NA SO WE SEE AM FOR ACCRA

My name is Lips. I am just me though I touch issues with my own tool which is my lips. I only tell it to the world in an angrier mood. I am the true son of him, Flaming. Pissing you off isn’t a thing of choice but as the Nigerians will say, ‘na so we see am’ Thank you all for the emails I have been receiving, though I have just been informed or misinformed that more are still on the way. One of my ardent readers asked me of my identity and I had no choice than to tell the world my name and my surname for now. Maybe later, I shall tell you how I came to this world where every glory has been acclaimed to or claimed by one Pastor, Imam, Chief Priest or whoever raises his or her head above others in the name of our Lord, the unseen.
I have loved football, I started with the love for any team with red jersey and that’s how I have ended up following Manchester United as though I was one of their Scribes or Pharisees. Then I have again pledged to die in the land of the Sambas where interesting rumba football is orchestrated. I love Africa football, I love Ghana football and I love good football. Be it that the world of football has been by voodoo, juju, otumokpo or whatever.
I reside in Ghana. Soon it was the month of the U20 World Cup, immediately the Black Stars had qualified for the World Cup in South Africa where Madiba himself will be present to see which African country will lift the trophy. There were much clamored hisses about this current Black Satellites, yet I had pledged that the boys can go it. Originally, I had a greater support for the Nigerian boys but that support was quickly raped by the Germans who made sure I slept that night with a hungry stomach. The following day I had to ask for forgiveness for my sin of starving myself over some unscrupulous lads who did not put their nation and continent first but their myopic indulgent ahead. Nonsense! As I was saying, I diverted my joy for the Satellite whether black or white. And sure those boys did not embarrass. They played as though they were young, though we all know that they were men in boys’ panties. That’s not the issue for now, but the issue is that I was whole heartedly behind them in prayers and supplications.
These boys worked hard, they toiled the entire field mapping out strategies to beat every opponent as they came, and they were dedicated and zealous to make Africans proud. They sacrificed their time as well. They won gold for Africa, but I wasn’t shocked of the rumors or be it the truth that a certain man of God from one country that is struggling to qualify and touch down the streets of Soweto via Jo-burg Airport had claimed the victory on the Satellites. I need not hide my feelings here and now but I want to say that the man is Uncle Joshua and do not get me wrong here. I am not referring to that Joshua Nyame who claimed he cast a spell on the Black Stars when their heads were tumbling-tumbling. I know that you may not really understand me here at this point but the basics remain that Joshuas are predictors or either way you see it.
Uncle Joshua here in Ghana has already attributed the success of the Satellites to his doing. He was the same man who acclaimed that the success of Uncle Fiifi was his doing. I may not remember too well but I know that there have been lots of public claimed glories but the bottom line is that all glory must go to him and not GOD? Nonsense! Have we forgotten in 2002, how a Nigeria official went into the goal post and removed an object he claimed was a barricade from Senegalese team against the Super Eagles chances? Have we forgotten how the Hearts of Oaks and Kumasi Asante Kotoko players will come unto the pitch backwards? Have we forgotten how a Cameroonian official refused his players to sleep in the hotel provided by the Ghanaian officials in Ghana 2008? Have we forgotten about the man who claimed that he was the brain behind Cote d’ Ivoire’s success at the 1992 Nations Cup? I witnessed a match in Gabon and what I saw was dreadful but who had the impetus to talk? So who are we to claim the glories that come with the hard earned tortures these players undergo?
I love football, I have followed football, and I have written about the game, I have paid my last pocket money to watch football. It has now become a ritual. I have as well seen the things that go on in the dressing rooms, playing fields and everywhere. I have come to understand that this is Africa, and everything plays the game to give it that beautiful look. Asking of everything, I will tell you next time we meet on this path again.