I applied to a programme that says it wants young people. They rejected me before they announced who they chose. Coincidence?

On 13 March 2026, the National Sports Agency published an announcement. Ten places. Ambassadors of Sport for Romania. A European programme, co-funded through Erasmus+, dedicated to inclusion, sport for all and a more active future.

I read the methodology. I read the criteria. I applied.

I did not do it because I needed one more line on a CV. I did it because I am 17, I have played basketball for 13 years, I have published articles picked up by the national press on sports reform, mental health and inclusion, I am a member of Romania's Children's Board supported by UNICEF, I speak English at a C1 level certified by Fordham University New York, I have taken part in Erasmus+ projects, I have coached primary and secondary school children, and I have a documented, consistent public presence on every subject this programme says it promotes.

I applied because that is exactly what the programme asks for.

Or at least that is what it says it wants.

On 3 July I received an email.

Rejected.

The reason given: one ambassador per city, gender balance, diversity criteria.

Fine. I accept that diversity criteria exist. I accept that the methodology provides for geographic and gender balance. I do not contest the rules themselves.

I contest something else.

I contest the total opacity of a process that, to this day - 13 June 2026 - has not publicly announced who was selected.

They knew quickly enough to tell me I had lost. But they do not know - or do not want to, or perhaps have not decided yet, or are perhaps still negotiating - to tell Romania who won.

Ten days later. Not a single name. No list. No transparency.

I ask, with all the curiosity of a 17-year-old who still believes questions are allowed: were the winners announced individually, as discreetly as the losers were? Or maybe the list still needs a few last-minute adjustments? Or maybe someone still has to be called, someone still has to be asked, something still has to be arranged? Or maybe - and this is the version I find most comforting for them - maybe they have not finished calculating the scores yet. After all, why hurry? The young people are waiting. They have time.

I do not know. I have no way of knowing. Nobody tells us anything.

And that is exactly the scandal. Not the result. The opacity.

Thousands of photos. Zero transparency.

Open any social media account of the National Sports Agency. Photos of young people. Photos at events. Officials surrounded by smiling athletes, in colourful T-shirts and photogenic enthusiasm.

Five photos a day. Seven. Maybe more - there is probably an internal KPI for this, a daily target of young people photographed that proves how much they 'care'. Young people are present in every frame - as decor, as background, as visual proof that 'we are passionate about the next generation'.

But when it comes to selecting, from among them, the ten who will represent Romania in Europe, the process suddenly becomes opaque, slow and, apparently, infinitely more complicated than a simple photograph.

Strange how transparency disappears exactly when it should appear.

I ask publicly, because no one has taken away my right to ask: what do the files of the ten selected candidates look like? What scores did they obtain on the quantitative criteria in the methodology - sport promotion activity, quality of content, language skills, extracurricular experience? Can these scores be published? Can the full list of all candidates and their scores be published?

In any selection funded from European money, transparency is not a favour. It is a legal obligation.

If there is nothing to hide, publish the results. In full. With scores. Today.

Or maybe you have not calculated them yourselves yet.

About the system that feeds on young people and does not invest in them

I want to say something I have felt for years, and that I have seen in locker rooms, in the stands of basketball halls, in the rejection notices typed out on a phone, between two photos.

In Romania, young people are useful in two situations: when you take photos and when you need public legitimacy.

But when you actually have to put them in a real position, with real responsibility and real visibility, criteria suddenly appear. 'Rules' appear. Reasons it cannot be done appear. The 'right' people appear who, by coincidence or divine providence, always turn out to be more suitable than anyone else. Miracle after miracle, in every selection, in every federation, in every programme - the same people, the same circles, the same faces.

How lucky some people are.

I know that in federations athletes whose parents work in the system get promoted. I know that selections are rarely explicit and almost never transparent. I know that every time a young person raises their voice and says something uncomfortable, they are not listened to - they are photographed. A picture is taken, they are put in a press release, and then they are sent home with a thank-you email.

And I do not want to be photographed anymore.

I want to be heard.

I want to hear, for the first time in my life, what a Romanian sports selection sounds like when the best file wins. Not the most convenient one. Not the easiest to justify. The best.

I know, I know. I am dreaming too big for 17.

The children who never had a childhood

I want to say this too, because no one else does.

In all my 13 years of basketball, I have seen children who never had a weekend. Never had a holiday. Never had a free Sunday. They knew how to go to the gym, to school, to training camps - and, in cases I lived through alongside them, to the emergency room after injuries that no one monitored properly and that no federation ever compensated.

Do you know what an 11-year-old does before stepping onto the court in a national competition organised by the Romanian Basketball Federation? They gather money. They put it in an envelope. And they hand it to the referee. Not because they want to, but because otherwise the game does not start. The referee is not their employee - he is the employee of the federation that organised the competition, collected the entry fee and put its logo on the child's shirt. But the money for the referee comes from the parent. The money for the ambulance - mandatory at any game - comes from the parent. The money for the hall, the water, the equipment, the basketball hoops, comes from the parent. The federation contributes: the logo and the speeches. Maybe a photo too, if you are lucky.

I honestly wonder whether, in Denmark or Sweden, parents hand envelopes to referees before their children's games. Or maybe there sports institutions do something other than take photos with young people.

From these children we demand performance. We ask them to stay in the country. We ask them not to leave, not to run, not to choose another system. And we ask them one more thing, perhaps the most cynical of all: we ask them to look nice in our photos.

And when one of them raises a hand and says 'I want to represent these children, I want to be their voice in a European programme, I have the training, I have the experience, I have proven I can' - they get a six-line email and an encouragement to 'stay close to our initiatives'.

Thank you kindly. You stay close too.

What should happen - and what happens elsewhere

In the United Kingdom, selections for publicly funded sports programmes come with the publication of each candidate's scores and the criteria applied. Not because the British are better. But because transparency is part of the contract that comes with public money.

In Germany, sports ambassador programmes for young people are run by independent committees, with no ministry representatives on the jury - precisely to remove conflicts of interest and the appearance of favouritism.

In the Netherlands, any candidate rejected from a European-funded programme has the legal right to a detailed written justification, with the scores they obtained and a comparison against the selection threshold.

In Romania, you get a six-line email, a vague word of encouragement and, if you are lucky, maybe they will put you in a photo next time.

What I am asking for - and it is simple

I am not asking to be selected retroactively. I am not asking for an apology.

I am asking the National Sports Agency to publish today, publicly, the full list of the ten selected ambassadors, together with the scores each candidate obtained on each criterion of the evaluation grid, exactly as it is published in the methodology.

I am asking for transparency in every programme funded from European money - money paid, among others, by the parents of the rejected candidates.

I am asking that 'supporting young people' mean more than a photograph.

And I am asking one more thing, small, almost symbolic, but which I consider essential: next time you organise a selection for young people, at least read the files. All of them. Not only those of the people you already knew beforehand.

That would be a start.

I am Nicholas Carstoiu, competitive athlete, child-rights activist, member of Romania's Children's Board supported by UNICEF - and I am not writing this article because I lost. I am writing it because the opacity of a process that claims to promote young people is exactly the kind of normality my generation must refuse to accept.

If you really believe in young people - prove it.

Not with photos. With scores.

And maybe, next time, with the courage to choose the best. Even if you did not know them beforehand.