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In my last post, I had passingly mentioned my preference for
the English Premier League (EPL) over and above all the other leagues, and was
quick to include the Nigerian Premier League (NPL) to the list of leagues I
would easily brush aside for the entertainment and satisfaction that the EPL
gave me. However, I did explain, two posts ago, that my interests are not
exactly piqued by the quality of football on display in England, particularly
as I was fleet to point out that the current quality of football in the EPL
left much to be desired and yet waned by the week. If there was anything in it
that gave me this entertainment and satisfaction that I speak about, it was the
competition: The fact that there was no indomitable, no undefeatable. Simply
put, anyone could beat anyone, and I daresay, with a muffled chuckle, by any
score line.
Well, who knew that only two days from that “TGIF” piece, I
would be faced with the opportunity to witness a Nigerian Premier League game,
and by witness I mean LIVE. Although DSTV had claimed that they would be
performing the feat of airing the match live from “Nnamdi Azikiwe Stadium in
Enugu”, I and my buddies had sufficient proof that the game was in fact going
to hold at the Onikan Stadium. Easy to believe, when one spares a moment to
actually wonder what a Lagos derby would be doing so far away in Enugu in the
first place.
One thing we all seem to agree on is that the kick of time
was 4:00pm. My buddies and I had resolved to sacrifice seeing the full Juventus
game, which was on-going, for our very own NPL football, needless to mention
that I keep fighting the pull to call it “our local football” or “our local
league”, anyways I vanquished this urge every time.
This was my introduction to the NPL. This was going to be
the first time I was going to see a full NPL game, from start to finish. That I
was going to see it live was a pleasurable bonus. This two clubs had a rising
reputation, Mountain of Fire (MFM) FC had already been christened as the
Leicester of Nigerian football and for good reason. An indomitable and
resilient unknown. A newcomer steadily elevating itself to the skylines of
domination. Ikorodu FC was a fierce opponent, another menacing giant on their
stormy path, yet MFM FC must pave its way once again. It was undoubtedly
something to watch.
Super Sports had already started transmission and we could
see the inviting lush green of the stadium’s field sprawling in unreal
splendour in front of us. Finally, it seemed like I was about to watch
something I could get used to, and we that we switched the television off and
hurried along.
It was a short drive from Surulere to Onikan. Our
excitement, I suspect, must have made the drive even shorter. All the car parks
were already relatively full and the make-shift ones were fast swelling with
cars. Yet, the youths in the area had made a job of securing parking spaces one
way or another for the willing.
Once parked, we made our way to the entrance of the stadium.
Once there, we were informed that there were two entrances: One for VIP
(pavilioned seats) and one for Regular (not pavilioned); VIP would cost N2, 000
while regular was a meagre N100. First of all Pavilioned seats at 4:00pm in the
evening made no difference to us so we frowned at the gulf in price of VIP and
regular tickets. N200 would have got the same population of people in Regular
we felt, only that more of those people would have not batted an eyelid while
gladly paying for a VIP ticket if it cost N1,000 or N1,500 at most. Some of the
seats in choice areas can be cushioned for more comfort and sold as VVIP
tickets for N5,000 I they pleased. Anyways, call it rationalization but we were
convinced we would have more fun at the regular section, expecting to find more
people, more passion, less ego and raw spirited buzz fed by a common ground. I
had my initial doubts but was quickly reassured that there would be no fights,
nor indian-hemp-glazed-eyes with thick-croaky voices attempting to own the
contents of my wallet by guile or force.
No sooner had we matched into the stadium that we realized
we may have made the right choice, true enough this section was parked
colourfully full. Loud music rent the air from throats, drums, trumpets and all
sorts of instruments (some looked improvised). Chants brewed from both of the
supporter’s divide. The MFM supporters were all in blue, while those for
Ikorodu FC were all in red. (For some reason I preconceived it would be the
other way round).
So first thing I learnt, MFM FC’s home turf is the Teslim
Balogun Stadium while the Onikan Stadium was the home ground to Ikorodu FC.
Therefore, this was a home game for Ikorodu FC and
they were expected to hold
the advantage.
The players had taken to the field almost immediately. There
was one referee and two lines men, each to run the full length of either side.
On our side of the pitch the second official (lines man) was infact, a woman
who looked very fit and she ran the lines on our side for the duration of the
game despite initial jeering and a few strong words of criticism from the crowd
close to her for the decisions they felt were too light or too heavy, for
seeing what did not happen and not seeing what was clear as daylight. In her
favour, she seemed to know her onions and remained disinterested until her
tormentors found their place.
