Yesterday I played football.
Football: Silly game where a bunch of guys forget the world’s important details —The name of the ten sexiest women in the world— in exchange for half an hour during which your soul mission is to chase a round object and kick it hard.
Yes that game.
The chasing part wasn’t too difficult.
I’ve had a lot of experience in chasing curves. The kicking part? Now that’s where the challenge lay. You not only had to kick it, you had to do it with precision.
Rhythm was an important note.
You didn’t want to look like Captain Hook trying to save the day with a wooden leg
Some girls hung on the sideline yelling encouragements to their guys. I stared at the guys in annoyance. They obviously had better control and handling in chasing curves.
On and off the field.
The girls hung on the line dressed in jeans that hugged their frames.Distractions hanging on the periphery of my vision. One of them was dressed in summer dress that moved with the slightest of breezes. Simply running by her triggered a vision of lust.
I stared at the referee for help.
Wasn’t that a red card offense?
Eventually I got the hang of it.
Aim for the curved object. Avoid the shin. Breathe. Run like hell.
Check. Check. Check. Pant…Check!
In the end I didn’t do so badly. Just when I thought I was going to pass out on the field from exhaustion and pain from a dislocated and then broken ankle (I’m auctioning said ankle on Ebay. It’s still got blood on it. Starting bid $800. Can be used as book marker, self-defense weapon or replacement ankle Visit WWW.Carls-ankle.com.) The referee blew his whistle, yelled out time and saved my life.
No one understood why I ran to the referee and gave him a hug midst sobbing babbles.
I returned home, without the limp that would surface once the endorphins where done swimming in my blood, grabbed a consolatory bottle of coke, sat in front of my system and hopped into the internet.
As I browsed I noticed an alarming fact.
A quick survey of my favorite sites showed that not many people had made reference to football. While this probably would have been acceptable behavior in weeks past. Recent events have forced a change in priorities of views and soon to be effected blog posts. If you’ve still got raised eyebrows, shame on you, by recent events I’m talking about the nation’s cup.
After pondering the dilemma I decided to do something about it.
Given my obvious experience in football; a life time of observing and playing football squeezed into yesterday’s eternal 20 minute game,and my position in Blog as a member, have decided to put my experience as both a semi professional footballer and writer to good use.
I have decided to appoint myself the official unofficial nations cup reporter.
Hopefully, years from now, my country will look back on my actions and posts in the weeks to come and award me some prestigious award.
It is something to look forward too.
Another thing to look forward to, I suppose, is a sudden decreases in traffic and hits on my site. I comfort myself with the dream that the award will happen one day.
Besides, which is more important? To be loyal to a country as corrupt and rich in clichés as Nigeria or to write interesting blogs for fans (majority of which happen to be female) to read.
Don’t answer the question.
Ignoring the advice on the contrary by some annoying chap on my shoulder, who is wearing a T-shirt with the words “Jiminy cricket rocks”. Some bloke who keep insisting that he is my conscience anytime I want to do anything remotely fun, I’ll dive straight into the nations cup update.
Nigeria thus far sucks,
We played against Cote d’ivoire.
Does anyone know where that is? No. I didn’t think so. Its somewhere in Africa. West Africa. You do all know where west is right. No. Not that far west.
Does anyone know who Drogba is? Or Solomon Kaloue? DO the names Kolo Toure and Eboue ring a bell?
Well we played against those guys and lost.
Given the caliber pf players we played against, some would theorize that we were bound to fail in the end. Perhaps. Well there’s failing and there’s failing.
There’s the defeat of Poland by Germany that not even the Germans talk off because of the embarrassing ease at which it occurred.
And there’s the adrenalin and awe inspiring defeat of 300 Spartans by an ad infinitum force of Persian. True they where defeated and swept away in the end. But they put up a fight so fierce, so true that they have become the stuff of legends. At least that’s what Frank Miller would have you believe. That 300 Greek men, half clad in linen, did what the members of Gandalfs (and Tolkein’s) middle earth, replete with thousands of seasoned warriors , dwarves and socerers could not do.
They withstood and slayed a herd of charging Battle Elephants.
Well our eagles chose the approach of the Poles. They simply stood, made the obligatory sign of the cross, and where run over by the elephants of Cote de ivoire.
I can go into the torment that ensued as I watched the match. How I winced every time the elephants took a shot at our goal. It seemed to happen every minute. Very soon I was shivering like some epileptic patient. How my friend John who had bet 3000 thousand that the eagles would murder the elephants (He obviously hadn’t watched Discovery Channel or National Geographic) sat in a corner murmuring
"Say it isn’t so.”
How PHCN also known as NEPA also known as BLOODYTWATS denied me freedom and relief and absolutely refused to take power when I needed them too.
I could say all this, but I am reminded that this is an article and as such, should be concise and simple as possible.
With the obligatory witty/funny remark at the end.
After a depressing 90 minutes the match ended with the scores at 1-0.
Nigerians all over the world groaned with dismay as the players walked off the field.
heir dreams of Nation cup glory had developed its first crack.
Beneath it was the second desperate thought.
Where are our native doctors when you need them?