Lebanon: Between historic basketball triumph and fear of the next war

I'm sitting here in my usual spot in Berlin, the night is long, the coffee's cold. But I just can't sleep because the images and news from Lebanon won't let go of me. We're not just talking about another flashpoint in the Middle East here. We're talking about a country going through an emotional rollercoaster like I've rarely seen. On one side, the sporting high; on the other, the dark rumble of thunder from a war that could roll across the border any second.

An evening in Zouk Mikaël: When basketball saved the state

Let's think back to last Friday. While diplomats in Geneva and Washington were frantically on the phone, the suburb of Zouk Mikaël wasn't trembling from bombs, but from cheers. The Lebanese national basketball team achieved something that feels almost like a small miracle in this country: they made us all forget the nightmare for 90 minutes. They absolutely dismantled Saudi Arabia, 94-64. This wasn't just a qualifier for the 2027 World Cup in Qatar – it was a statement. Wael Arakji, the maestro, conducted the game as if it were the last symphony before the apocalypse. And then there's this Jihad Elkhatib – the son of legend Fadi Elkhatib – delivering in his very first quarter for the national team, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. If that's not a sign, then I don't know what is.

The other side of the coin: The shadow over Beirut

But anyone who thinks sport can rescue Lebanon from its precarious situation is sorely mistaken. Just a few kilometres from the arena, in the southern suburbs, preparations are in full swing. The assassination of the Iranian leadership circle by coordinated US and Israeli attacks has ignited the powder keg. Hezbollah, still heavily scarred from the last war in 2024, is under immense pressure. Their new Secretary-General, Naim Qassem, has already sworn revenge. He speaks of the "duty to confront the aggression." You can figure out what that means: rockets from South Lebanon, retaliatory strikes on Beirut, on Tripoli, on the Bekaa Valley.

The warnings are unmistakable. The Lebanese Foreign Minister, Youssef Rajji, outlined the situation crystal clearly in Geneva: Should Hezbollah be drawn into a war between Iran and the West, then Israel won't hesitate this time. Then it won't just be MTV Lebanon or a Hezbollah office that gets hit. Then it's about the essentials: civilian infrastructure, Beirut's airport, the power grids. Just imagine: a city that's only just starting to clear the rubble from the last disaster, set to be levelled? That's the reality the Lebanese live in. They watch basketball and simultaneously wonder if they'll still have a home tomorrow.

Football keeps dreaming: The U23 makes history

And then there's the third story, showing us just how full of contradictions this country is. While Hezbollah flexes its muscles and the West threatens sanctions, the Lebanese national football team – more precisely, the U23s – is writing its own headlines. In Bangkok, this squad under Anthony Maasry made history. With a commanding 3-0 win over Mongolia, they qualified for the U23 Asian Cup finals for the first time ever. A young Danny Istambouli, bagging two goals, and then captain Ali Elfadel, sealing the deal. This is the stuff heroes are made of. A small glimmer of light in a sea of hopelessness. These lads are heading to Saudi Arabia for the 2026 finals, while their fathers might already be back in the trenches. That's the crazy, beautiful, and tragic poetry of the Middle East.

The invisible hand of Tehran

We mustn't be naive. All these developments – the sport, the politics, the daily skirmishes – are just the tip of the iceberg. Beneath the surface, things are bubbling intensely. According to internal circles who have provided me with reliable information for years, Iranian Revolutionary Guard officers are already back in Lebanon, preparing Hezbollah for a potential strike. They're in the command rooms in the Bekaa, checking the rocket units, issuing the slogans. The new Iranian ambassador to Beirut, Mohammad-Reza Raouf Sheibani, is an old hand who knows the game and knows how to pull the strings. Lebanon is and remains Tehran's pawn in the game against the West. Ignoring that would be negligent.

What's left for us? A country in free fall – or on the cusp of change?

I want to give you an honest assessment, the kind I've been giving for twenty years. Lebanon stands at a crossroads. The sporting successes are balm for the soul of a traumatised nation. They show that this country is capable of more than just chaos and corruption. They are an incredibly strong signal for investment in youth, in infrastructure, in a future.

But at the same time, the sword of Damocles of escalation hangs over everything. One wrong move, one rocket fired by accident, one political murder could trigger the next conflagration. For us as observers, and especially for companies active or looking to be active in the region, this means one thing: highest alert. The situation is more unpredictable than ever. Anyone investing in Lebanon today – whether in media rights for the Lebanese national football team, in sponsoring the basketball players, or in reconstruction – has to calculate with ice-cold precision. And they have to understand that the risk lies not in the numbers, but in Hezbollah's bunkers and the US aircraft carriers.

I'm staying on it. And I advise you: Keep an eye on Lebanon. Not just for the headlines, but for the people. Because they never give up.

• The sports euphoria: National basketball team celebrates a resounding 94-64 victory against Saudi Arabia and dreams of the 2027 World Cup.
• The historic football premiere: U23 national team qualifies for the Asian Cup for the first time – a beacon of hope.
• The geopolitical bomb: Hezbollah threatens retaliation after US-Israeli attack on Iran; Israel warns of strikes on civilian infrastructure like Beirut's airport.
• The economic calculation: The balancing act between sporting potential and political collapse becomes a severe test for investors and the population.