What can players and clubs do about 'AI slop'?

Scroll through TikTok on any given day and you might see Lionel Messi trimming Cristiano Ronaldo’s hair, Kylian Mbappé sharing a ski-lift with a turtle, or Edwardian-era versions of the pair strolling onto the deck of the Titanic. Welcome to football’s newest opponent: AI slop—cheap, viral, machine-made images that place stars in scenarios that never happened and, at first glance, appear completely real.

The phenomenon is exploding because generative tools are now powerful, free and simple to use. A prompt and a few clicks can turn fantasy into what looks like photographic evidence, blurring the line between satire and deception. For players who have spent years turning their names, faces and even goal celebrations into marketable brands, that line matters.

Chelsea’s Cole Palmer has already moved to protect his commercial identity, trademarking “Cold Palmer”, his autograph and his signature shivering celebration with the UK Intellectual Property Office. Yet experts warn that registering marks is only half the battle when anonymous accounts can churn out thousands of synthetic images overnight.

“Various governments are scrambling to decide how to react to AI,” says Jonty Cowan, legal director at media-specialist law firm Wiggin LLP. “In the UK there is very little legislation covering someone’s likeness or, in football parlance, image rights.”

The gap in the law means that, unless a deepfake causes clear commercial or reputational damage, legal redress is thin. A sexually explicit fake became a criminal offence under the Data (Use and Access) Act that came into force last month, but a surreal still of a player in a burger bar or on a ski-lift with a turtle is unlikely to meet that threshold.

Manchester City discovered the reputational grey zone in January. Before the club had even released official unveiling shots of new signings Antoine Semenyo and Marc Guehi, social media was circulating convincing AI images of the pair shaking hands with Pep Guardiola and of Semenyo being welcomed by Yaya Touré at the training ground. None of it happened, yet the fakes were plausible enough to fool many fans.

A similarly realistic image showed Manchester United head coach Michael Carrick alongside devoted supporter Frank Ilett, whose uncut hair has become a social-media talking point. Again, the meeting never took place.

Cowan points out that clubs can sometimes lean on other intellectual-property levers. “If someone is using the Manchester City crest or design rights in the shirt, that can be challenged,” he explains. City, for their part, believe supporters understand that only official channels carry bona fide news, but the club accepts the landscape is shifting.

Even when there is a clear infringement, dragging an anonymous user through the courts is slow and expensive. Cowan advocates a faster, cheaper route: demanding platforms remove the content. The UK’s Online Safety Act already obliges services to take down illegal material; AI slop that infringes trademarks or amounts to “passing off” could fall under those obligations.

Specialist businesses already scrape the web using AI to locate unauthorised use of player likenesses or club IP, then issue takedown notices on behalf of their clients. Expect more firms to enter that space as demand grows.

Platforms are feeling pressure. Meta’s oversight board last year banned a gambling advert that used an AI-cloned voice of Brazilian striker Ronaldo, ruling that the tech giant must introduce “easily identifiable indicators” to separate genuine and synthetic content. TikTok removed fake interviews of England manager Gareth Southgate during Euro 2024 for breaching policy on harmful impersonations, but only after the clips had racked up millions of views.

The EU’s AI Act imposes transparency requirements on tech companies, but the rules do not apply in the UK. Cowan predicts Britain could follow a lighter model, perhaps requiring an “#AI-generated” label on manipulated media. Enforcement, however, would remain tricky; bad actors creating defamatory deepfakes are unlikely to add disclaimers.

For now, most clubs treat AI slop as background noise of social media rather than a front-burner issue. Yet every technological leap makes the fakes more persuasive and the potential for reputational or commercial harm more acute. Players can trademark celebrations, and clubs can police their crests, but in a game increasingly played out in the digital sphere, the newest tactical battle may be fought in pixels rather than on grass.