Sadly, the chaos in our political space has now found another home in our sports. The same old pattern: those feeding fat from the system—or friends of those in authority—act like nothing is wrong. Even when failure is dancing naked in the market square, they insist it’s wearing designer outfits. They sing praises, form attack dogs, and insult anyone bold enough to call a spade what it is. It has been like this since the Second Republic.
And now, here we are again in our football.
No reasonable person, who understands football should defend Nigeria’s performance in the 2026 World Cup qualifiers, especially that last limp display against DR Congo. Yet some people are somehow defending the coach. We all watched the match. No need for VAR: the Eagles were slow in defence, sloppy in transitions, and toothless in attack, except when Victor Osimhen bulldozed through. Even in matches we managed to win, the coordination was poor; it was flashes of individual brilliance masking a deeper rot.
Last Sunday, the team collapsed the moment Osimhen didn’t start the second half due to injury . One player out, eleven hearts gone. And it’s not new—without Osimhen, the Eagles struggle like a generator running on stale fuel. His work rate often hides our tactical sins, but football always catches up with you eventually. Congo did, and they kicked us out of the World Cup playoffs after we failed to survive a group that included Zimbabwe, Lesotho, Rwanda, South Africa, and Benin Republic. That alone should have triggered a national inquest.
Alex Iwobi—highly rated by many coaches from his Arsenal days through Everton to Fulham—becomes a different player entirely in Super Eagles colours. Others who look average at their clubs somehow become invisible in the national team. Only a few—like Bassey and Osimhen—shine consistently. Modern football is built on collective movement, coordinated pressing, intelligent runs. I don’t see that in the Eagles. This is not a player problem; it’s a coaching problem.
But some Nigerians—some even sitting confidently on TV—say the coach is “doing well.” I genuinely don’t understand. Has our football decayed so badly that we now celebrate mediocrity?
Our icon, Segun Odegbami, told Tony Ubani on Wednesday that Sunday’s Eagles were the poorest he had ever seen. I agree completely. There was no midfield organisation, and the attacking runs were as directionless as a bus without a driver. Tolu Arokodare came in as a substitute—then got substituted. What exactly did the coaches see in training? Why was the attack so blunt in the second half? Where was the fighting spirit?
Then there was the sit-out in training over unpaid allowances before the Gabon match. Yes, the NFF erred—especially when President Tinubu’s government had already released funds for the qualifiers. But the players were wrong too. Two wrongs don’t make a goal. A World Cup qualifier is not the time to down tools. Indiscipline seeped into the pitch, and it showed.
And then the biggest shocker: a coach who loses a match and blames it on voodoo. A modern football coach, in 2024, blaming defeat on juju? How can such a man take us anywhere near global football’s elite? The coaching problem didn’t start with him, but he has done nothing to arrest the decline. He simply does not have the capacity.
The NFF also failed—again. They appear equally incapable of lifting our football. Nigeria deserves a better coach than Chelle now blaming shadows and spirits. And we certainly deserve a better federation than the Gusau-led board.
I hope those defending this embarrassment decide to think big—think Nigeria, think football—and not just think of whatever benefits their pockets. We have the history, the talent, and the resources to build a football system far better than what these men can offer.
Right now, Nigeria is playing football below its destiny. There are ways to change the narrative. We can.
By Onochie Anibeze