A World Cup Letdown: From Golden Boys to the Ugly Game

A Listed Building's Walls

My office sits in a Grade II listed building with uniquely fascinating décor: wallpaper made from a collage of newspaper front pages marking world events.

The Kennedy assassination, the birth of the first test-tube baby, the moon landing, the Beatles arriving in America, the birth of Prince George, the murder of John Lennon, the death of Elvis Presley, Usain Bolt breaking the 100m world record at the 2012 Olympics, and now, crucially, England winning the World Cup.

The Sunday Mirror, 31st July 1966. The morning after the only World Cup that ever truly mattered to me, and I was barely old enough to know it.

It is the little things, the unfairness and the distrust, that have exacerbated my disinterest in global events. The minor infraction of the Formula 1 rules by a race steward, the one that robbed Lewis Hamilton of an eighth world championship, means I have never watched another race since.

Three Flags, One Cup

I was just a few months old when England lifted the trophy against West Germany in 1966, the Sunday Mirror crowing "Golden Boys!" the morning after. To have seen them win it in my lifetime, even if I cannot remember a moment of it, is perhaps why I am no longer troubled by whether they excel or falter in this edition.

My allegiances have wandered as my life has. I have supported England, where I was born; Nigeria, my country of heritage; and the Netherlands, where I lived for twelve years. Each has handed me its own disappointment.

I watched Nigeria play Bulgaria at the Parc des Princes during the 1998 World Cup, and I donned the orange of the Netherlands for the 2010 final, hosted in South Africa, though I watched it on holiday in Spain. Walking back to my hotel in Dutch colours after Spain's victory remains one of the worst sporting indignities I have endured.

Festivals Losing Their Shine

We used to gather in May for Eurovision, but the controversy around Israel's participation, which led to a boycott by five countries, meant I felt it was no longer a contest. Though it produced a new winning country, I refused to watch anything, including the highlights. In 2026, we had Euroblindness, and I do not know what might make it exciting again.

Yesterday, the FIFA World Cup began in Mexico, hosted this time by three countries, including Canada and the United States. The United States is at a war of its own choosing with Iran, a participating nation. Iran has moved its base to Mexico. A FIFA referee from Somalia was denied entry to the US, and FIFA simply shrugged.

Politics Invades the Pitch

The US Immigration and Customs Enforcement is threatening to raid World Cup venues to apprehend and arrest supposed illegal immigrants. President Donald Trump is quite cosy with Gianni Infantino, the FIFA President, who conferred a FIFA World Peace Prize on Donald Trump in a farcical imitation of the Nobel Peace Prize.

With players and officials alike suffering indignities at the behest of the policies prevailing in the US, it is no wonder that interest in this World Cup is not showing up in record hotel bookings. The somewhat exorbitant match tickets will now have to depend on local fans to fill the stadiums, as the prices fall to more reasonable levels.

No Enthusiasm Here

No, I have garnered no enthusiasm for this fiesta at all, apart from snippets that fall into sight from partly obscured social media statuses, informing us why South Africa lost their match against Mexico. This was a reference to the largest number of red cards ever issued in a World Cup match, which left South Africa down to nine men by the end.

Yes, there was one video of Burna Boy being lauded by his mother after his performance at the opening of the tournament, yet I have not turned on my television to watch any clips or updates. I am neither playing nor engaged, and I hope the month slithers away into insignificance whilst we find other joys of living beyond this enterprise of chicanery that pretends to unite the world in the pursuit of a leather ball.

What Is the Point?

Heck, there are 48 teams playing, and yet Nigeria, Italy, India, and China cannot find a minimum of 23 men to fly the flag. What is the point? The way things are going, all countries might as well be invited to a three-month World Cup to cure the world of boredom, and we might enjoy one long holiday from its troubles.

No one could ever have thought that the US, being the main host of a FIFA World Cup, would portend less eagerness than the ones in Qatar or Russia before. But if this ends up being the least entertaining ever, the record alone would leave a big smile on our faces. I can assure you, it would be just deserts.

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Memento Mori in the Modern Workplace

The Two-Headed Fear

I usually say that I am only scared of a person with two heads, and thankfully, I have never met one. Yet in my working life, I have had many encounters with colleagues, juniors, seniors, and C-suite personnel.

In the main, they have been nice, respectful, considerate, and courteous. It is the workplace that brought us together; our backgrounds can be radically different, just as our outlooks on the world might never be the same. If we are human, humane, and accommodating of each other, it makes for a pleasant working environment.

