Let’s be honest: the Football Association of Malaysia (FAM) is currently less of a “sporting governing body” and more of a crime scene investigation. We aren’t talking about the usual humdrum of Harimau Malaya losing to a team of part-time goat herders. No, this is much juicier. We are talking about the Great Naturalisation Scandal of 2026—a fiasco so absurd it involves FIFA sanctions, 350,000 Swiss Francs in fines, and enough “forged” birth certificates to make a spy novelist blush.

Following the mass resignation of the entire FAM Executive Committee last week—who essentially jumped out of the plane before FIFA could push them—the throne in Kelana Jaya sits empty. And right on cue, Malaysia’s most outspoken football export, Lim Teong Kim, has pointed his finger toward the palace. He’s suggested that only Sultan Abdullah Ri’ayatuddin Al-Mustafa Billah Shah has the “moral authority” to walk into the ruins and start the rebuilding process.

It’s a tantalizing prospect. But in the world of Malaysian football politics, “fixing the structure” is never as simple as a royal decree.

To understand why this is a potential crisis, you have to understand the unique physics of our local game. Malaysian football is essentially a feudal system masquerading as a democracy. Currently, TMJ is the undisputed de facto boss. Even when he isn’t the President, everyone knows that if Johor isn’t happy, nobody is happy. The Exco might have resigned en masse to “save the association’s credibility,” but the shadow of the Southern Tigers still looms large. Bringing Sultan Abdullah back into the fold would create a fascinating, albeit terrifying, “Two Suns” scenario. On one hand, you have the former King, a man with genuine FIFA clout and a level of respect that can’t be bought. On the other, you have the Crown Prince of Johor, who treats the league like his own personal save-game on Football Manager.

If Sultan Abdullah steps in to clean up the fraudulent paperwork and the “heritage” players who supposedly have a Malaysian grandmother they’ve never met, he’s going to hit a wall of interests. In Malaysian football, power is a fluid concept often dictated by who has the loudest social media presence or the most historic title.

Sultan Abdullah is the ultimate “football man.” He knows where the bodies are buried in Zurich and Kuala Lumpur. He’s been on the FIFA Council and the AFC Executive Committee. His approach is one of institutional reform and international diplomacy—the kind of leader who can negotiate with FIFA President Gianni Infantino without needing a translator or a PR firm.

Then, there’s TMJ. If Sultan Abdullah is a grand, stately orchestra, TMJ is a heavy metal concert with pyrotechnics. He is the disruptor-in-chief. He handles criticism with the subtlety of a sledgehammer and has zero patience for the “old guard” bureaucracy that Sultan Abdullah arguably represents.

Imagine the first meeting. Sultan Abdullah suggests a return to integrity and a moratorium on suspicious naturalisations to appease FIFA. Ten minutes later, a social media post from the South suggests that anyone questioning the “heritage” of the players is just a hater. Who do the remaining FAM officials follow? The former King, whose stature demands absolute respect? Or the man who actually owns the most successful club in the country?

Lim Teong Kim claims that Sultan Abdullah “listens, invites dissent, and accepts criticism.” That’s a lovely sentiment, but in a “broken house” where the documents were allegedly forged, you don’t just need a listener; you need a bulldozer.

Neither of these men is accustomed to being told “no.” A leadership struggle wouldn’t just be a “crisis of governance”; it would be a Shakespearian drama played out in tracksuits. If Sultan Abdullah wants to purge the system of the “easy fix” naturalisation culture and TMJ wants to double down on it, we don’t get a “compromise.” We get total bureaucratic paralysis.

Is Teong Kim right? Does Sultan Abdullah have the credibility to fix the mess? Of course. He’s overqualified. He’s like a Michelin-starred chef being asked to fix a greasy burger van that’s currently on fire. But in the current climate, his inclusion would trigger a struggle for the very soul of the game.

It would be the most entertaining era in the history of Malaysian sports—not because of the results on the pitch, but because of the political gymnastics in the VIP boxes. Unless these two giants can find a way to align their vastly different worlds, bringing Sultan Abdullah back isn’t a “fix.” It’s just adding more high-octane fuel to a scandal that’s already visible from space.