Every so often, an item designed to spend its golden years in a glass case at club headquarters finds itself veering off-script and landing somewhere unexpected. It’s not every day, though, that such an item is the actual FIFA Club World Cup trophy—apparently detained by a former U.S. president, resulting in Chelsea hoisting a replica during their victory celebrations. If this sounds like a setup for a particularly esoteric pub quiz question, join the club.

Original Trophy, Oval Office, and a Side of Side-Eye

As reported by Mashable India, Donald Trump stated during an interview at the MetLife Stadium that FIFA President Gianni Infantino handed him the real Club World Cup trophy, which promptly took up residence in the Oval Office. “They said, ‘Could you hold this trophy for a little while?’ We put it in the Oval Office,” Trump recounted, later adding that FIFA officials declared, “We’re never going to pick it up. You can have it forever… We’re making a new one.”

So, to recap: The governing body for international football entrusted the real cup to Trump, Chelsea won the Club World Cup, and the trophy they hoisted for the cameras wasn’t the original. If you’re waiting for the plot twist where everyone laughs and swaps the awards backstage, you might have to keep waiting.

Yahoo Sports summarizes the outcome: Chelsea’s on-field triumph only netted the club a lookalike trophy, while the original remained with Trump in the Oval Office.

Presentation Drama and Presidential Persistence

If the scenario wasn’t already strange enough, on-field antics at the actual trophy presentation added a dollop of awkwardness. As captured in stadium footage and described by Mashable India, Trump was roundly booed while presenting the award and, more notably, lingered at center stage while the visibly puzzled Chelsea squad—including captain Reece James—waited for him to move along.

In a detail highlighted by Mashable (citing Reece James’s remarks to the BBC), James recalled being told Trump would present the trophy “and then exit the stage,” except the exit never seemed to come. Cue social media piling on, with the general consensus somewhere between confusion and eye-rolling. As the outlet relays, X commentators described the moment in terms ranging from “clout chasing” to blunt questioning—most variations on, “Why is he still there?”

Diplomatic Trophies: The Oddest of Traditions?

There’s a certain oddball charm to the idea of global sporting hardware wandering away from its intended home. Champions are supposed to lift the authentic article, revel in “their” history—then give it back for the cycle to repeat. The most publicized examples are FIFA’s own World Cup and Club World Cup, famously ferried to finals under heavy guard.

Typically, replicas are reserved for display cases or to prevent the fate of the Jules Rimet trophy, which was itself stolen (twice) before being lost to history. But in those cases, we can at least blame shadowy figures rather than, say, an unusually persuasive host dignitary.

According to the snippet visible from Footmundo, the only official word from FIFA is a plan to “make a new one,” with the true trophy’s fate left grinning in official limbo—though, due to limited access, further details from this source remain beyond the paywall. One suspects visiting dignitaries now get an extra warning to check their coat pockets—and any prizes—on their way out.

All’s Well That Ends Replica?

In the broader sweep of presidential souvenir stories, this one nestles comfortably into the “wait, seriously?” category. A football trophy intended for a proud London club apparently enshrined in the highest office in the U.S.—because the president simply asked to keep it? It’s both straightforward in its absurdity and, on reflection, at home in a world where sports diplomacy is often more performance than protocol.

One wonders what future club historians will jot down under 2025: “Chelsea: 3, PSG: 0, Original Trophy: Unaccounted For.” Perhaps it’s one more reminder that when it comes to global spectacles, the unscripted weirdness doesn’t stop with the final whistle.

Is it tradition evolving in real time—or just another headline in the ongoing saga of borrowed, lost, or mysteriously relocated trophies? For those keeping score at home, the answer appears to be: yes.