1984 stands as both the best and worst year of my football career. The only continental club trophy Nigeria had not yet won by then was the African Championship Clubs Cup. Several clubs had reached the finals, only to falter at the last hurdle. In 1984, IICC Shooting Stars FC of Ibadan were arguably the finest team on the African continent. We boasted an incredible squad of goal scorers who netted goals with remarkable ease, match after match, all the way to the finals of that year's African Club Championship.
The Road to the Final
Everything pointed to a victory for Shooting Stars FC as we prepared for the most crucial match of our lives. The second leg was scheduled in Lagos, Nigeria. We had lost the first leg 1-0 in Cairo, Egypt. Despite that setback, we possessed a lethal team with a formidable front line that included Rashidi Yekini, Felix Owolabi, Mudashiru Lawal, Wakilu Oyenuga, Lookman Oshun, Rotimi Ademodi, and Ademola Adeshina. Most of us had represented the national team at various times. It was arguably the biggest match in Shooting Stars FC's history, and the stakes were incredibly high.
By 1984, I was mature and vastly experienced in football. I played some of the best football of my career, executing plays economically and with ease, particularly in scoring goals. A very young Rashidi Yekini provided the diversion I needed to become even more lethal, even as he ended the campaign as the highest goal scorer with eight goals. I also scored many goals, including the best goal of my career during the quarter-finals against MAC Fez in Morocco. I would have added more accolades if we had won. I was already the Third-Best Player in Africa in 1977/1978 and Second-Best in 1980. I would most likely have been crowned Africa's Best Player if we had won that final match.
Unexpected Challenges
Things were progressing smoothly until unexpected challenges arose from nowhere. What was to be the moment of my greatest triumph suddenly became my greatest trial. An old injury—a torn ligament in my right knee, sustained three years earlier—resurfaced during the first semi-final match in Ibadan. I could not play again until the final match. My team did everything humanly possible to patch me up and fielded me, purely for optics and as a psychological weapon against Zamalek FC of Egypt. It did not work because, in my condition, I could not perform at all. My injury had not healed, and my fitness was zero. Felix Owolabi, known as Owoblow, our one-man riot squad, was also out of the lineup after collecting two yellow cards during the semifinal and first leg of the final. Rashidi Yekini was too young to single-handedly carry the demolition needed.
The Pressure Mounts
The pressure to win was immense. Unfortunately, the last weeks and days before the final match became a classic case of how not to manage pressure and prepare for your toughest match. Winning would have meant our club created history by being the first Nigerian club to do so. I would also most probably have been named Africa's best player. The pressure stemmed from the fear of losing at that final hurdle. In response, the club decided to go spiritual. All the top parapsychologists in Nigeria showed up; all the top marabouts appeared on the scene; the most powerful babalawos were consulted; powerful 'men of god' went to riversides and mountaintops to offer special prayers and sacrifices. On the eve of the match, the airwaves were filled with chanting of incantations by spiritualists. The blood of cows and sheep was spilled around the theatre of the encounter. It was the most brazen display of Juju I had ever seen or experienced in my life.
Directly and indirectly, the message was conveyed to the team and the people that the match was already won, with several predictions of final scores in the public space. That was our 'preparation' to overcome the fear of failure. The pressure was our undoing.
The Aftermath
Had we won that match, many of us would have become disciples of all manner of spiritualists forever. We would have become slaves to Juju, abandoning hard work, discipline, strategy, teamwork, focus, and our skills for ineffectual spiritual intervention that does not exist in the realm of sport, as I now fully accept. So disappointing was that night, so devastating was our failure, that I personally nailed any 'powers' beyond simple prayer to the cross forever. In sport, as in the rest of life, there is no substitute for the powers of hard work, commitment, focus, discipline, planning, strategy, good tactics, and endless rehearsals for perfection. These are the ingredients that produce the last essential ingredient—good luck.
1984 saw both the best and the worst in my football career. It was also my last year in football. After that match on Saturday, December 8, 1984, I never played a football match again in my life. On this new day in the month of May, I delve into my archives to bring you that story. Take from it what you will.
