Bread and Circuses: Nigeria’s Sports Illusions (2)

Nothing quite parallels the dizzying mania that sports elicits in the hearts of men. Charles MacKay, in his immortal musings, captured a fundamental truth about this collective madness: “Men, it has been well said, think in herds; it will be seen that they go mad in herds, while they only recover their senses slowly, one by one.” Nowhere is this mass madness more vividly illustrated than in the fevered obsession over global sports events. Millions cheer, weep, and even fight over tournaments that, when the dust settles, have done little to salve the wounds of a world beset by far graver concerns. The game is but a fleeting balm, a placebo offered to a populace, as governments across the world gleefully embrace the distraction as their most potent tool.

The medieval Romans mastered the art of subduing the masses with “bread and circuses,” and though their empire crumbled long ago, their strategies remain very much alive in the hands of modern rulers. The gladiatorial games, once a spectacle of bloodshed to sate the people’s primal thirst for violence, have been replaced by grand sports tournaments. The essence, however, remains unchanged. In a Machiavellian dance of power and distraction, global sporting events are designed not merely to entertain but to divert attention from the festering rot within. Corruption, inflation, insecurity—these words evaporate from public consciousness when the whistle blows and the world gathers for yet another tournament.

In Nigeria, the drums of this deceptive spectacle beat just as loudly. The nation, beleaguered by misgovernance, insecurity, and endemic corruption, joins the feverish race for sports glory with an enthusiasm that borders on the absurd. For every football match won or Olympic medal dreamed of, the agonies of its people are momentarily forgotten. Yet the problems—unemployment, poverty, terrorism—loom ever larger, like shadows ignored in the heat of celebration.

In 2024, the absurdity assumed worrisome dimensions, when breakdancing was officially recognized as an Olympic sport. The Paris Games, wildly touted as the pinnacle of human athletic prowess, was graced by a spectacle hitherto restricted to a street corner, far from the international stage. To compound this betise, a Nigerian NGO, in partnership with the United States Mission in Nigeria, launched an initiative to promote breakdancing among Nigerian youths. Workshops, masterclasses, and webinars—each a cog in this bewildering machine of misplaced priorities—were held in Abuja and Lagos. American breakdance experts Macca Malik and Jacob “Kujo” Lyons even graced the land, engaging with the Nigerian Olympic Committee and organising workshops for northern Nigerian breakdancers. The sheer audacity of it all was laughable—teaching young Nigerians to breakdance while their homes burned, their stomachs ached, and their futures crumbled.

At the School for the Deaf in Kuje, a breakdancing club was established, as if such a frivolous pursuit could soothe students living in a region ravaged by terrorism and banditry. It is a cruel joke, a gleaming mask to hide the ugliness of the country’s abandonment of its youth.

In a nation where basic needs go unmet, where the cries of the impoverished are drowned out by the sound of government coffers being emptied into bottomless pits of corruption, to spend time and resources on such a thing as breakdancing is to willfully dance on the grave of national potential.

And yet, the charade persisted. In Lagos, the American envoys conducted more masterclasses and promised careers in breakdancing, as though this spectacle of motion could truly lift anyone from the quagmire of poverty. Two champions, plucked from this initiative, were announced as Nigeria’s hopefuls for the Paris 2024 Games, ready to dance their way into international fame. But what did any of this matter? What tangible benefits could this bring to the fishermen of Sankwala, the farmers of Obafemi Owode, or the displaced families of Konduga and Madagali? Their soil remains barren, their rivers dry, their homes unsafe. The spectacle of breakdancing is but a gaudy distraction from the tragedy of their lives, a glamorous bait to reel in the next generation of pawns in this grand confusion.

It would be amusing if it were not so tragic. Sports in Nigeria has become a golden calf, worshipped with blind devotion while the real gods—education, infrastructure, security—are left to decay in the shadows. When the Nigerian contingent returned from Paris in disgrace, without a single medal to their name, the Minister of Sports, John Enoh, issued a public apology. “We owe Nigerians an explanation,” he declared, puzzled by the abysmal performance. Yet, no apology could suffice for the N12 billion sunk into this ill-fated venture. This colossal sum, which could have provided education, healthcare, or job opportunities for countless youths, was instead squandered on a futile race for fleeting glory. No medals, no victory parade—only the bitter taste of failure and the nagging question of what that money could have achieved if spent wisely.

When the Super Eagles came second at AFCON 2024, the nation erupted in fevered joy. Yet, as the euphoria subsided, reality dawned with crushing weight. The footballers returned to their cushy contracts, the NFF and sports ministry officials pocketed their bonuses, and the rest of the country remained in darkness—both metaphorically and literally, as power cuts and economic despair persisted unabated. What lasting good did the Super Eagles’ valiant effort bring to Nigeria’s suffering masses? None. The unemployed youth of Ajegunle, the impoverished farmers of Madagali, the destitute families of Waasimi—all were left no better off than they were before the tournament began.

The truth is that sports, in Nigeria, has become a smokescreen, a tool of mass deception. When Nigerian athletes defect to other countries and win medals for their adopted homelands, the media erupts in scripted vituperation, accusing Nigeria’s leadership of fostering such betrayal. Yet, the real betrayal lies not with these athletes but with a government that fails to provide them—and millions of other citizens—the opportunities to thrive within their own country. As Nigeria haemorrhages talent, its leaders stand bewildered, offering empty apologies for poor performances while failing to address the systemic rot that drives so many to flee.

Nigeria must get its priorities right. Sports is not an essential industry, nor is it the cornerstone of national development. The country can do without international sports glory if it means redirecting resources to where they are most needed—building roads, electrifying communities, eradicating insecurity, and providing the youth with real, tangible opportunities for success. The nation’s obsession with sports is a reflection of how much Nigerians prioritise spectacle over substance, distraction over development.

President Bola Tinubu’s administration must steer Nigeria away from this madness. The empowerment of the country’s youth through education, entrepreneurship, and infrastructure must take precedence over the thrill of competing on the international stage. Patriotism lies not in cheering for a football team or a breakdancing champion but in building a nation where every citizen can thrive. Frantic rationalisation about what gains could be had from hosting and participating in sports tournaments is absurd and insensitive.  The N12 billion wasted on Paris 2024 could have funded countless small businesses, empowered thousands of youths, or revitalised communities devastated by terrorism.

It’s about time Nigeria withdrew from the global sports circus, to refocus its energies on more productive ventures. Let the world chase after medals and trophies. Nigeria must chase after prosperity and peace. For when the applause fades and the lights dim, it is not the gold around a victor’s neck that will heal a nation’s wounds but the steady, patient work of building a future for all.