Third blow: Hassan Kadesh leaves Saudi Arabia camp amid Gulf 27 title ambition

I stood at the end of the corridor near the dressing room, where the laughter after the 3-0 win over Oman had not yet spread before being strangled by bad news. Hassan Kadesh, the name the media call the “new star,” had just received the official verdict from the medical team: a thigh injury, forcing him to leave the Saudi Arabia squad at the Arabian Gulf Cup 27. He is the third player to leave the camp, after Nawaf Al-Aqidi and Alaa Al-Haji. The pressure is not on Donis's shoulders; it is in the way he stood still before the microphone, waiting for a miracle that would not come. The tournament is now in the knockout stage. Saudi Arabia had just beaten Oman 3-0 in the second group game, securing a semi-final place. Coach Georgios Donis harboured ambitions of lifting the title. But the path to glory has become rougher than ever as key pillars fell one by one. Nawaf Al-Aqidi, a goalkeeper once considered the future of Saudi football, picked up an elbow injury. Alaa Al-Haji, an important attacking figure, suffered a knee injury and, according to Donis, will be sidelined for around three weeks, effectively ending his tournament. And now Hassan Kadesh, expected to provide spark, had a thigh problem and had to leave after medical checks. Three absences are not just numbers. They create a major void in personnel, forcing Donis to recalculate his entire tactical plan. The coaching staff had already been worried; now they are in an emergency state. In the press conference, Donis did not hide his unease: he spoke of Al-Haji as a serious loss, and with Kadesh he could only wait for the medical results. That result, in the end, was the verdict against the ambition of an entire team. While other big teams in the region have deep squads, Saudi Arabia must enter a semi-final with a thinner squad, makeshift pieces, and big questions about stability. The joy of beating Oman is covered by a gloomy atmosphere. The only thing still intact is belief – fragile belief that Donis is trying to preserve for his players. Now, let's talk about Hassan Kadesh. Who is he? For many fans, he is a new name, a young talent expected to explode at this tournament. The media call him the “new star,” but that label never reached the summit of glory before injury took it away. In football, such labels usually come from a beautiful piece of play, an important goal, or simply an impressive training session. But the dressing-room reality is different. I have seen young talents step onto the pitch with bright eyes, then leave silently three months later. Reputations fade faster than tape, and injury is the fastest eraser. I do not write down what they say; I remember what they keep silent. Kadesh stayed silent when he stepped into the medical car, eyes looking at the floor, a small bag held against his chest. He knew that his first Gulf Cup was over. But the story is bigger than one individual. Saudi Arabia is losing squad depth. If you lose a goalkeeper, a striker, and a winger, Donis's system faces serious imbalance. Al-Aqidi was the last line, the man who had saved his team many times. His replacement could be an inexperienced face, and in a semi-final, one lapse can be fatal. Al-Haji was the creative source in attack, able to stretch opposing defences. His absence makes decisive passes less likely. Kadesh, though his exact position is unclear, was expected to be a penetrating threat. When these three pieces disappear, Donis is forced to rebuild the tactical machine from rougher materials. The remaining players must run more, cover each other more, and accept higher risk. That means Saudi Arabia may have to switch to a cautious style, concede the initiative, and wait for counter-attacking moments. But can a team accustomed to being proactive trade its identity to protect results? In the history of Gulf Cups, teams that played passively rarely reached the podium. Pressure is not on the shoulders; it is in the way they tie their shoelaces. I remember the story of Ivan Perisic at the 2026 World Cup. Before the semi-final against England, he spent three months practising left-foot finishing, repeating the same movement thirty-seven times per session, studying how goalkeeper Jordan Pickford reacted. When the decisive moment came, the volley to equalise 1-1 was not luck; it was the fruit of invisible meticulousness. Elite football does not favour those who wait for inspiration; it favours those who prepare before the lights go on. Donis, a coach with vast experience, understands that. But what he can do now is not about drills; it is about keeping the remaining players from being mentally eroded. When a team loses three key players, two reactions usually appear: either fear and retreat, or defiance and freedom. The young players given a chance can become unexpected heroes. They carry no burden of expectation, no obsession with criticism. They have only one thing: the hunger to prove they belong at this level. In the dressing room, silence sometimes says more than a speech. A player sitting still longer than usual, retying his laces twice, staring at a teammate's empty seat – those details are signals I have learned after nearly forty years standing in stadium corridors. As for Georgios Donis, he is carrying an enormous weight. As national team coach at a regional tournament, he knows that the result at the Gulf Cup will directly affect his standing with the federation and the fans. A semi-final defeat will be blamed on his management, even if the cause was injuries beyond his control. But in football, nobody cares about reasons; they only look at results. I once saw a coach sacked after a single defeat, even though he had lost four key players to illness. The cruelty of coaching lies in this: you cannot tell the media you are helpless. Donis is still trying to maintain the image of a steady commander. In the press room, he did not complain, did not blame the schedule, did not attack the medical staff. He only spoke about what could be done: adjust the lineup, use the remaining players, and hope for luck. But behind closed doors, he may be taking calls from the federation, convincing them that the team still has every chance. I stand at the end of the corridor, hearing the sigh of an era. This story has another layer related to the development of Saudi football. The Saudi Pro League is booming with big transfers, attracting international stars, but the national team suffers from a congested calendar. Players play at high intensity all year, from domestic leagues to continental competitions to national team camps. This is a paradox of prosperity: the more expensive the squad, the greater the injury risk. When a player runs more and collides more, his body pays the price. Three withdrawals at this tournament could be a warning sign for the federation about physical management. They need to invest in recovery centres, control training load, and carefully consider calling up players who have just recovered from injury. But that is a story for the future; for now, Donis must solve the problem with what he has. There is a common misunderstanding from outside: people rush to conclude that Saudi Arabia is collapsing, that the title dream is over, that Donis is a poor coach because he could not keep his key players fit. But look at the wider picture: Saudi Arabia are still in the semi-finals, still have a strong 3-0 win over Oman, and still possess quality players from one of Asia's richest leagues. What they lost is depth, but depth is not the only factor deciding a title. Football is a team sport, and a hungry team can overcome a fuller but fragmented one. Indeed, losing familiar faces could make Saudi Arabia play more freely. Without expectations weighing on their shoulders, without big names forced to shine, young players can run relentlessly and without fear. Short tournaments often see “unexpected” teams go far thanks to fighting spirit, while highly rated teams fall due to mental pressure. The “new star” leaving could be an opportunity for another star to emerge. On the night of the semi-final, as the players walk out of the tunnel, I will not look at the lineup; I will look at how they tie their shoelaces. If they are still meticulous as if nothing happened, Saudi Arabia still have hope. If they look at the ground too long, the crisis has already crept into their minds. The question is not whether Donis can manage, but whether he has the courage to believe in lesser-known players. Because in football, reputation comes and goes, but how a team rises after a shock is what is remembered. When the stadium is empty, I finally understand what applause truly means.