Like every other male member of the original hip hop generation, I played football every day of my childhood. It was staple behaviour until I broke my voice and stopped wearing shorts. After that event things like enlightenment, sophistication, discernment and taste began to arrive and interest in lower culture diminshed. When I returned to the subject years later I found, to my mild surprise, that I just didn’t get it any more.

Really. Soccer. What about.

It was necessary to give you this background because I want you to view this next statement in context. It may be just me, but…

…I don’t think a penalty is a real goal.

Okay, the accountants assure me that it will make a valid contribution to the score, but what kind of victory is that? The only goal that involved skill, employed mastery of the game, utilised agility and dexterity was made by the losers? The other two were concession gifts?

I don’t get it.

The city spent the weekend in the grip of a nearly-narcotic frenzy over this football match against the Super Eagles of Nigeria. Yellow fabric in the forms of shirts, flags and doo-rags fluttered in all the wind from Masaka to Namboole. The stadium, which had just recovered from the bashing it received during the Hinn extravaganza, was beleaguered again.

Patriotism seemed unanimous— no one had any questions, not even the obvious one:

Nigeria vs Uganda…

This is Nigeria…

Genevive Nnaji, Nollywood Star

This is Uganda…

This is Uganda

I might have to think about this…

Meanwhile, Ugandan blogging got the Tumusiime Treatment ™ this Sunday. You see?

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