When We Were Kings (Yes, We Were Great)
Let me take you back to those glorious days — the 1990s. Back when Uche Okechukwu, Austin “Jay-Jay” Okocha, Sunday Oliseh, Nwankwo Kanu, Finidi George, Daniel Amokachi, Taribo West, Victor Ikpeba, Mutiu Adepoju, Rashidi Yekini, and Stephen Keshi (just to name a few) carried our green-white-green banner with such class and pride. These were not half-baked stars; they were world-class talents, warriors who didn’t just dribble — they made magic.
We brought that magic to bigger stages. In USA ’94, our debut World Cup, we stunned the world. In France ’98, we proved we weren’t a fluke. And who can forget Atlanta ’96, the Olympics? Our football team didn’t just compete — we won Gold, beating some of the very best, and were voted FIFA’s best team of 1996. We weren’t just good; we were unforgettable.
Back then, selection wasn’t about who you knew in the NFF Glasshouse. It was about skill, heart, merit. Every time a Nigerian took the ball, you felt control, purpose. Not the jittery, indecisive play we sometimes see today. Those legends, they played for Nigeria. Their blood boiled when they wore that jersey. And we saw it. We believed it.
Then Corruption Came Marching In
Fast-forward to now, and it’s as though someone vandalized our national treasure. Today, you don’t rise to the top just by being good. Nope — you’ve got to know somebody. There’s a familiar whisper in every stadium, every scouting camp: “Who are your people in the NFF?” “Do you have connections?” Merit has taken a back seat, and networking has become the currency.
It’s not just rumor. This isn’t gossip — it’s documented reality. Under NFF leadership, money meant for development has gone missing like socks after laundry day. According to a major investigation, the Pinnick-led NFF has been accused of applying for and receiving multiple funding streams for the same events — double budget, double billing. Friendly matches, they said, were “conduit pipes” — as one whistle-blower put it — for embezzling funds.
The real shocker? Some of these revenues never went into the NFF’s official accounts. Instead, huge sums — from FIFA, CAF, sponsorships — wound up in private companies’ coffers. The kind of shady bookkeeping that would make any auditor blush. And when oversight bodies tried to check in, the NFF allegedly locked the door: books weren’t shared, and external contracts were murky or non-existent.
That wasn’t all. Former Secretary-General of the NFF, Bolaji Ojo-Oba, publicly alleged that match-fixing is widespread in domestic leagues — coaches and club officials bribing referees so shamelessly that it’s become part of the system. Think about that: winning at home no longer depends solely on skill, but who’s paid off the ref.
And while all this rot continues, players suffer. Bonuses and allowances are delayed or diverted. According to investigative reports, money intended for players never reaches them; instead, it lines the pockets of “petty officials” or gets swallowed by excuses.
Remember Peter Obi’s scathing remarks? He didn’t mince words: about $25 million from FIFA and CAF — funds supposedly for stadiums and youth football — with “little or nothing to show for it.” He called the stadium project in Kebbi — costed at $1.2 million — a “national embarrassment.”
And for all the promises of reform, of transparency, of cleaning house? Well, the founding of an anti-corruption unit within the NFF happened years ago. But its impact seems minimal when the culture of impunity remains entrenched, when loyalty is prized above competence.
Even government institutions are now raising red flags. The House of Representatives has launched probes into NFF’s financial activities over the past decade, questioning how over $25 million in developmental grants were spent.
The Fallout: Talent Starved, Pride Drowned
What’s the result of this institutional rot? We’re hemorrhaging talent. The raw, natural ability is still there — don’t get me wrong — but the pipeline has clogged. Those who could become the next Okocha or Kanu, the next Jay-Jay or Finidi, don’t always get the chance: they lack connections, or they walk away discouraged. Why? Because the system rewards loyalty, not excellence.
Instead of building cohesive, hungry squads, we get a patchwork. A few standout names like Victor Osimhen or Nathaniel Lookman shine — and they shine in spite of the system. But as a team? As a well-oiled unit that plays with conviction, that controls games with confidence? Not so much lately.
