Olote and Oriyomi

Olote is the Yoruba slang for describing a spoil spot, cynic or destructive critic (in Nigerianese, bad belle). Oriyomi literally means ‘I made it by the whiskers’. In other words, it means lucky escape. After the Barcelona survived elimination from this year’s champions league at the hands of Chelsea last night, the Blaugrana should be chanting oriyomiooo by now.

The x-rated anchor

As for olote.., ahem, ahem (double cough cough again), I am olote. I am an Arsenal fan and I have spent the better part of the outgoing season compiling a list of my 101 reasons why Manchester United were never going to win five trophies in one season as many had predicted they would at the start of the season. Needless to say, Manchester United will not win five trophies this season as Everton had ensured that by eliminating the Red Devils from this year’s English FA Cup. I have had to eat a truck load of humble pie all the same after the way Man U beat Arsenal over two legs in the champions league. It was supposed to be the only direct chance my Arsenal had to reduce the number of trophies the Red Devils could win this season. You can then imagine my disappointment with seeing Arsenal lose to the same Manchester United on Tuesday night, although my disappointment was tempered by my belief that by far the superior team won in the fixture.

Utter joy

In the case of Chelsea, I have never been ready for the taunting that will follow if they were to somehow win the champions league before Arsenal do, thereby making them the first London club to do so. C’mon, Arsenal is supposed to be the real pride of London, abi? On the other hand, I have not exactly forgiven Thiery Henry and Alex Hleb for the way they both left Arsenal for Barcelona in successive seasons. And to think of how winning the champions league with Barca would vindicate their decision to leave. So I had to choose which was the ‘lesser evil’ of the two to support in the tie. And for whatever reasons I concluded that Chelsea was the higher evil. I therefore, backed Barca to go through.

And when Barca scored that late, late away goal that was to get them through to the final, what do you think I did? Of course I jubilated. But as I consider myself a seasoned (I no get any other title apart from the cheap ‘Mr.’ and I think that is a tacit crime in Nigeria ) football fan, I didn’t celebrate too much, just a few punches into the air and some hug hug with one of my cousins. Make no mistakes however; yesterday night was not the triumph of football over steel as some are wont to believe. Yesterday’s wasn’t exactly the victory of beauty over the beast. Perhaps it could have been after the first 90 minutes of the tie. The tie may have ultimately resulted in the triumph of a footballing team over a robotic one, but over the two legs, and particularly on the night, perhaps it's not far from inconceivable to say that football won. Considering that the Chelsea goalkeeper, Petr Cech last night had to carry out only two other tasks - taking the occasional goal kick and bantering with the steward behind his goal line - for 92 minutes before picking the ball from the back of his net, it is less plausible to argue that the better football won on the night or perhaps even in the fixture.

And now, as we approach May 27 and all attention turns to Rome for the final of the competition, I am still in a dilemma as to whether to forgive our prodigal sons and back Barca or watch Manchester United become the first (that word and Man Utd again!) club ever to win the champions league in successive seasons. I guess I’ll wait till May 27 to make a decision. Crest fallen

A few things from last night I know what I would do or would have done if I had to contend with: First, if I were Didier Drogba, I’d never have had to be restrained from cutting the match referee into a million tiny pieces. If I were him and I had that glorious 53rd minute chance in the match and were able to make Gerard Pique wipe much of his 18 yard box with his backside, I would equally make sure I hit the ball over the Barca keeper’s head and into the onion bag. That way I would never have had to be an impromptu “f******”(sic) television anchor person last night. Also, if I were the Chelsea team I would have realized that for the better part of the last 25 minutes my opponent was playing with only three men in the defence, one of which was not really a defender while the other two were walking on one leg each. With the calibre of players I have, I’d therefore, turn in the screw and kill off my opponent.

And if I could take UEFA or FIFA’s place, I would make sure that the match referee, Mr Tom Henning Ovredo never blows a whistle anywhere near a football arena ever again. If only I could trade places with Mr. Ovrebo, I would instantly put aside my whistle, hand my referee’s badge over to whoever is in charge of referees’ issues and sign up with a boxing weightlifting or wrestling club where my physique could be better employed rather than arbitrate any sports contest even between under-twos.