Frustration Is No Excuse

There have been exceptions, people who think their positions give them room to misbehave and be discourteous. Usually, they get away with it, and the behaviour becomes compounded and accepted by many. Once, I was offering support to a caller at work when he began hurling expletives out of frustration.

We all get frustrated, but frustration is no excuse for abuse. I calmly told him that I did not get paid enough to take abuse at work, and informed him that I was going to put the phone down.

When he was ready to discuss the matter calmly, he could call me again. We ended that conversation, and a few minutes later, he called back, apologised, and I resolved the matter.

The Gracious Senior VP

On another occasion, a deployment for which I had provided statistics showing a high success rate just happened to brick the Senior VP’s device. His secretary was implacable, and other senior staff were running around like headless chickens. I was instructed to call the SVP to explain my actions.

I had never met him before, but he immediately acknowledged me, then said he had seen the statistics and understood that, on occasion, something might fail; it just happened to be his device. He closed with, “Take your time, I appreciate what you do.”

There have probably been other technical personnel elsewhere, in the very same position, marched out of the office simply because the screen on a manager’s computer flickered.

Things can be that brutal. I learnt early in my career that keeping users honestly informed reaped more dividends than leaving them ignorant of what might affect what they do or how they work. To inform is to liberate.

The Master of the Universe

Bring in the esteemed fellow, the one to whom no one says no. He has the ear of the CEO, and anything he says is gospel and unquestioned. To have attained that status is commendable; but unlike the generals of ancient times, who at their victory parades had a man whisper memento mori into the ear of the celebrant, this master of the universe, for all that they have achieved, yet so lacking in character, thinks they own the world and that everyone answers to them.

They seek exemption and exception in the demands they make. Aggression and coarseness are their raison d'être; nothing is ever a request. They hold Aladdin’s lamp, incessantly summoning the genie to grant any wish, and should the wish be denied, truculence becomes them.

Any resistance, even a reasonable challenge to their requirements, is met with forceful tales of woe about how they cannot get anything done because the system, the design, or the personnel are lazy, wasting time, and derelict in their duties.

The thrust of the conversation leans towards disparaging you, your work, your team, and anything else you have done professionally and diligently.

Winning the War for Peace

It is tempting to assume nothing can be done when management indulges its favoured figure. Yet such attitudes can be named and challenged, and I have done so many times, with success. The behaviour is not untouchable; it simply relies on everyone presuming that it is.

Each encounter is weighed on its own merits; sometimes you yield, and sometimes you hold firm. Where there is no point in holding the fort, and they are used to having their way, you make that allowance too, for the peace of mankind.

Yet even in those bruising encounters, you can own facts that clearly prove their position wrong, leaving them with no option but to concede the point, even if they remain unrelenting in pursuit of their self-aggrandising goals.

We do not have to win every battle when the war is for peace, for respect, for dignity, and for the recognition that in every endeavour, no matter the position, the esteem, or the remuneration, no one of us is better than another.

We are equal as human beings, deserving of the same courtesy, respect, and dignity. It is in our efforts together that we all make the organisations we work for successful.

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Brick on Brick, Without a Plan

The Art of Communication

The art of communication is one that should never be left without nurture. It is a skill I have honed since childhood, when making myself heard, and hopefully understood, mattered.

I know the many times in my working life when being articulate, honest, truthful, clear, and detailed about ideas, events, or situations has been the difference between staying put and being walked out of the door with alacrity.

Conflict and the Power of Words

Conflict leers around the office or the workplace, where genuine engagement can easily slide into belittlement and being patronised. Both could be mistaken for compliments, only to be turned into something backhanded or used to upbraid you.

Besides that, there are the power plays and egos, where choosing your words carefully can significantly change the tone of an exchange. Drawing on a wealth of vocabulary with studied deployment is hardly putting the quality of your education to waste.

Finding the Right Analogy

When the going gets tough, and it usually does, finding the correct analogy to depict a situation becomes the best tool to deploy.

Consider a scenario where a user expected us to exhaust every avenue to determine why his anticipated long-running script terminated after two hours, even though nothing on the system had changed.

I posited that when a washing machine does not complete a wash cycle, you explore issues with the device, the water supply, or the connection to the mains; you do not ask for a building inspection.

That thought came to me as I finished taking a shower.

A Managerial and Political Issue

This afternoon, I was met with a complex managerial and political issue. For all my protestations about the guidelines, framework, and structure needed to govern a process that I felt left us exposed, all management wanted was for us to do something, anything, first, before addressing concerns that would fill reams of paper dating back to July last year.

After I had answered a series of questions, the activity was cherry-picked out of a larger case for correct procedure and directed towards a decision to be enforced.

