Tomorrow evening, Morocco walks out in Boston against France for a place in the World Cup semi-final, the second tournament running that the Atlas Lions have reached this stage, a feat no African country has ever managed before. Nigeria will be watching from home too, like everyone else, except we won’t be watching a Nigerian team lose narrowly to a giant somewhere in the bracket. We won’t be watching at all.
The Super Eagles are not in the United States, Canada or Mexico this summer. They are not anywhere near a World Cup pitch, having lost a penalty shootout to DR Congo in Rabat last November, then spent months arguing about it at FIFA headquarters in Zurich instead of preparing for anything on a training ground.
Here is the part that should embarrass us more than it seems to: Nigeria has never had a talent problem. This is the country that gave the world Kanu, Okocha and Obafemi Martins, and now sends Victor Osimhen to fight for European Golden Boots every season. The Super Falcons, operating under the exact same federation as the men’s team, have won their tenth Women’s Africa Cup of Nations title, coming from two goals down against a Moroccan side playing in front of its own fans. Ten titles. No other women’s national team on earth, in any confederation, has ten. If raw ability were the metric that decided football success, Nigeria would be unbeatable. It clearly is not the metric.
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My dad was a speedy left winger who played all the way into the then popular Nigerian Ports Authority Football team in Nigeria. He probably quit playing to pursue a career in Law. His younger brother was the captain of the legendary St. Gregory’s College Football team, who were champions of the Principal Cup in Nigeria many years ago. My mother, on the other hand, was a serious football fan who frequented stadiums with the paraphernalia of her chosen team. She only stopped going to the stadium when she almost lost her ear after a fight broke out in a tension soaked match between Nigeria and Ghana in 1969 or thereabout. But she continued her support for local Nigerian teams of which Shooting Stars was the object of worship. I can actually remember my mum having the then coach of Shooting Stars over for lunch at our house in Calabar when they came to play against the Calabar Rovers. Of course they were beaten (smiles). My point is that for most of my life, I have been engrossed with analyzing and assessing skill, technique, team strategy, and pattern of play in football; and I’m proud to say that this has lasted as long as I have had the ability to swallow lumps of eba.
Thoughts of a Calabarboy. 