Are you ready for some FOOTBALL? Hell Yeah! It is the first week of August and all I have on the brain already is football, soccer, English Premiere League, National Football League etc… But first I spent the past week celebrating the “YOUNG” Flying Eagles of Nigeria put on an electrifying display of brilliance, fantastic quality and teamwork on the pitch in their under 20 men’s world cup tournament group matches held in Columbia. Make us proud boys and bring home the cup. Up Naija & Up Eagles!
Ok people; Let me get focused…
Young girls grow up aspiring to be surgeons, lawyers and contributing members of society. Long before the craze of boys wearing skinny jeans and carrying on looking like sissies, young boys grew up dreaming the life of a professional athlete who played a sport in order to provide for their families. I grew up in an era that all boys did after school was play soccer, football, basketball and track & field. As we head into the start of another opening weekend of professional football worldwide in Europe (Com’on Liverpool) and here in United States (Go Vikings & Titans), I could not help but think about the talent on display by those same “YOUNG” Flying Eagles of Nigeria eager to show the world their qualities and talents. This here is no fairy tale with a happy ending; it is more the cruel tale of broken promises and the shame of never fulfilling ones wishes all in pursuit of riches.
Be it in Africa or here in America boys typically set their goals at a very young age with an eye to one day be on the biggest stage playing the sport they love. My interest and passion for sports definitely started very early in my up bringing. To the point that it consumed me enough that I actually envisioned myself living the life of a professional athlete. Was I good? Nah; “I was like Dat”. Your boy was “Da Truth” on the track, football field and basketball court. Let’s just say, I enjoyed competition. And the attention that came with it was so toxic to the point that you start to feel supreme and invincible amongst your peers, especially when everybody around you show you so much love and respect. Fortunately or unfortunately for me, the harsh reality was that I never did make it to the professional ranks in any of the sports I played. But in many ways I was lucky enough that I stayed on top of my studies and worked very hard in the classroom to parlay my athletic prowess into an academic scholarship at a major university. GO TERPS!
Unfortunately, not every story ends up with an ending such as mine. Growing up all my peers and I wanted was to be the one of the greats like Okocha, Zidane, Payton, Rice, Hakeem, Isiah, Magic and Jordan. Now young boys envision themselves as the next Drogba, Eto’o, Odemwingie, Moss, Tiger, Lebron, Kobe and Wade. But for everyone one of these talented athletes of their generation, there are stories of youngsters who end up not making it who lead the life of vagabonds still yearning for their one shot at fame. Back home in Africa, the price of fame is so poisonous and striking that families who live in a destitute state mortgage their livelihoods and future all on the promise that their son will be destined to be the next big star.
How did we get to this state?
When you see professional clubs like Chelsea, Milan, Barcelona, Manchester United in Europe or here in the States teams like the Lakers, Celtics, Heat, Cowboys, Steelers, Patriots all you think about are the dollar signs. Just like in the inner cities and projects of America, Africa too encounter outsiders who come into our communities looking for their next big catch; the one superb gifted young man that can take them to the promise land. These men are the pariahs that salivate and droll all over themselves at the taught that their meal ticket is just a professional tryout away from fulfilling their life long dream of riches. These men have no conscious and they corrupt the minds of young vulnerable boys to the extent that working a conventional 9-5 and earning a honest wage of ample standards become frowned upon.
Take for example the story in Amanda Kloer’s piece “The Rise of African “Soccer Slavery” when she sites how Europe is flooded with soccer academies promising to take in promising young African Athletes and transform them into world class players. But these academies are often far from what they seem. The recruiters prey on families who need money, who have worked hard to give their children opportunities and who believe in the natural talent of their sons. The prey on one of the most common hopes among little boys- the hope of becoming a professional athlete. Then they charge the families a fee to send a boy to the “academy” abroad, sometimes as much as a year’s salary, promising that the money will start pouring in as soon as the boy is signed to a professional team. More disturbing is the shame and guilt felt by many of the youngsters who end up on the streets and homeless with no support available or around to provide shelter and comfort.
Something that is commonly misunderstood by many and highly underpublicized is the life expectancy of a professional athlete. There are too many variables and unknowns that only a select few become the exception and go on to have lengthy and celebrated careers rather than the typical short-lived, injury filled, nomadic journey far too many experience. For an every Okocha or Drogba there is an Emanuel Amunike. And for an every Kobe or Jordan there is always a Harold Miner or Jarmacus Russell. There are no guarantees and very few second chances given because there is always somebody waiting in the wing that is younger, stronger and ready to step in and make a contribution. Competing and playing sports in my adolescent years taught me several values one should have in life; the importance of discipline, teamwork, respect, accountability, persistence and hard-work. I hope that for every boy that picks up a ball and takes a liking to a sport in the future, he too is able to learn these valuable lessons “The Beautiful Game” has to offer not just the glitz and glamour that come with fame.
Keep Your Eye on the Prize.
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