot takes,” quick, shareable judgments that often sacrifice nuance. A perfectly reasonable critique can spiral into a viral controversy, further straining relationships. The tension between professional duty and personal bonds is a constant, and one that doesn’t exist for players in the same way.
Some pundits embrace bluntness unapologetically. Roy Keane, for example, has built a reputation for uncompromising honesty, often at the cost of friction with current stars, up until yesterday, he was firmly of the opinion that Michael Carrick should not get the coaching job at Manchester United on a permanent basis. Other former players, like Gary Neville, strike a more measured tone, balancing insight with empathy. Both approaches have merit, but the choice can define how colleagues perceive you.
The rise of social media has amplified these conflicts. Players no longer rely solely on broadcast commentary; they respond directly, publicly, and sometimes confrontationally. Erling Haaland or Lisandro Martínez, for example, have used Twitter and Instagram to push back against critiques they felt were unfair, highlighting the immediacy and permanence of modern punditry. Managers, too, are increasingly vocal, defending their squads against perceived disrespect, a layer of accountability that didn’t exist when punditry was purely observational.
Broadcasting prioritizes ex-pros for their insider knowledge, often at the expense of formally trained journalists. This is understandable, there is no substitute for lived experience, but it raises questions about gatekeeping. Are opportunities being restricted for talented analysts who lack top-level playing experience? Networks tend to lean on the “star power” of former players rather than journalistic skill, sometimes producing analysis that is entertaining but shallow. Moreover, great players are not automatically great communicators. Articulating nuance under time pressure is a skill learned in the studio, not the locker room. Balancing insight with empathy, and analysis with diplomacy, is the real test of modern punditry.
Despite the challenges, the presence of ex-players in media is essential. They bring context, credibility, and the rare perspective of someone who has lived the pressures of elite competition. The friction they create, whether through candid critique or perceived betrayal, is part of the territory. Pundits will always have to navigate a fine line, being honest about the game while understanding the pressures players and coaches face and the relationships they perhaps once shared. Even as they offer analysis, the job is about insight, judgment, and knowing when to speak, and when to hold back.
