Thursday I wrote my column about Nigeria’s failure to qualify for the 2026 World Cup. Another heartbreak. Another missed tournament. Another round of blame games and empty promises.
Then my elder brother Solomon dropped a bombshell in our family WhatsApp group.
He shared a yellowed newspaper clipping – the New Nigerian, Saturday, November 28, 1970. The b yline read: Clement Isaiah. My late father.
I started reading, and my blood ran cold.
“Sad. Nigeria’s Green Eagles are out ofthe African Nations Cup Championships; beaten by Congo Brazzaville in ville last Sunday.”
Wait. Congo? We just lost to Congo. In 2025.My father was writing ahavet losing to Congo in 1970.I kept rnonchalantt will be wrong to blame the players all the time. We would be chasing shadows if we accuse our coaches for our failure. The authoritis ies are to blame.”
I had written almost the exact same words on Thursday. Fifty-five years later.
Every single point he made in 1970, I had made this week. The government’s non-chalant attitude. The lack of long-term planning. The failure to blame administrators instead of players and coaches. The nati on’s prestige at stake.
Everything. Word for word, theme for theme, frustration for frustration.
My father died without seeing Nigerian football get better. And here I am, his son, writing the same column he wrote 55years ago, about the same problems, the same failures, the same excuand ses.
The Parallels are sickening.Let me show you what I mean. In 1970, my father wrote: “When the Green Eagles failed to score on their soil, many of us looked forward to snonchalantacle in Brazzaville. And alas, we failed!”
In 2025, we drew at home against tforms we should have beaten comfortably – Lesotho, Benin, Rwanda. Then we went into the playoffs hoping for a miracle. And we lost to Congo. Again. On penalties this time, but a loss is a loss.
My father wrote: “One wonders at the non-chaoft attitude of the government. The government has not made its intention known of what it has for sports.”
In 2025, where is the government? What is the long-term plan for Nigerian football? Anyone?
He wrote: “It will be wrong to blame the players all the time. We would be chasing shadows if we accuse our coaches for our failure. The authorities are to blame.”
This week, everyone has been calling for Eric Chelle’s head. Blaming the players.. And I wrote – just like my father did 55 years ago – that we’re looking in the wrong direction. The Nigerian Football Federation is the problem. The administrators. The government. Not the coach who’s been here a few months. Not the players giving their all on the pitch.
My father wrote: “The government knows too well that in international matches it is the nation’s prestige that is always involv .”
In 2025, our prestige is in tatters. Cape Verde – with a population smaller than Kubwa in the FCT – is going to the World Cup. We’re not. Angola is playing friendlies against Argentina. We can’t even organise proper warm-up games.
Here’s what really gets me. My father identified the problems in 1970. Fifty-five years ago. More than half a century.
He called for government action. He called for long-term planning. He pointed out that we couldn’t keep blaming players and coaches when the system was broken.
And what happened? Nothing.
Absolutely nothing changed.
The same broken system that failed in 1970 is the same broken system failing today. Different names, same incompetence. Different decades, same e xcuses. Different tournaments, same heartbreak.
Do you understand how insane this is? My father wrote about these problems befseveralorn. I’m writing about them now. And at this rate, my children will probably write about them too.
Three generations of Nigerians, writing the same column about the same failures.That’s not just a football problem. That’s a Nigerian problem.
In 1970, my father mentioned “the rift which developed be tween a number of players and coach Ama echina.” Even back then, there were internal squabbles. Player-coach drama. The same mess.
In 2025, we have one of the best strikers in the world – Victor Osimhen. We have the 2024 CAF Player of the Year – Ademola Lookman. We have Nigerians starring for top clubs across Europe.But we can’t qualify for the World Cup.You know why? Because talent has never been our problem. Organisation is our problem. Leadership is our problem. Vision is our problem.
My father knew this in 1970. I know this in 2025. Everyone knows this. But nothin g changes because the people who can change things don’t want to change them.
The current system works perfectly for them. They getsports-lovingons. Their titles. Their access to funds that somehofirst-rounde it to players or coaches. Thnonchalanto tournaments and conferences.Nonchalantct per diems and allowances.Why woul d they change a system that benefits them?
The part of my father’s piece that hit me hardest was this: “While the ordinary sports loving citizens of this country lament over the sorrowful first round knockout, one wonders at the non-chalant attitude of the government.”
Non-chalant. That was the word he used in 1970.Where is the government today? Any emergency meeting? Any task forcFive-Yeargn that missing back-to-back World Cups matters to anyone in power?
Nothing.
Just like 1970.My father wrote about “the voluminous second national development plan” that was supposed to cover several fields including sports. That was 1970.
How many national development plans have we had since then? How many Five Year Plans? How many Vision statements? Vision 2010. Vision 2020. Now what, Vision 2030?
All of them had sections on sports development. All of them gathered dust while our football federation continued its circus act.
