FRIENDLY WAR (Part Two)

BY DR Wilson ORHIUNU (BABAWILLY)

Babawill2000@yahoo.co.uk

Continued.....

The thousands of white doves that should have been released as the footballers took to the pitch didn't materialize. Only three doves were released. A wave of rumor brought news that the secretary in charge of the Local organising committee (LOC ) had embezzled the funds, then lied that a mystery bug called Ogunpa Virus had killed all the birds while in transit.

National anthems played, hands were shaken and the kick-off was upon us.

I cheered till my voice failed then shook my Shekere to nonsense before blowing my whistle with all my might. You would have thought I was being paid to do this. I looked round the vast arena and surveyed my comrades who all looked like happy ants reveling in the sugar coated cereal bowl of a giant. I began to see things in another perspective at that instant.

Let the truth be told, I am a football addict to the core. I looked to my side and my friend "show-boy" Shagasha was in tears. He is definitely more obsessed than yours' truly. Was it not show- boy who passed the litmus test in grand style? I tell you, at our last meeting there were only two seats left on the coach when in came thirty late- comers all purporting to be bonafide Super Eagles supporters.

By the powers vested in me as the honorable V.P of the association I lined up the said thirty in a single file at right angles to the assembly and shouted "right turn". They all obeyed resulting in their hungry faces all looking into the assembly who by now were completely bewildered.

I announced that the true supporters would be revealed today today. I noticed Bro' Jimoh whisper to a friend he was sure I intended to march them to the taps outside and separate the men from the boys ‘Gideon style’ as written in the holy scriptures. You should have seen the look on their faces as I crept behind each of the thirty and whispered into their ears looking for a reaction and then moved on.

To the first I said “Roger Milla”, nothing happened. I moved on. "Roberto Baggio" I whispered to the fourteenth man. Nothing. I shook my head. Then I changed to “Denmark”. Nothing. By the time I got to show-boy I had reverted to “Roberto Baggio”. On hearing the name show-boy take body stone ground in a most dramatic faint. I tipped my soft drink up his nostrils as he lay comatose on his back and he was promptly revived. He jumped up wailing. "Give me Visa and ticket o! To Italy o! Make I go cut that ponytail, his secret source of power o! He had taken leave of his senses.

I nodded at the assembly and they understood. Show-boy had just secured his seat on the coach. The next positive test was Otango. As soon as I uttered "Den.." he cried bitterly. He couldn't even wait for me to say "mark",the yeye obsessive vulcanizer. All this futball madness sef.

I once heard a strange explanation for it all. My friend said (please don't quote me o!) that bottle fed kids grow up to play Rugby while breast fed ones ended up liking soccer. He went on to say it was due to a Freudian bush trap or something. I must add that this friend in question was actually quoting a sports psychologist he was driving between the Sheraton hotel, Ikeja and the National stadium in Suru-lere .You know how taxi drivers are. Eavesdropping without license then jumping to wrong conclusions. We now call the guy Sigmund Fraud.

The game starts well. The referee soon shows his true colours. Every Ghanaian attack is off side, even the Nigerian supporters screamed "Ojoro" in disgust. The game drags on till out of nowhere one of our diminutive left sided defenders players blasted in a goal.

The ball seemed to glide in slow motion through the Ibadan air, beating the hapless goalkeeper till its flight was abruptly cut short by the net, which exploded, into a thousand ripples.

The crowd went mental. The goal scorer who had looked lethargic since kick-off was rejuvenated. All smiles, he ran with outstretched hands, like a light air craft about to take off from the run way of enjoyment, to the left corner flag which he encircled in a weird "honey bee" kind of dance.

His team mates rushed to him in merriment, pretended to study his leg work with quizzical expressions on their faces before hunching their shoulders in a "wetin concern me" gesture and joining in the celebratory jig.

When the goal scorer had had his fill he darted off suddenly along the touchline before breaking into an extravagant cart wheel followed by a somersault. I must confess that at this point I forgot all my problems for e bi like say my brain was squeezing rations of honey into my blood stream making every nerve cell in my body tingle. True to God, any mosquito wey bite me now will die of happiness.

The stadium was in a state of Milliki as the unhappy Ghanaians kicked off. They all looked sluggish and despondent as if their stomachs had been forcibly pumped full of Kenkey and hot gas.

Talking of food is making me hungry. All my comrades stopped to eat at Akobo-Ojuirin but I didn't partake. I was still vexing with my wife. The name of the eating joint sef was funny. Ghana-Nigeria. My comrades tanked up with Tombo, turkey pepper soup, bushmeat and various other edibles but anger no gree man chop. My one consolation is that even though I was hungry, I was happy.

From out of thin air a dog materialized on the pitch running wildly towards the ball. The crowd cheered. One man claimed to recognize the dog. It was Junior Bingo from Bodija area. Another said "see the legs. I bet it will taste good in Okra soup" We hushed the silly "hot dog eater" down. "Your head is not correct .How can you eat man's best friend eh ? You cannibal!" I screamed. The man just laughed and picked his teeth with a piece of folded paper he had torn off his match programme.

I tell you, no one could catch the dog. It out maneuvered everyone much to our enjoyment. Our foreign coach was forced to make a substitution and on came a winger as short and as fast as a Lamborghini. It proved an inspired substitution for he was soon making grounds on the dog. Just as he was about to catch the dog there came a booming foreign sounding voice on the public address system. "Beware of Rabies!" Oh the silly football agent.

You know the problem with these people? They treat the players like investments. Does he not know that the player concerned has been pursuing and capturing dogs with his bare hands since the day of his birth? Anyway the game goes on.

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