In what I could only term a dare to challenge authority and face the consequences of stepping out of line, the manager, now assuming control where earlier they had failed to provide support, asked on the Microsoft Teams group chat:

The Challenge on Teams

"Everyone, anyone here unhappy with the approach?"

He might as well have said, "Anyone up for a fight? I'm here to bludgeon you."

I was dissatisfied, but this required tact, and there came the inspiration for another analogy.

The Bricklayer Analogy

"To put it another way, we are the bricklayers, and you want a house for which no architect has been engaged to design and no structural engineer has assessed. We are just putting brick on brick and hoping we end up with a shelter everyone can use."

As bricklayers, we know what houses should look like, but without a plan, a lot can go wrong. My job is to paint the picture; how you appreciate that work of art is beyond my ability to dictate, but the work has been done.

It will sink in somehow, and the message will not be lost in the morass of politicking and power plays.

Eloquence as Construction, Not Evasion

Let me be clear about one thing: eloquence here is not a tool of evasiveness. It is the means by which I explain and construct a clear narrative of the risk profile of an activity, one that could lead to penalties, the loss of professional reputation, or a negative impact on business operations and the user community.

Knowledge shared through such communication exposes the blind spots and pitfalls that are usually not taken into consideration.

Nor is this a matter of perfecting a process. There is no process. What we have is a range of assumptions that have not been properly tested or validated, yet are forced into implementation by expediency.

There is a further purpose to all this. By communicating in this way, one is also documenting the issues, so that when the matter of responsibility for any action arises, the points made earlier will show that management was informed and chose to act against the identified risks they had been asked to appreciate.

Experience Speaks for Itself

Many of us might hold junior roles in the multilayered hierarchy of the organisation, but never confuse our positions with a lack of maturity.

After 40 years in this business, where this is probably one of the least significant roles I have held in 30 years, I think I know a fair amount about management, and about being managed, and about getting a point across without equivocation.

We didn't just start at this yesterday.

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The Two Gospel Writers Who Were Not Apostles

Questioning What We Assume

The search for knowledge must never cease, but more critically, we must question the assumptions we once held as true without ever examining them, until new information challenges a viewpoint we never thought was in dispute.

Last night, I found myself at the end of an interesting discovery. Although I know a great deal about the Bible, in theory, by osmosis, through tradition, and sometimes through an application that makes the reality of God and the salvation of Jesus Christ the most heartwarming experience of my faith, I remain just as ignorant of some fundamentals.

The Twelve Apostles

¹³ At daybreak he called together all of his disciples and chose twelve of them to be apostles. Here are their names:

¹⁴ Simon (whom he named Peter),
Andrew (Peter’s brother),
James,
John,
Philip,
Bartholomew,

¹⁵ Matthew,
Thomas,
James (son of Alphaeus),
Simon (who was called the zealot),

¹⁶ Judas (son of James),
Judas Iscariot (who later betrayed him).
[Luke 6:13-16, reference Matthew 10:1-4]

There are four gospels of the Lord Jesus Christ, attributed to the named authors in the Bible and traditionally accepted to have been written in the order of Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John, between AD 66 and 110. Luke also wrote the Acts of the Apostles. [Wikipedia: Life of Jesus]

An Overlooked Detail

What I never bothered to check, and what you, the reader, might already know, is that Mark and Luke are not in the list of apostles. They were not apostles at all. Luke was known as the physician who travelled with Paul the Apostle, and Mark is mentioned too. [Colossians 4:14, Philemon 23-24]

This is not an exposition of the facts, which have been dealt with extensively and with a scholarly and academic expertise I cannot expect to match. The theological debates belong elsewhere.

A Discovery Worth Sharing

This is, however, a note in my journal and an introduction to a YouTube channel I discovered a few months ago, Deep Made Simple. Its short videos, which deal with topical elements in the scriptures, have brought me insight and enlightenment I cannot keep to myself. The video "The Gospel of Luke: Why a Doctor Wrote the Bible’s Longest Book " had me scrambling for information.

The shock, the realisation, the quest for more knowledge: the small hours of the morning crept upon me as I listened to the video again before playing back the dramatised New Living Translation of the gospel. [Google Play: NLT Bible with Audio]

Luke could have been a gentile, and he was indeed a journalist, a correspondent, and a meticulous historian.

One last thing, I was on YouTube that I learnt to recall the Ten Commandments by counting fingers and hand signals, in 5 minutes.

Note: All Biblical references are taken from the Bible Gateway.

Luke's Place in Scripture

The Gospel according to Luke is not the longest book in the Bible; by English word count, that distinction belongs to the book of the prophet Jeremiah.