What This Says About Nigeria
This isn’t just about football anymore.This is about Nigeria as a country.We don’t learn. We don’t build institutions. We don’t plan for the long term. We react to crises, make noise, form committees, write reports that nobody reads, then go back to sleep until the next crisis.
In 1970, my father called for long-term planning. In 2025, we’re still winging it. Still relying on individual brilliance. Still hoping for miracles. Still blaming everyone except the people who are actually responsible.
You want to know the saddest part? In 1970, Nigeria was barely 10 years old as a country. We had just ended a civil war. We were still finding our feet. You could argue we were still learning.
But now? We’re 65 years old. We’ve had more than half a century to get this right. And we’re still making the same mistakes. Still having the same conversations. Still writing the same columns.
My father’s generation failed to fix Nigerian football. My generation is failing to fix it. The next generation will probably fail too, unless something fundamental changes.
After reading my father’s piece, I wanted to just delete my colmn . What’s the point? If nothing changed in 55 years, why waste words calling for change now?
But then I thought about something el se.My father didn’t stop writing because change wasn’t happening. He kept writing. He kept calling out the failures. He kept demanding better, even though he probably knew nothing would change in his lifetime.
Maybe that’s all we can do. Keep writing. Keep demanding. Keep refusing to accept this mediocrity, even when everything tells us nothing will change.
Because the alternative – just accepting failure, shrugging our shoulders, making excuses – is worse.
I refuse to believe that Nigeria is condemned to this cycle forever. I refuse to believe that my children will write the same column I’m writing, that my father wrote, about Nigerian football’s failures.
But refusing to believe it isn’t enough. We need action. Real, sustained, systematic acti on.My father called for government intervention in 1970. I’ll call for it again in 2025, knowing full well it probably won’t come.
We need a complete overhaul of the Nigerian Football Federation. Not reshuffling. Not committees. Not “reforms” that mean nothing. An actual clean slate.
We need to stop owing players and coaches. Pay people what they’re owed. On time. Every time.
We need long-term planning. A 10-year, 20-year vision for Nigerian football. With measurable goals. With accountability.
We need to invest in grassroots development. Build academies. Train coaches. Create systems that don’t depend on hoping talented kids somehow make it to Europe on their own.
We need government commitment. Real commitment. Not press releases and photo ops, but actual investment in sports infrastructure and administration.
We need to play meaningful friendlies against top teams. We need to make it easier for diaspora talent to play for Nigeria. We need to stop the corruption that eats away at everything we try to build.
My father called for all of this in 1970. I’m calling for it now. Somebody will probably call for it in 20 78.After reading my father’s piece, one question keeps running through my mind:What would he think if he could see Nigerian football today?
Would he be surprised that nothing changed? Would he be angry? Disappointed? Resigned?
Or would he just shake his head and say, “I told you so”?
I think about him writing that column in 1970, probably hoping that someone in power would listen. That things would get better. That future generations wouldn’t have to write the same laments.
And here I am, his son, writing tct same thing, 55 years later.
That breaks my heart more than missing the World Cup.
So yeah. Some things never change in Niger ia.We lost to Congo in 1970. We lost to Congo in 2025.
We blamed the wrong people in 1970. We’re blaming the wrong people in 2025. We lacked long-term planning in 1970. We lack it in 2025
The government was silent in 1970. The government is silent in 2025.
My father wrote about it then. I’m writing about it now.
And unless something fundamental changes in how we approach football – and honestly, how we approach nation-building – my children will write about it t oo.That’s the real tragedy. Not missing the World Cup. Not losing to Congo.
The tragedy is that three generations can see the same problems, call for the same solutions, and watch nothing change.
We lost to Congo on penalties after a 1-1 draw. But let’s be honest, we lost this World Cup qualification long before that penalty shootout. We lost it in those three draws at the beginning of the campaign. We lost it in Lesotho, Benin, and Rwanda. Countries we should beat in our sleep were holding us to draws while we were busy arguing on Twitter about who should start upfront.
Think about that for a second. We were in a group with Lesotho, Benin, Rwanda, and South Africa. If you can’t top that group comfortably, then something is fundamentally broken. These are not Brazil, Argentina, or France we’re talking about here. With all due respect to these countries, Nigeria has no business playing in playoffs when grouped with these teams. Zero business.
I’ve seen calls for Eric Chelle’s head and I think that’s premature. The man walked into a mess – let’s not pretend otherwise. He’s been in charge for what, a few months? And suddenly he’s supposed to fix years of administrative incompetence and structural decay?
I say give him till after the African Nations Cup (AFCON) next month in Morocco. Let’s see what he can do with proper time. But here’s the thing – and I’m being very clear about this – anything less than winning that tournament should be considered a failure. Not reaching the semifinals. Not a “good run.” Winning it.
