Chanting, cheering and screaming “Go Black Stars!” My black Uganda Cranes jersey on, it was a night of routing for the African team, Ghana at Champions Bar and Grill, Metroplex Mall, Naalya. A cold bottle of Club and a beautiful kynana by my side, the evening could not get any better, at least that is what I thought until the match begun. I had to endure silly, obvious questions, from this kyana. “Emmy, which colour of jersey is Ghana donning, white or red? Really?! Even after it looked so obvious that the charcoal-look-alikes were in white.
The match went on, Ghana seemed to be the better side, dominating possession. Half an hour played and boom, disaster befell the Black Stars. Everyone in the bar was all of a sudden quiet and low-spirited. Looking confused, my girl asked again, “Babe, aren’t we supposed to be celebrating since the guy in white has scored, I thought that was Ghana, why is everyone saddened?” For Christ’s sake, it is an own goal, how the heck am I supposed to be celebrating an own goal? I muttered. After a long silence, I then replied her, “Hunm it is an own goal. It is more like shooting yourself in the leg in real life.”
I was disgusted but still had to endure with this football amateurism. The beers were flowing, the match was not; not until Ghana equalised. I was in seventh heaven, my girl was in cloud nine, why? Because she knew the African team had scored two goals. Oh boy, I don’t think I will ever watch any world cup match with a woman again, never, nkooye sausage.