LET THE SLEEPING BOSS LIE

LET THE SLEEPING BOSS LIE.

I have heard people say soldiers come, soldiers go but the barracks remain. They forgot to add that when some soldiers leave, a piece of the barracks leaves with them

.The day could not have gotten off to a worse start, than to hear of the sad demise of one who distinguished himself first as player, and secondly as coach of a very demanding yet highly unappreciative footballing country.

As I gradually come to terms with the sad news of Stephen Keshi's death, let this be a tribute to him on behalf of those who never met him in person but felt the happiness he brought a nation. As I write, I humbly pray I do not slip into the realm of hypocrisy, sycophancy or flattering, but merely give the man the accolades he deserves.

At birth, our parents name us, but as we grow we come to earn names for ourselves by our actions, inactions and general behaviour from those who know us best. From personal observation, nothing speaks of a man's character and personality more than what his friends call him.

The name given at birth by parents is a mere prophesy, a reflection of parental hope and expectation. It is an attempt to paint the future. On the other hand, the nicknames and pet names from peers, serve as statements of the past and present, making them a much fairer indication of who men really are.

No wonder Jesus hushed his disciples, for neither flesh nor blood had revealed his personality to them. 

The Big Boss, as he was fondly called was not another chieftaincy title acquired, or name bought with silver and gold like our good-for-nothing politicians do, but one rightfully earned through the shedding of blood, sweat and tears.

They say he was a fighter; he stood up for his team mates against a traditionally incompetent and nonchalant football authority. As a player, he was brandished a dissident, a rebel leader who sowed seeds of discords and rancour in the team and stirred up mutiny against the football association.

You can't blame him; militancy is the only way you get what is rightfully yours in this part of the world. To be born you must fight, to breathe you must fight, to live you must fight, to die you must fight, even to rest in peace you must also fight. He fought many fights and won just as many, but for every Napoleon there is a waterloo.

When death came, I'm sure he must have put up a fight again, but like a king on the chess board who had lost his queen, he was fighting a lost battle this time. There lies no shame in losing to the insatiable reaper, for it is the inevitable destiny of all mortals.

The night was dark and the beer was cold, when I as a corp member, and other members of the community in Amankwo village (I hope I got the spelling right this time) had gathered at the biggest open bar and restaurant in Abia state to watch the finals of the 2013 AFCON on a blurry projector screen.

For 13 years I had carried a broken heart, memories of the 2000 finals defeat to Cameroun haunted me. Like the man by the pool of Bethesda, every two years I had looked forward to the coming of the angel, sorry coach; who would stir the waters of victory and continental glory, hoping that my darling Super Eagles would be the first to jump in and be healed of years of protracted under achievements.

Time after time, it was Cameroun, Egypt, Tunisia or Zambia that made it to my contestation, as well as dismay of fans across the country. When it mattered most, my Eagles always found a way of falling short, where there was no way they invented one. Leaving the carcass of my optimism naked on the altar of failure again and again.

But as it was for the man by the pool, it was not the season for the stirring of the water. CAF, probably aware that there was no more room for further heartbreaks in my poor heart and worried that another two year wait to try again posed serious danger, decided to tweak the date of the completion and organised another edition one year after the 2012 finals. Like the biblical messiah, the Big Boss showed up and said "take up your trophy and go home".

Straight way, Joseph Yobo mounted the podium and did as commanded. Thus, conferring on a nation her third and long overdue title. Events of that night remain evergreen in my mind. Whenever the grim realities of life tend to weigh me down, I just board a time machine and take a trip to history. All of these were made possible by the Big Boss. He did in about two years what Clemens Westerhof took five years to achieve, but never got the recognition he deserved as is usually the case with a prophet in his hometown.

There is nothing more fulfilling in life, than having lived your life giving joy to those around and far away from you. Whenever the gospel of how the Super Eagles became super again, and conquered Africa will be preached, the Big Boss will always be mentioned.

While my deepest thoughts, earnest prayers and sincere wishes are with the family of the deceased, fellow Nigerians, weep not for the Big Boss but for the current state of our football. For as George Santayana said "for a man who has done his natural duty, death is as natural as sleep." So let the sleeping Boss lie.

MFONISO SAM