The referee put the whistle to his mouth and the game began.
The singing got louder, matching the fevered rhythm of the drums and indigenous
melodies that oozed from the trumpets. There were cheers for every dribble,
shot and save; groans for every infringement, and yells of encouragement for
every well executed pass or when a player covered space in front of him with
speed.
The first half was hardly a disappointment, there were
enough deft touches and fine football to make the heart swoon, but the defence
of both teams were content with hoofing the ball hard and aimlessly out every
time it got close to their eighteen yard box. More of my dissatisfaction came
from one time when supporters of Ikorodu FC felt a decision had unfairly gone
against their team and as a result had hurled empty plastic water bottles into
the pitch. Only one made its way in and was immediately spotted by the female
lines man who signalled the refree to halt the game temporarily and have the
alien object immediately removed.
The other unfortunate incident happened on the picth. An MFM
player had received a yellow for a soft foul at the tail end of the first half,
but a second yellow card followed immediately for what seemed to have been a
heavy-worded protest. 2 yellow cards + 1 player = 1 red card and so the
matching order was issued. My mind wandered two paths, the first being what the
reaction of the Ikorodu supporters would have been, considering that bottle
throwing event, if the red card hard gone to a member of their own team. The
second part being how the second half would pan out and if it was possible to
have a balanced game despite the inequality of numbers on either side of the
scale. For this second question, the second half was sure to answer.
At half time we were entertained by a dreadlocked “jester”
who played a player-guessing game with us, mimicking their mannerisms so
perfectly we could easily guess all the players, although with small help from
the club/country jersey and jersey numbers on the back of each jersey he
adorned for each performance. Mikel Obi’s back passing and readjusting his
socks on the turf was easy to identify, Kanu Nwankwo gingerly steps and snaky
dribbles, Jay Jay Okocha numerous leg overs and spitting in despair after a
missed chance, Joseph Yobo’s arrangement of his defensive line and last lunging
tackles, Ronaldo’s exaggerated deep breathes before taking a free kick and his
goal celebration of a jump, turn and land to show his name and jersey number, Ronaldinho’s
mesmeric dribbles as he saunters through defences that had no answers, etc The
last on the card was Jose Mourinho touchline antics and that was the last of
his performance. A round of applause accompanied him out of the field for a job
well done as the players made to re-enter the pitch.
Surprisingly, not long after the first kick of the second half, did we realise that the game remained even despite the MFM team missing a man. They actually seemed to not miss him at all. It was easy to notice why with little study- The Ikorodu FC players came out to take huge advantage of their superior numbers, they meant to put this game to an early rest it seemed. But, MFM FC were not having any of it, tirelessly repelling attack after attack and initiating dangerous counter attacks of their own. At some point, one could have sworn that the MFM players had snuck an extra man into their ranks. You would think there was an extra pair of legs in their formation with the way they inched closer to breaking the duck. It was not so much their numbers I must admit, but the quality of football, passes, control and good positioning they brought to this half.
It seemed a miracle was about to happen and the church team
had entreated God to take His place in one of the VIP seats and oversea their
victory and so it seemed, but in the twilight of the game, the tide turned
sharply and Ikorodu FC appeared to have been awoken from a drunken slumber as
they made brilliant efforts to stamp their authority on the game. Playing with
a stronger determination and more confident swagger yet with what looked like a
tint of desperation they began to mount giant waves of relentless attack on the
MFM’s goal. Each attack repelled birthed another fiercer attack like a raging
phoenix. There were more corner kicks as the end drew near, than there had been
in the entirety of the game.
The players, mostly the MFM players, were already betraying
signs of fatigue, crashing to the floor at any “undue” contact and choosing to
stay down for respite. The referee it seemed was vocally bullying them back up,
but some stuck to the ground longer. One even had to be stretched out, but no
sooner was he carried to the side lines that he was out of the stretcher and
“achingly” willing to return to the action.
2 minutes extra minutes of stoppage time, read the neon
lights hoisted by the third official. At that signal the crowd began to file
out. My buddies and I followed the ebb. We had not gone far when we
heard the loud shrill of the final whistle. The game had ended 0 – 0. The drive
back home felt longer.
Disclaimer: The Photo used in this post does not belong to the blogger.