We have Victor Osimhen, arguably one of the top five strikers in the world right now. We have the 2024 CAF player of the year, Ademola Lookman who’s tearing up Serie A. We have talents scattered across Europe’s top leagues. If we can’t win AFCON with this generation of players, then we need to ask ourselves some very hard questions about Nigerian football.
But let’s talk about the real problem – the Nigerian Football Federation. These people have turned Nigerian football into a joke. How many times have we heard stories of unpaid bonuses? How many times have coaches gone months without salaries? How many times have we watched our players struggle to get basic support?
Every tournament, same story. Players are owed money. Coaches are owed money. Administrators are pointing fingers at each other. And then we act shocked when we don’t qualify for major tournaments.
The thing that gets me is the lack of shame. After every failure, we hear the same promises. “We will do better.” “We will reform.” “Things will change.” Then a few weeks pass, the noise dies down, and we go right back to business as usual. Rinse and repeat.
You know what’s also embarrassing? Angola just played a friendly against Argentina. Not some random Argentina team – the Argentina with Lionel Messi. The reigning World Cup champions. Meanwhile, when last did Nigeria play a serious friendly against a top team? We’re out here playing games that don’t challenge us, don’t test us, don’t prepare us for the real battles.
Let me tell you something that should shame every Nigerian football administrator. Cape Verde qualified for the World Cup. Cape Verde. A country with a population of about 500,000 people. That’s roughly the size of Kubwa in Abuja. They’re going to the World Cup and we’re not.
This isn’t about talent. We have more talent in one Lagos street football tournament than some countries have in their entire nation. This is about organisation. About professionalism. About having your house in order.
Small countries like Cape Verde don’t have our resources, but they have something we clearly don’t – functional football administration. They have coaches who stay long enough to build systems. They have players who know their roles. They have administrators who actually care about football.
Here’s another uncomfortable truth – we’re essentially a one-man team right now. Osimhen and who else? I’m not saying we don’t have other good players, but be honest with yourself. How many of our players would walk into the starting XI of the top African teams? How many would make it into the Senegal team? The Morocco team? The Ivory Coast team?
When Osimhen is off his game or gets marked out, who steps up? We saw it against Congo. One man can’t carry a team to the World Cup, no matter how good he is. You need a system. You need tactics. You need players who understand their roles and execute them.
But how do you build that when your federation is in chaos? How do you build that when coaches are changed like clothes? How do you build that when players don’t even know if they’ll get paid for playing?
I’m tired of the same conversations after every failure. So let me be specific about what needs to happen:
First, the NFF needs a complete overhaul. Not reshuffling. Not “reform committees” that do nothing. An actual clean sweep of everyone who has been part of this disaster. Bring in people who understand modern football administration. People who see football as more than a personal ATM.
Second, we need to stop this nonsense of owing players and coaches. You want players to give their all for the national team? Pay them what they’re owed. On time. Every time. Simple.
Third, we need a proper grassroots system. We can’t keep relying on luck and raw talent. Other countries are scouting our players and developing them better than we do. That should tell you something.
Fourth, we need to play meaningful friendlies. Stop scheduling games against teams ranked 150th in the world. If we want to compete at the highest level, we need to test ourselves against the best. Angola is playing Argentina. Why can’t we arrange games like that?
Fifth – and this might be controversial – we need to make it easier for talented players with Nigerian heritage to play for us. Right now, our system is so cumbersome that many players choose to represent other countries. We’re losing talent because of bureaucratic nonsense.
Morocco next month is now the test. It’s that simple. We need to win that tournament. Not for the trophy – though that would be nice – but to prove that this generation of players can actually deliver when it matters.
But winning AFCON won’t fix the structural problems. It’ll just paper over the cracks for a while. Then in two years, we’ll be having this same conversation again when we fail to qualify for the next AFCON or World Cup.
Real change requires facing some hard truths. Nigerian football is not failing because we lack talent. We’re failing because we lack organisation, professionalism, and leadership. We’re failing because the people running our football are more interested in positions and power than in actually building something sustainable.
Missing back-to-back World Cups is not just unfortunate. It’s unacceptable. Countries with a fraction of our population and resources are qualifying while we stay home. That’s not bad luck. That’s bad management.
Every time we fail, we point fingers. The coaches. The players. The referee. The pitch. The weather. Everyone except the people who are actually responsible – the administrators who have turned Nigerian football into their personal playground.
So yes, we should support Eric Chelle for now. Yes, we should back the players. But we should also demand accountability from the NFF. Real accountability. Not the usual press conferences where they promise change and then do nothing.
Nigerian football deserves better. Our players deserve better. Our fans who travel across the world to support the team deserve better. The question is: are we finally ready to demand that better, or are we going to do what we always do – make noise for a few weeks and then go back to accepting mediocrity?
I hope it’s the former. But history suggests it’ll probably be the latter. And that, more than the penalty loss to Congo, is the real tragedy.
