When a nation pins its pride on the bounce of a ball, it forgets that the true field is not in Cairo or Johannesburg, but in the villages where water no longer flows, and in the markets where rice mocks the poor man’s pocket. The Super Eagles falter, not for lack of talent, but because a tired land whispers into their boots. How can you run freely when the home behind you is shackled by darkness, fear, and thousands of unpaid wages?
We chase goals on foreign turf, while at home, we have not scored a light in sixty years. The world applauds our dribbles, but asks: Can a nation that cannot feed itself ever lift a cup? Other nations arrive at tournaments clothed in dignity, their homes steady, their people fed; while Nigeria comes with a fanfare louder than her wins. A giant with clay feet dancing on borrowed drums.
Once, we lifted cups with pride; from Atlanta ’96 to Tunis, from Enyimba’s roar to Okwaraji’s blood. But the past cannot be a trophy room forever. Nations that grow old on memory forget to build new dreams. Now, our qualification hangs on other people’s mercy, as though destiny itself is outsourced. Yet, we shout “Up Super Eagles!” forgetting that wings cannot fly in broken winds.
It is not that we lack players of grit and grace, but we lack leaders who see beyond the stadium lights. For when governance is a penalty missed, the scoreboard of the nation will always read defeat. Some will say, “Football unites us, leave it alone.” But unity built on ninety minutes is fragile. What of the farmer in Benue, the trader in Aba, the student in Sokoto, who unite their daily struggle?
Perhaps, in truth, our football only mirrors us: a people with promise, undone by poor finishing. Dribbling past poverty, yet tripping over crime, cheered by the crowd, but empty at the final whistle. Nigeria must first qualify for herself, before she can qualify for the world. When water flows, when light endures, when justice is no stranger, then the cup will come to us, not as accident, but as reward.
The Super Eagles take to the pitch with the weight of a nation on their shoulders, yet their stumbles in qualification echo far beyond the football field. Every missed chance, every defensive lapse, mirrors a country brimming with talent yet shackled by inconsistency. The brilliance of gifted strikers dulled by disunity, the roar of the crowd tempered by frustration, the promise of victory too often postponed.
But even in the turbulence lies a stubborn hope. Just as the green-white-green flag refuses to fall, so too do the fans sing in faith of a better tomorrow. Our struggle for qualification is not just about a ticket to the next tournament, it is a reflection of Nigeria itself: resilient, restless, and still yearning to convert potential into triumph. God bless the Super Eagles and the Federal Republic of Nigeria 🇳🇬. We shall be great again in this lifetime.
William Z. Bozimo
Veteran Journalist | Columnist | National Memory Keepe
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