However, the gospel is the longest book in the New Testament, and taken together with the Acts of the Apostles, Luke would have contributed more to the standard Bible, in English word count, than any writer except Moses.

Patterns of Truth: Why Are Mark and Luke Not Named as Disciples?

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Men's things XXXIII: Prostate Cancer Screening and UK Black Men

A sobering statistic

The statistics in the UK show that Black men are twice as likely to get prostate cancer and, consequently, twice as likely to die from the disease. In plain numbers, this means that 1 in 4 Black men will encounter the disease in their lifetime.

So, it was quite disappointing when, in November 2025, the UK National Screening Committee (NSC) advised against routine prostate cancer screening for the majority of men.

That advice included the very men most susceptible to the disease, and it was justified by concerns over the overdiagnosis and overtreatment of what might essentially be benign conditions.

Blog - Men's things XXVIII: Shame, no national prostate cancer screening

To withhold the opportunity from a cohort that is most medically affected and usually clinically ignored, especially given the tendency of such men to be culturally diffident on intimate matters, where masculinity, machismo, and sexual virility are taken to demonstrate manliness and personify manhood, was as close to unconscionable as one could get.

Renewed hope: TRANSFORM

It is therefore gratifying that, two days ago, the TRANSFORM prostate cancer screening trial received further funding. The trial, which began in autumn 2025 after being proposed in spring 2024, will now invite men at the highest risk of prostate cancer to benefit from research, early detection, and more effective treatments. [GOV.UK: Major expansion of research and treatment for prostate cancer]

All eligible Black men will be invited to participate in this initiative, which is jointly funded and supported by Prostate Cancer UK and the National Institute for Health and Care Research (NIHR). This should accelerate community engagement and deepen it, particularly amongst Black men.

In June 2026, when stage 2 of the trial commences, all eligible Black men will be invited, including Black men who:

• are aged 45 to 74
• are resident in the UK
• have not had a PSA test or prostate MRI scan in the last 5 years

My own journey

Two years after my prostate cancer diagnosis, and twenty months after completing radical radiotherapy, the prognosis is good. My PSA is at the lowest reading it has been since I was first screened in February 2024.

I urge every Black man to take up this screening opportunity, all the more so if he carries the BRCA2 gene variant and has a family history of prostate, breast, pancreatic, or ovarian cancer.

Know the warning signs

Beyond that, a man should have his prostate checked if he gets up multiple times at night to urinate, waits a while to start, strains to begin, does not feel he has fully emptied his bladder after a visit to the toilet, or has pressing urges to pass urine.

Not every prostate enlargement is indicative of cancer, but it must be investigated by medical personnel. This is good news for Black men; now step forward and take control of your health.

Blog - Men's things XXXII: For the Boys in the Room: Why Your PSA Matters

Blog - Photons on the Prostate: Three Things I Wish I'd Known

Blog - Men's things: Prostate Cancer blogs

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When the Backstop Becomes the Plan

From Doldrums to Hope

The days carry varying degrees of emotional toll, from the palpable to the expectant; the feeling that you may not be pulling your weight gives way to the exhilaration of success, because what was once intractable became resolvable.

We have moved from a week that seemed to present diminishing returns to one that appears to offer appreciating results. While we are not totally out of the doldrums, there is hope on the horizon, and things have been better than expected.

Governance Left Behind

Yet we get embroiled in administrative issues that should have had governance born from contractual obligation, including the clear requirement specifications that would apply to an architectural design, with guidelines for solutions to be crafted on agreed policy.

A backstop activity, meant only to tide us over until automation could take hold, has evolved into the core solution. This is because resources will not be committed first and, evidently, the architectural element is missing altogether.

Shortcuts Over Policy

The project manager, under pressure to deliver, has short-circuited the process, favouring the concept of ease over the policy guidelines that should govern it. The ideas are lifted off a contract statement and put into play, leaving the implementation resting on broad assumptions.

What we hear is that it must be done because the contract demands it; what we do not have is any documentation describing what is actually to be done. The best element of guidance to materialise today came in an email. However, can governance be run from an email, you wonder?

That is why this is being escalated. I am not convinced a proper resolution will be forthcoming before the pressure to act overwhelms the tendency to err on the side of caution; not out of any impossibility to perform, but because of the absence of governance that informs the processes required.

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Twelve Years a Resident, Fourteen Years Away

Memory and the Reason for Writing

Fourteen years begin to tell you how dull the memory really is. I suppose that is why we write things down, and probably why this blog exists as a journal of stories and experiences.

