A few years ago, one of the greats of African football invited me to his home for dinner. While his wife grilled fish and plantains, we watched Sunderland beat Arsenal in the FA Cup. Gradually, various former players began turning up. As they talked, it slowly dawned on me they were plotting a coup against the president of their country’s football federation.
One of the biggest problems, I was told, was that the sports ministry paid the salary of the national coach but had little idea about football. The federation, like many others, had realised that if they nominated a European, the salary would be higher; the higher the salary, the more there was to be creamed off. Hence the fleets of journeymen Frenchmen in African football.
