|The size of women our friend frolics|
While the nation could not win medals in the London Olympics, it is sad that in the Nigerian camp there was so many sordid things that happened in the background which as usual takes only days after before the details will always filter out thinly at first and later with authority.
There is a friend of ‘ours’ in the nation’s sports industry. A very loudmouth. He speaks on the honourable and dishonourable things in the industry. He suddenly became a point of focus and locus. For those of us who grew in sports, we see him as one who stumbled into sports because there is no record of his young years in sports.
Our friend was in the centre of the NFF crisis as a major player. He was involved in the Maputo crisis. He was also in the Moroccan ‘fake’ journalist saga. He is too known to be ignored.
He has a scandalous record of taking alcohol in the oddest hours. His most usual rendezvous is a popular hotel in the Area 11 part of Abuja with a French name. He is also easily found in a garden in the Gudu area.
Our friend loves heavily sized daughters of Eve. There is no championship or friendly of the national football teams he doesn’t attend. Infact, where he works (as a law breaker) he is the envy of so many people who he works with because he is fond of not carrying them along.
In London, he accumulated so much money in his hotel room watching xxx-rated (oceanic coloured) films. On one of the occasions a particular lady, beautiful, bold, big, brilliant was to deliver an official task. She got in and tripped our friend libido. She was lucky to have escaped ‘forcible carnal knowledge of the cave where apples are hidden.
The matter went wild. He eventually sent out an SMS to apologise. I swear by Sango, Amadioha, Obalala, God, she would have been ‘Fryed’ like the Fulani man’s ‘kaya’ (in Hausa, load or in a Reggae man's world, hemp). Anyhow, like the Yorubas say, “gbogbo gule-gule re yo ro” (all his gra-gra go soft now).