Our national campaigns suffer. We’ve missed World Cup qualifications. We’ve seen squad inconsistency. Youth development falters. Scouting is weak. Infrastructure is poor. The league is chaotic; no stability.
And let’s not forget, some of our own coaches and former players have fallen hard. Samson Siasia, once a national hero, was slapped with a lifetime ban (later reduced) for match-fixing. It’s like the rot has spread from boardrooms into the heart of the game.
Looking at the Contrast: Then vs. Now
Then: Selection grounded in merit. You earned your spot.
Now: Knowing someone matters as much — sometimes more — than how well you dribble.
Then: Funding went into youth, into structural development, into infrastructure.
Now: Billions flow in (FIFA, CAF, sponsors), but too much leaks out into private accounts, while stadium projects remain ghost promises.
Then: Players fought for the badge, wore the shirt with pride, played for legacy.
Now: Many play for survival, for appearance, sometimes for the next paycheck.
Then: Our team was feared; we were the best in Africa, contenders on the world stage.
Now: We scramble. We're inconsistent. Our administration bleeds money. Our future gets sold off in shady deals.
So, What Went Wrong and Why We Should Be Furious
1. Systemic Corruption
The NFF — rather than nurturing talent — has become a money mill. The very funds meant to rebuild Nigerian football are being siphoned away. This isn’t just incompetence; it’s theft.
2. Broken Accountability
Oversight is either weak or complicit. Committees are set up, probes are launched — but then little meaningful change happens. Officials accused of graft often walk free or remain unpunished.
3. Misplaced Priorities
It’s not about football development anymore — it’s about who controls the purse strings, who gets contracts, who gains influence. Infrastructure and youth development come second (if they come at all).
4. Talent Drain / Wasted Potential
Talented players who lack “connections” are left behind. Grassroots scouting is weak. Promising kids become frustrated; they leave, or they settle. Meanwhile, a handful of players keep carrying the burden — and soon that burden crushes them.
5. Erosion of National Pride
When football fails, it’s not just a sport that dies; a part of our national soul takes a hit. Those days when every Super Eagles call-up meant something — where is that passion now? Who feels that same electricity when we line up for a qualifier?
Why This Matters — to All of Us
Football in Nigeria is more than a game. It’s an identity. It’s soft power. It’s hope. It’s what unites us across tribes, across class. When our national team does well, the whole country feels it — from age-grade kids kicking balls in dusty fields to ambitious young men dreaming of Heathrow-bound transfers.
But corruption is trying to steal that dream. And if we don’t call it out, if we don’t fight for reform, then we don’t just lose matches — we lose the legacy. We lose the next Okocha, the next Kanu. We lose faith in what could be.
So, Let Me Wrap This Bitter Story with a Call to Action
We must demand accountability. Lawmakers probing the NFF is a start. But the civil society, fans, journalists — we must keep the pressure. No more cover-ups.
We must insist on transparency. Every Naira and dollar that flows into the NFF must be tracked. There should be no more “private company accounts” shenanigans — public money must remain public.
We must rebuild meritocracy. Let the best players play. No more “knowing someone in the Glasshouse.” Scouts, coaches, technical directors — give them real independence and integrity.
We must invest in youth and infrastructure. Not lip service. Real academies. Real stadiums. Real grassroots support.
We must demand competence and expertise. Football administration isn’t a charity gig. It requires smart people, not sycophants. Leadership must be chosen for skill, not favoritism.
In conclusion: Our Super Eagles once roared. They soared. They were a symbol of what Nigeria could be: bold, talented, unbreakable. But corruption crept in. It ate through the foundation. It hollowed out the system. Today, we don’t just have a failing football team — we have a failing dream.
We need to regret it — not as passive victims, but as active citizens. We need to demand better. Because if football matters — and it does, more than many realize — then our fight to save it matters.
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