Socceroo Cristian Volpato, 22, has signed an exclusive deal with California-based Callandor to license his AI likeness, voice, biometric profiles, and performance data. The company, founded in February by former Sony Pictures and MGM executive Michael Fisk, will monetise Volpato's digital clone through brand deals, taking a cut while helping restrict unauthorised content. Callandor's stable includes Brazilian footballer Jorginho and American sailor Chris Poole, though all campaigns remain in pilot phase. The business model is straightforward: athletes have finite hours, but a synthetic twin can work around the clock across languages and geographies. Fisk envisions AI-generated book voiceovers in foreign languages, fan-interaction apps where a digital Volpato delivers personalised coaching, and perpetual brand placements that never require the player to leave the training ground. The pitch is scale without presence. This isn't happening in a vacuum. Neymar licensed his AI likeness to a Chinese entertainment platform in June for FIFA World Cup short videos. Sydney startup Hyperknown is pursuing similar deals. The AFL recently told gambling partner Sportsbet to stop using AI-generated player images without consent, prompted by a complaint from the players' union. In the UK, Cole Palmer, Lucy Bronze, and other top footballers backed a Fifpro campaign highlighting deepfake concerns after an offshore casino used a fabricated video of Bruno Fernandes in advertising. The legal terrain is almost entirely unmapped. Jonathan Harlen, an IP law expert at Southern Cross University, notes that copyright protects human-authored works but does not extend to AI reproductions. Athletes' existing protection under "passing off" laws requires proof of economic loss — a high bar when deepfakes are proliferating through increasingly sophisticated off-the-shelf software. Player contracts with major Australian sporting leagues make no mention of AI. What's emerging is a consent economy layered on top of a technology that makes consent technically optional. William Saunders of Hyperknown frames it bluntly: "AI can make content abundant. It can't manufacture someone's permission." The commercial bet is that verified authorisation becomes the new premium — that brands will pay more for a licensed synthetic twin than risk association with an unauthorised deepfake. The structural tension is between athletes who want to capture value from their likenesses and platforms, bookmakers, and content creators who have already demonstrated willingness to use those likenesses without permission. The AI brokers position themselves as intermediaries solving both problems — but they also introduce a new extraction layer. Callandor and Hyperknown take cuts from deals that didn't previously exist, intermediating between athletes and brands in a market whose rules haven't been written. Whether brands will pay equivalent rates for AI clones versus real appearances remains the central unanswered question. The technology is ahead of the law, the market is ahead of the norms, and the athletes signing these deals are essentially placing bets that early movers will define the terms before regulators do.
