The script leaked, and Rodri didn’t like his lines.

It wasn’t just a bad call. It was a glitch in the Premier League’s billion-dollar simulation, a momentary lapse in the UI that left Manchester City’s midfield anchor staring at a referee with the kind of bewildered fury usually reserved for a Blue Screen of Death. Now, the Football Association is looking to hit the "delete" button on Rodri’s availability for a few games.

We’ve seen this loop before. A high-stakes match—City versus Tottenham, a 3-3 draw that felt more like a fever dream than a tactical masterclass—ends in a chaotic officiating error. Simon Hooper, the man holding the whistle, plays an advantage for a foul on Erling Haaland. Haaland gets up, clips a perfect ball to Jack Grealish, who is suddenly through on goal. Then, for reasons known only to the gods of janky software, Hooper blows the whistle. Advantage canceled. Opportunity killed.

Rodri didn’t just complain. He vented. He ranted. He likely used words that aren't included in the FA’s "Respect" onboarding manual. And because the Premier League is currently obsessed with its brand safety and the optics of its officiating "product," the Spaniard is now staring down the barrel of a disciplinary ban for dissent.

It’s the ultimate corporate trade-off. We’re told we want "passion" and "humanity" in sports, but the moment a player reacts like a human being to a blatant systemic failure, the league reaches for the fine print. Rule E3.1 is the FA’s favorite catch-all, a vague bit of legalese designed to protect the referees from the consequences of their own incompetence. It’s the "Terms and Conditions" page of modern football. Nobody reads it, but it’s exactly how they get you.

For City, the friction is measurable in points and pounds. Rodri isn't just another body in the pivot; he is the operating system. When he doesn’t play, the win percentage drops through the floor. Pep Guardiola knows this. The fans know this. The FA definitely knows this. Suspending him isn’t just a slap on the wrist; it’s a direct throttle on City’s performance metrics. It’s an intentional bug introduced into their season to balance the scales of "discipline."

The irony is thick enough to choke on. The league has spent millions on VAR and high-speed camera tech to ensure "accuracy," yet the entire multi-billion-pound apparatus still relies on the split-second neurons of a middle-aged man in a black shirt who can’t decide whether to let a play run. We’re sold a version of the game that is supposed to be data-driven and precise, but the officiating remains a legacy system running on Windows 95.

Rodri’s outburst was a reaction to the friction between the hype and the reality. He’s a guy who plays the game with a tucked-in shirt and the clinical precision of a senior dev. Seeing him lose his cool is like watching a server farm catch fire. It doesn't happen unless something is fundamentally broken in the architecture.

The FA will likely argue that they need to "protect the integrity" of the game. That’s code for protecting the stock price. If players are allowed to point out that the emperor has no clothes—and that the referee has no peripheral vision—it ruins the illusion of the Premier League as a flawlessly managed entertainment product.

So, Rodri will probably sit out. He’ll pay a fine that represents about four minutes of his weekly wage, and he’ll watch from the stands while City tries to patch the hole in their midfield. The league will check a box, claiming they’ve stood up for their officials, while the underlying problem—a massive gap between the speed of the modern game and the quality of its management—continues to fester.

The FA wants a version of football where the players are silent avatars and the officials are infallible algorithms. They’ve almost got the silence part down.

Who actually benefits from a league where the most intelligent player on the pitch is punished for noticing a mistake everyone else saw in 4K?