His meetings with Alejandro Burzaco (the Argentine TV mogul) are masterclasses in manipulation. Burzaco offers the world—lucrative media rights, global exposure—but the price is total loyalty. Jadue listens, nods, and smiles. But you can see the gears turning behind his eyes. He’s no longer a tourist in corruption; he’s applying for citizenship. Meanwhile, the episode contrasts Jadue’s rise with the crumbling of the traditional powers. The old men in expensive suits, who once decided the fate of the World Cup over whisky and handshakes, are starting to smell the blood in the water. The FBI investigation, mentioned only in whispers in the premiere, becomes a persistent hum in the background—a ticking clock.
If the first episode of El Presidente was the spark, episode two, “Dthrip,” is the wildfire. We’ve moved past the setup of the 2015 FIFA corruption scandal and are now firmly entrenched in the backroom deals, paranoia, and moral decay that defined the “Dark Side of the Ball.”
This episode isn’t about football. It’s about power, and more specifically, who gets to hold the leash. The title is cryptic, almost nonsensical at first. But as the episode unfolds, “Dthrip” reveals itself as a nickname—a mocking, diminutive label for a key player (literally and figuratively) in this chess game. It’s a reminder that in the world of South American football politics, your name means nothing. Your utility means everything. Sergio Jadue: From Pawn to Rook The spotlight shifts heavily onto Sergio Jadue (a mesmerizing performance by Armando Araiza). In episode one, he was the overwhelmed, small-town president of the Chilean football association. In “Dthrip,” he evolves. Naivety burns away, replaced by a hungry pragmatism.
For Jadue, the answer is terrifyingly short.
This train is leaving the station, and it’s not stopping for morals. What did you think of “Dthrip”? Is Jadue a villain or a victim? Drop your thoughts in the comments below.