As a child growing up, I was a boxing fan. I loved watching and reading about Muhammad Ali.
My obsession with boxing started in 1980 when my family travelled to the United Kingdom. While waiting for our flight in the departure lounge at the airport in Lagos, my father bought me a comic book called The Champ.
I read it throughout the wait and on the flight. I must have read it over and over again.
It was the story of a boxer, a former heavyweight champion who had fallen into alcoholism and poverty, trying to rebuild his life and return to boxing so he could provide a better future for his son.
The story ultimately ends in tragedy. I was sad at how The Champ ended.
I later watched the movie and became an even bigger boxing fan. I started following the likes of Muhammad Ali, Larry Holmes, Sonny Liston, George Foreman and the rest.
I particularly enjoyed boxing in the 1980s, when Chuka Momah presented a boxing programme on television called “Great Fights of the Decade.”
And that was how my life as a boxing fan began.
Should The Champ have died?
There was something about boxing I learnt much later.
Every boxing coach seemed to have a white towel hanging around his neck.
That towel had several uses.
The coach could use it to wipe the sweat from his face. He could use it to wipe the sweat or blood from his fighter’s face. He could even use it to blow his nose if he felt like it.
But there was another, more important use.
As a fight went on, if a boxer was taking a terrible beating and his coach realised that continuing the fight would serve no useful purpose, he could take that white towel from his neck and wave it in the air or throw it into the ring.
When that happened, it meant one thing:
We concede. End the fight.
I always found it fascinating when the white towel was thrown in after a boxer had taken a terrible beating.
There was something almost noble about knowing when enough was enough.
Does the President own a white towel?
In the past four years as president of the Federation, he has taken a beating.
When he was elected, he inherited a system that was already badly bruised. The league was almost non-existent and The Super Eagles had just failed to qualify for the 2022 World Cup, and Nigerian football desperately needed rebuilding.
But in the four years since, the beating has continued. He has had a few successes, though, but in the last year especially, he has been pummelled so badly that it is almost a mystery that he is still standing.
The U-17 team, the Golden Eaglets, had previously won the FIFA U-17 World Cup five times. They have now failed to qualify for the last two editions.
The Super Eagles failed to qualify for the 2026 FIFA World Cup.
And now the Super Falcons, who had qualified for every edition of the FIFA Women’s World Cup since the tournament began and had won the African women’s championship ten times, have suffered a major setback.
In the same period, the men’s U-20 team, the Flying Eagles, failed to qualify for the 2027 FIFA U-20 World Cup.
Punch! Punch!! Punch!!!
Another punch.
At some point, you have to ask:
Dear Mr. President, are you not bloodied enough?
Do you really want to remain in the ring like The Champ?
Or is it time to throw in the towel?
Goodluck Ebele Jonathan
A lot of people describe former President Goodluck Ebele Jonathan as a hero of democracy.
Sometimes I ask: What exactly did he do?
He conceded defeat in the 2015 presidential election before all the votes had even been formally announced and called Muhammadu Buhari to congratulate him.
Was there anything extraordinary about conceding defeat?
Perhaps not.
But this happened in Nigeria, a country where people at that level often seem determined never to lose.
Jonathan could have claimed massive rigging.
He could have refused to recognise the result.
He could have gone to court.
He could have questioned the credibility of the election.
There were many things he could have done.
But he chose to concede.
And history remembers him for that.
Dear Mr. President, the towel is in your hands
I have owned dogs since 1982, and over the years I have learnt to recognise some of the different emotions they display.
One of them is when a dog puts its tail between its legs. It usually signals fear, submission or defeat.
There comes a time when even the strongest fighter has to recognise that the fight is no longer worth continuing. There is no shame in knowing when to stop.
There is no shame in saying: I have done my best, but perhaps someone else can do better. Sometimes, throwing in the towel isn’t cowardice. Sometimes, it is the most courageous thing you can do.
So, Mr. President, look around the ring. The blows have been coming from everywhere. The national teams are hurting. Nigerian football is hurting. The supporters are hurting.
Are you going to stay in the ring until the referee has to stop the fight? Or will you take the towel from your corner, throw it into the ring and give Nigerian football the opportunity to start another fight with a fresh boxer?
Submit today. Throw in the towel, and perhaps, just perhaps, Nigerians will remember you for one positive thing: knowing when it was time to stop the fight.
My seven minutes are up.
