FRIENDLY WAR (Part Three)

BY DR Wilson ORHIUNU (BABAWILLY)

Babawill2000@yahoo.co.uk

Continued.....

 Suddenly our mouths drop as a one on one situation develops between our goalie and the striker they call Ghanaba (son of Ghana), the true born centre forward .We breathe a sigh of relief as he blasts the ball high into the stands. The usual happens.

The Ghanaian supporters either hold their heads in their hands or bite their index fingers in frustration. As for Ghanaba the trueborn centre forward, he turns round and spits. (How revolting). Then he begins to scratch his groin in the full view of the television cameras. I tell you, he scratched so hard I began to suspect a five billion Cedis scratch card lay hidden in his shorts. The referee ran across and showed him a yellow card for dangerous scratching much to the delight of the home fans. Ah-ah, has Ghanaba got no shame? How could he miss that golden opportunity by such a large margin? All he has to do is practice shooting the ball all week ke.

As for me, I make no such mistakes at work o. Touch the wrong wires and electrocution is the reward. You won't even get a chance to spit in disgust let alone scratch.

As the game progressed I began to question the sanity of my fellow Super Eagles supporters. One wore a bowler hat on which he stuck a battery-operated fan. Na wa! The fan showed no sign of slowing down despite being on for two hours so far. Around the fan he stuck six tiny black and white leather balls. But you should have seen Otango. He shaved his head completely and was stripped to the waist, his entire body covered in green and white green paint. I tell you, we might visit Aro psychiatric hospital on our way home, who knows?

My attention is back on the field of play as our favorite midfielder is experiencing a sudden rush of blood. He begins to perform gravity defying jiggery, pokery with the ball. The Ghanaians looked on as if hypnotized. This was Afro-Disney, the pinnacle of visual entertainment.

Leg movements came in flashes and the ball responded. It looked like Ajasco cum disco cum Ikwokirikwo dance without the music. But I tell you, we could all see the music. Then he trapped the ball with his foot on it's North Pole and thus began to perform what we call ye-ye rolling. Why you look me so? Don't you know ye-ye rolling? You simply roll the ball along leisurely with a bit of attitude then feign a change in direction to confuse the opponents (who by now might have been reduced to the status of a mere spectator) and make them look ye-ye or foolish as some might say.

It worked. Three Ghanaians tackled simultaneously, kicking each other in the process. From our midfielder, a pass that was as precise as an e-mail reached the feet of one of our strikers.

From where I'm sitting that striker looked the tallest man in the stadium! He was in the penalty box and set to pull the trigger when I saw my right leg reflexly shoot out in a wild kick into the back of the seat in front. Oh the pain! Why did I do such a stupid thing? Surely by now I should have realised I was a spectator not a player.

Anyway, with only the keeper to beat he collapses in a heap, clutching his calf muscle. The crowd sighed. Many said it was 'muscle pull' but the referee ran across angrily and awarded a penalty. The stadium was in shock. The honest striker tried to convince the referee that he hadn't been fouled only to earn himself a yellow card. Our players refused to take the penalty kick.

The referee beckoned to the bench and they refused to respond. He then ran to the microphone and announced over the public address system that any Nigerian  could take the kick so long as he had his International Passport on him as proof of identity.

The bench and coaching staff of both teams shook their head in disgust. Everyone booed. After all it was only a friendly ke. Suddenly a loud cry could be heard from the presidential box. The voice of a well-seasoned sycophant and boot licker. "I will score for Nigeria o!"

An over weight official in white flowing robes ran down the steps that led to the pitch. He had strange footprints on his back. Whisper, whisper, the grapevine says it's the effect of a thousand kickbacks! Na wa. The ministry of "chop" man keen on impressing his president over did it. He panted as he brought out his green well-travelled passport for the referee's inspection. Satisfied with what he saw the referee blew his whistle.

The 'big man' removed his cap, took seven steps back and began his run-up to the ball. The crowd jeered. A strange gust of wind blew across Ibadan. Next minute the 'big man' fell. The medical crew promptly ferried him away and soon afterwards in the eye of a Mexican wave I heard he had sprained his potbelly. The referee insisted the penalty kick still be taken. The tricky situation was solved by our goalkeeper who raced across the pitch to send the ball into orbit. He eyed the referee with contempt before acknowledging the Ghanaian hands held out in appreciation of the most supreme gesture of sportsmanship ever seen in Africa.

The whole stadium applauded our goalkeeper. By now the referee, who had had enough blew for half time.

The roar from the crowd told me the second half was imminent. Making my way back to my seat I passed the couple still arguing about the Falcons versus the Eagles. The woman was now abusing her mother in-law. "Leave my mother out of this o!" the man threatened. For where? The woman was just warming up.

"Your mother should be captain of the Falcons as she sabi to dey fly fly for night! Stupid most valuable witch of the year woman"

Come see laugh. The man just remained silent as the supporters around the woman began to chant "You don win, you don win. Falcons sef don win" Serves him right for coming to the game with his wife. Ye-ye woman lappa man.

Back in my seat I begin to fan my neck. I then notice two of my favorite players on the bench wearing dark sunglasses. Those around me started speculating. Them just dey show off. Na Apollo do them. No na conjuctivitis do them, on and on it went till the Mexican wave hit us, out of which came an unlikely story.

You see, dem say dat the foreign coach was unhappy at the way our boys were refusing to fall when their strong yams (leg muscles) were kicked in the penalty area. He reckoned we've lost out on at least four penalty kicks in our last six games. To correct this he decided to embark on a crash course in diving. And where better to learn than at an Ijaw waterside village where they built houses on stilts in the Niger Delta.

For two hours the players dived from the rooftops seemingly enjoying themselves by which time the coach was sure that any referee could easily be fooled by the now high standard of diving the players were exhibiting. Suddenly disaster struck. An under water oil pipe burst while some players had their eyes open in the water. Na wa! See di trouble this ye-ye coach has caused. What is wrong with Federal palace hotel or Ikoyi hotel swimming pools eh? If we loose this game there will be trouble for that coach o!

The game is now held up as the referee has disappeared.

To while away the time the Stadium Selector plays Felix Liberty 's Ngozi music. See show! See rockeez! Cheerleaders flooded the place and began to gyrate.

Some players even joined in the dance. When we saw the referee running towards the centre circle and tucking in his shirt as he ran we knew our fun was over and we all booed. The rumor came saying the referee had been trapped behind a faulty lock in the toilet. The pretty cheerleaders received a standing ovation. They even received a presidential wave. Nice chap that president of ours. Not that I wish him bad or anything of the sort but I hope the countries' electric power problem continues.

Ah ah, so you judge me with you eyes eh? Don't you know my electric generator leasing business depends on power cuts? At this point in time I can't afford a drop in income. Can you?