My visit to Amsterdam, both impromptu and incognito, was for the single purpose of maintaining the status of a loyalty scheme; one that gives benefits and privileges money might buy, but at a higher cost.

My preference was Paris, but Brian adamantly withstood me, fully expressing his concern for my safety, and only he could know why.

Returning After Many Years

I was tempted to let people I knew through my Holland odyssey, which began in May 2000 and ran for the twelve years I called the Netherlands home, in on the visit. To think I found a hotel in Hoofddorp, where I started my first job with AUCS Infonet 26 years ago, is quite something. I was charged city tax; Hoofddorp is over 10 miles as the crow flies from Amsterdam.

Back then, I lived in Amsterdam and commuted out to Hoofddorp by train each morning; now, all these years later, I was sleeping in the very town I once travelled out to. So much has changed, and yet other things remain the same.

Arriving in Amsterdam yesterday, I made for the public library that opened on the 7th of July 2007, intending to have a meal at Vapiano, not knowing they had closed their business in the Netherlands the year before.

Then I thought to walk up to my old apartment block in the Oostelijke Havengebied, the eastern docklands. The flat, which I bought in November 2001 and sold on the 1st of May 2012 when I handed the keys over to the new owner, was on the 7th floor and overlooked two stretches of water: IJhaven and Eersthaven.

These harbours separated my building from Java-eiland and KNSM-eiland, the two long, narrow islands that, together with my side, make up the regenerated docklands.

The Lessons Wasted on Youth

The funny thing is, for all the ten and a half years I lived there, I never once walked from the city centre. I took the tram, the bus, or rode my bicycle. If only I had known the benefits of walking back then, but this kind of knowledge is wasted on youth.

I did not have a flood of memories when I got there, but soon enough, a resident from way back then wheeled out from the garage. We both had a moment of recognition and greeted each other.

That was enough; my plan to attend my old church on Sunday was now under review, as I wondered whether I could handle the emotional overload of so many reunions. I honestly was not prepared for that.

A City Subtly Changed

Tram numbers had changed. What was once Tram 10, which had not yet been built when I first moved there, is now Tram 1. Tram 25 to IJburg is now Tram 26, with the terminus moved to the back of the central station, on the IJ River side.

Then another face I recognised, still looking good, not weathered by time and deserving of a compliment, which I gave liberally. The things you think you remember, only to realise that your memory is a bit jaded.

Even so, all these encounters encourage the recollections of people, events, and ideas that made those times significant in their different ways. For instance, I sent a message to an old friend whom I had once helped pick out gilets and outfits for his wedding, drawing on my familiarity with the outfitters around Amsterdam and my comfort with formal wear.

We had gone shopping together on Nieuwendijk, one of the city's oldest shopping streets, running north from Dam Square towards the Central Station.

Walking the Singel

Today, I went looking for a restaurant on the Singel, thinking it was further down the canal. I had walked all the way in the opposite direction before retracing my steps, only to find it was nearer the central station after all, and that I needn't have taken the tram in the first place.

After my breakfast, which had Danish bacon as it should be, but hash browns as something else entirely, I set out on a small adventure into the past. My first residence had been in the Jordaan, where I rented from June 2000 until November 2001, when I moved to the apartment I had bought in the eastern docklands.

The Jordaan place was a large garage converted into a one-bedroom apartment with two separate toilets, on Palmstraat. It was all unrecognisable now; even the old had been seriously gentrified.

The Indignities of Travel

You could easily be housebound in Amsterdam, as I saw no disabled toilets. The public toilets at the central station charged a hefty €1.10, which is just unforgivable, and there were no staff on hand to help out with failed automation. But that was yesterday.

There was a time when wearing glasses was considered a grave disability, so much so that once laser surgery for corrective eyesight became widespread, the Dutch were beating a path to every practitioner offering the service.

On toilet anxiety, today was worse, as I was far from any known facilities, and the accident happened. By the time I eventually found a toilet, my underwear had to be binned. We suffer in silence, hiding the shame that cannot be avoided because of nature or affliction. Yet we must live life as best we can, for that is the better story.

The Living Existence of a Life Story

I can boldly say Amsterdam is not about the lost, but the living existence of a life story; visited by adversity and failure, but blessed by the gift of life, the promise of a bright future, and undying hope that makes every travail transient.

Beyond my expectations, there was even an ocean liner at the passenger terminal. So much for reducing seafaring tourism; the reality bites harder than ideas in a council meeting with harebrained resolutions.

The old lady of green politics in the Netherlands of the days of yore is the mayor of Amsterdam. Femke Halsema, I doff my hat. Respect!

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