Fallen Through The Cracks: Titas Buzas opens up about football, politics, and the fight to be heard

16 May 2025
4 mins read

by Mantas Aliukonis

Titas Buzas. Image credit: Dynamo Kyiv

“I’m not even sure I want to keep playing,” says Titas Buzas, sitting in the shadow of a career that never quite got off the ground. “I did everything I was supposed to. Trained, played, waited. But in the end, none of it mattered.”

Just 20 years old, Titas is a player any coach would want on paper: a midfielder with international youth experience, a work ethic sharpened in Portugal, Ukraine, and Germany, and a deep connection to his hometown club, Marijampolė’s “Sūduva.” But as this season kicked off, he found himself without a contract, without a club, and on the brink of quitting the sport altogether. The reason, he believes, has little to do with football—and everything to do with his last name.

A Father’s Shadow

“When I joined ‘Sūduva’ for preseason, everything looked good,” Titas says. “I played in friendlies, trained hard, and had a verbal agreement to sign.” That agreement was with the club’s director Dovydas Lastauskas, and according to Titas, both the head coach Donatas Vencevičius and club owner Vidmantas Murauskas were supportive.

“I was told after the Dainava match, ‘We’ll talk on Monday.’ That usually means it’s a done deal.”

But by the end of January, that silence grew suspicious. After a second friendly against FA Šiauliai, the contract talks stalled. “I kept training, but no one from the administration said a word. I finally asked my agent to step in.”

Then came the gut punch:

“The head coach told me the mayor of Marijampolė made a call to the club. He said that if they signed me, the city might withdraw €350,000 in funding.”

That mayor is Povilas Isoda—a man currently standing trial in the so-called “receipt case” (čekučių byla), accused of abusing his official position for financial gain. Though he denies wrongdoing and claims political persecution, the mayor has been open about his opposition to Titas’ father, Žydrūnas Buzas—a businessman with a controversial reputation in local sports and business circles.

Titas is painfully aware that the politics surrounding his father have followed him onto the pitch.

“I get it,” he says. “My dad’s not the most popular guy. But I’m not him. I’ve never done anything wrong. I’m just trying to play football.”

His father, Žydrūnas Buzas, made headlines in 2023 when he attempted to buy the “Sūduva” football club. At first, there was a preliminary agreement. But when the details emerged, the city—one of the club’s key stakeholders—blocked the sale outright.

“I do not support and will not support selling our legendary football club to this man,” Mayor Isoda declared at the time, warning that the municipality would withdraw its support if Buzas Sr. took over.

But the deeper scandal lay elsewhere. Žydrūnas Buzas had previously been involved with “MML-City,” a First League club that was banned by the Lithuanian Football Federation in late 2023 after suspicions of match-fixing and manipulated results. The investigation began that summer after a series of suspicious results and escalated quickly. “MML-City” lost its license by autumn. The damage was done.

“There were whispers,” Titas says quietly. “That young players were involved. That something wasn’t right. I had already left the club by then, but people love guilt by association.”

He wasn’t implicated in any wrongdoing. But he didn’t need to be. His father’s past was enough.

“I feel like I’m being punished for something I didn’t do,” he says. “Nobody wants to say it outright, but everyone knows.”

No Place for Young Talent

For Titas, the pieces fit together in a way that’s hard to ignore. “The club was ready to sign me. The coach was on board. Then the mayor makes a phone call—and everything dies,” he says. “I’m not saying this lightly. But it feels like revenge. Like a message being sent to my father.”

When asked whether he ever confronted the club about this directly, he shakes his head.

“There was nothing to say. After that call, it was like I didn’t exist. They told me: ‘It’s out of our hands.’”

The irony isn’t lost on him. While he’s frozen out for a scandal he had no part in, the same mayor trying to enforce moral standards on football stands accused of corruption in a courtroom across town.

“He says he wants transparency in football,” Titas says. “Well, where’s the transparency in that?”

Titas’ frustration runs deeper than politics. It’s also a condemnation of how Lithuania treats its own players. “We talk about growing local talent, but what’s really happening?” he asks. “Clubs bring in older foreign players on short-term deals. Young guys like me? We get 8 minutes at the end of a game and are told to prove ourselves.”

His experience at Kauno rajono “Hegelmann” is a case in point. “I barely got minutes,” he says. “And when I asked why, the coach told me flat out: he trusted the veterans more.”

He doesn’t say this with resentment, but resignation. “I get it. It’s easier. Safer. But how do we build a national team like that?”

The saddest part? Titas loved that club. “The locker room was great. Klaudijus Upstas was an amazing captain. The vibe was right. But I wasn’t playing. And if you’re not playing, none of it matters.”

A Future in Football—Off the Pitch

Despite the setbacks, Titas isn’t giving up entirely. He’s now studying sport management at the Lithuanian Sports University in Kaunas and sees a future shaping football from behind the scenes.

“I want to be part of how teams are built,” he says. “Not a coach, no. That’s not for me. But club management—yes. I want to help kids like me get real chances.”

He’s not sure whether he’ll return to playing. “Let’s see if someone calls,” he says. “If I feel it’s right, maybe. But right now? No. I’m not training. I’m not chasing it.”

Still, the fire inside hasn’t gone out entirely.

“I’m speaking up because this can’t happen to someone else,” he says. “If another kid with a big surname comes along—he deserves better than this. We all do.”

Titas Buzas. Midfielder. Fighter. The cautionary tale Lithuanian football didn’t know it needed. And in his own words:

“This isn’t football anymore. It’s politics in cleats. And I refuse to play that game.”

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