Thursday, July 09, 2026
The Paysandu Passports, Part 1
Before I begin this tragicomic little tale, a small personal anecdote.
Long ago, during my brief foray into the world of football journalism proper, I had the opportunity to attend a women's youth World Cup in an official capacity (long story). This was a very enjoyable and informative experience in many ways, and provided some golden memories...as well as one of the funniest moments of my life.
A week or so into the tournament, the officials at the tournament were treated to a slap-up dinner by the local organizers, with various beverages flowing all too freely. Some of the coaches at the tournament were also present at this shindig, including the coach of the Brazilian women's youth team, who was partaking of the liquid refreshment with vigour. As we were heading off to our hotel rooms, most of us warm but not particularly dry, the Brazilian gentleman cornered me and indicated he would like a word. We had exchanged a few pleasantries during the evening, but I had no idea why he was so keen to speak to a relative stranger, let alone someone so insignificant. It soon became clear that his words were not meant for anyone too high on the ladder.
"What do you think of the Nigerian team?" he demanded without any preliminaries. Brazil's next game, a crucial one for qualification to the next round, was against Nigeria.
I knew immediately what was up. There had already been murmurs about the ages of the Nigerian side, many of whom looked a good deal older than 17. I had my own suspicions in this regard, but, needless to say, I wasn't going to voice them. However, these suspicions, along with the wine, had an unfortunate effect on my reply.
"Oh, yes, quite good, erm...physically very strong." I immediately realised I'd put my foot in it.
The Brazilian smiled. "They are all women, no?" he growled.
Whoops. "Oh, erm, I don't know," I stammered.
The smile became a good deal broader. "'I don't know', means 'YES', no?" he retorted before giving vent to a warm chuckle which it took all my self-control not to share. I managed to mutter a hasty farewell before returning to my room and collapsing in uncontrollable laughter.
Such was the stigma that attached to African teams in youth tournaments at the time, following some recent scandals, that the Brazilian's suspicions were hardly surprising. Yet it was in his own continent that such scandals first became widespread - including a bizarre episode in 1979 which involved a corrupt authoritarian government desperate for footballing success, a compliant coach, a number of suborned players, and a grim sequel ten years afterwards.
This is the sad but intermittently amusing tale of the Paysandu affair. More in Part 2.
