Drugs, Goals, and Power: The Story of Sebastián Marset, Uruguay’s 'Pablo Escobar' Who Bought Clubs and Wore the No. 10

Sebastián Marset's name is no longer confined to the world of drug trafficking. Now known across Latin America as the “Pablo Escobar of Uruguay,” Marset’s criminal notoriety has reached the realm of professional football—not just as a financier, but as a player wearing the iconic number 10 jersey.

As reported by Infobae, Marset’s criminal record dates back to 2013, when he was accused of receiving a drug package from the uncle of a former Paraguayan president. Since then, he has been linked to extensive money laundering networks across the region. His wife was extradited to Spain in May 2025, and Marset himself is now one of the DEA’s most wanted fugitives, with a $2 million reward offered for information leading to his arrest.

His alleged involvement in the 2022 murder of Paraguayan prosecutor Marcelo Pecci in Colombia has only deepened his infamy. But what has stunned observers most is his audacious entry into professional football—not as a silent backer, but as a self-proclaimed athlete fulfilling a personal dream.

In Paraguay, Marset signed with Deportivo Capiatá at age 31, appearing in official matches and donning the No. 10 shirt in homage to his idol, David Beckham. His teammates and coaches were reportedly well aware of his identity. According to head coach Jorge Núñez, players pleaded with him not to bench Marset, as the drug lord regularly handed out gifts—often in cash.

Marset’s stint at Capiatá ended in disaster. The club was relegated to the third division, and he was blamed for missing a decisive penalty during a key fixture.

The story didn’t end there. He later moved to Bolivia, where he purchased El Torno FC, a team competing in Santa Cruz’s regional league. There too, he played as a starter, wore No. 23 in honor of Beckham, and earned the nickname “The King of the South” from his teammates.

However, his presence had dire consequences. The Asociación Cruceña de Fútbol suspended the club for violating FIFA regulations after illegally registering Marset as a player. “The club was suspended for the improper inclusion and legality of its footballers,” stated ACF president Noel Montaño.

Marset’s story is a stark example of how drug money can infiltrate even the most passionate and sacred spaces in Latin American society. Like Pablo Escobar before him, he used football to build influence, buy loyalty, and live out a fantasy of legitimacy. But unlike most players, Marset’s legacy comes not from his goals—but from the criminal trail he left behind in every jersey he wore.