Chi-dera and the Legend of the Ten Role

How one man's outrageous talent coloured our perception of a role forever

On June 2, 2015, Abuja-based Water FC registered in the national consciousness for the first time.

Ahead of a 2017 Africa Cup of Nations qualifier, erstwhile Nigeria coach Stephen Keshi named a squad featuring a few new faces. While most observers were pleased and eager to catch a glimpse of the likes of Kingsley Madu, William Troost-Ekong and Anderson Esiti (quite the mixed bag of debutants, considering what has come after), there was consternation over the inclusion of little-known 19-year-old forward Okechukwu Gabriel.

Now, the apoplexy was entirely justifiable, and on its heels suspicion quickly followed. Water FC is an academy run by CEO Nureni Makanjuola, a FIFA and NFF-licensed football intermediary who doubled as the agent of former international Michael Babatunde. It will be recalled that Babatunde, who is now unattached, was a surprise inclusion in the Super Eagles squad to the 2014 World Cup and emerged as a key player, starting two of Nigeria’s four matches in Brazil.

To have a player called up to the senior national team out of an academy was unusual enough. That it was someone who had been deemed not good enough for Nigeria’s squad to that year’s Under-20 World Cup (which was, incidentally, going on at the same time) stretched the situation to bizarre. The identity of his representative and Makanjuola’s concurrent standing as the representative of another player who had made the team in unlikely fashion only served to lend those lengthy shadows of doubt a sinister air.

The sheer weight of evidence, circumstantial though a lot of it was, ultimately sent Keshi over the edge of a cliff. While the NFF report that indicted him led with his name turning up as an applicant for the vacant Cote d’Ivoire national team job, the Gabriel Okechukwu saga ultimately was his Waterloo.

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Here’s what was strange though: the report directly mentioned Keshi’s apparent decision to hand Okechukwu the number 10 shirt as a key affront, referring to the number as “iconic”. Not only was this without precedent – there are not many coaches who are hung by their shirt number allocation decisions – but it seemed incredibly pedantic, especially as Nigeria does not exactly have a storied history underpinning the number 10. The average Super Eagles fan would assuredly struggle to name the possessor of that number beyond Jay-Jay Okocha—before him, most who held the shirt did so only fleetingly.

It is not difficult to understand why. Tactically, for much of its history, Nigerian football has favoured the standard 4-4-2 that was bequeathed by colonizer England. If one thinks of numbers as analogous to roles, it is a system that does not accommodate a “number 10” in the proper sense. This is because, as Italy coach Roberto Mancini wrote in his Masters’ thesis for his coaching certification in 2001, the trequartista – as the number 10 is known in Italy – “places himself in the central zone between the defensive midfielders and the strikers' lines”; the vanilla 4-4-2, dependent as it is on straight lines for compactness, does not have someone permanently positioned in that zone.

The bulk of the team’s creativity (typically the remit of the nominal number 10) in that system then comes from wide areas. It is no coincidence, for instance, that arguably Nigeria’s biggest football stars of the 1970s and 1980s were wingers Segun Odegbami and Adokiye Amiesimaka, and that the likes of Humphrey Edobor, Baba Otu Mohammed, Kunle Awesu, Felix Owolabi, Finidi George, Emmanuel Amuneke have also passed into folklore since.

So, in light of all this, why precisely was Keshi’s choice of number 10 such a sticking point?¹

There is the cynical view: that there was already an ongoing witch hunt for the Big Boss and so, having cornered him, the NFF simply threw whatever flammable substance they could find onto the pyre. However, that would not explain the similarly negative visceral reaction from the public.

I have a theory – and bear with me here – that Nigerians do not really understand what a number 10 is. And it’s all because of one man.

To illustrate the point, I had a discussion on Twitter a few years ago. During this back and forth on that most tolerant and measured of platforms, I stated a view I did not expect would be controversial: that, despite wearing the number on his back, Okocha did not often play as Nigeria’s actual number 10². Instead, it was Nwankwo Kanu who did.

Let’s just say I was mistaken in my expectation, even though I had good cause. After all, a cursory understanding of the reasoning behind the 4-4-2 evolving into the 4-2-3-1, and going even further back to the change in profile and function of the second striker, should have made it abundantly clear. However, this misunderstanding of Okocha’s role and position, coupled with the cultural impact of the former captain and his synonymity with the number, coalesces into a collective delusion that continues to plague Nigerian football.

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Interestingly, it manifested itself again this past international window.

Nigeria’s double-header against the Central Africa Republic offered little by way of insight, beyond the jarring realization Gernot Rohr can no longer be relied upon to win the matches he should. However, the redemptive 2-0 reverse in Douala at least provided an interesting talking point. Oddly, it revolved around a player who had no direct bearing on the outcome.

Chidera Ejuke’s jinking, weaving 20-minute cameo attracted a lot of attention, especially on the internet, with many comparing him favourably (at least on a conscious level) to Okocha. You can see what the thinking is there, and there is even a common thread with respect to the gratuitous and head-down nature of some of the dribbling, as well as the often relatively underwhelming end product. The parallel would no doubt have been pleasurable in the extreme for the CSKA Moscow man himself, who calls the former Paris Saint-Germain and Bolton Wanderers midfielder his idol.

However, some of the more extreme reactions have called for Ejuke to, as a result of his Okocha-esque display, be installed as the Super Eagles number 10 to redress the team’s apparent lack of creativity.

Alright, whoa there, cowboy…

This is, of course, a double misconception³: first of Okocha’s own role over the course of his international career, and then of the requirements of the number 10 role in general. They bleed into one another, however – as the myth of Okocha has grown to fill the popular understanding of the role, the sense that his style was prescriptive has festered.

Even allowing for the idea the 1994 Africa Cup of Nations champion was a number 10 (as opposed to simply wearing the shirt), there is so much more to the role than the ability to dribble. As Mancini wrote, the most important qualities for the role are movement and vision.

“The trequartista is an artist who knows how and where to unmark himself depending on where ball, team-mates and opponents are and move. In other words, he has a 360-degree vision and when he comes into possession, he can create something new.”

If the final third is North Korea, then that zone between the lines of the opposing defence and midfield is the Demilitarized Zone. Space is at a premium, and so a true number 10 is focused on positioning himself to provide access for his deeper teammates, while at the same time having the awareness and balance to do advanced reconnaissance and execute in the blink of an eye before the window closes.

“The trequartista – although receiving when he is turned away from the goal – has already read the entire situation around him before touching the ball and can understand when to stop and quickly turn in a single movement.”

If you are thinking this does not at all describe Ejuke, then you are correct. It is the unglamorous, subtle things that make the number 10, while also making the greatest difference of all.

1. Do note that this line of inquiry functions as a set-up for the consideration that follows it. It does not, in any way, serve as a defence of Keshi’s decision-making.

2. To my surprise, there appears to be a growing impression on social media that I dislike Okocha. This is most assuredly untrue; I merely think it is important to note that, for much of his career, coaches decided his position on the basis of where his lack of discipline could do the least structural harm, despite his otherworldly talent.

3. There is a third in fact, which is of the very meaning of “creativity” itself, but that is for another time.

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