Standing just off the touchline, watching his young players grind through another training session, Babajide Oguntuase folded his arms and shook his head—half in concern, half in reflection.
Under the morning sun at Alade Stadium Lagos, the noise of boots striking ball and coaches barking instructions filled the air.
He has seen this story before. Only this time, he isn’t living it—he’s watching it unravel.
Once a proud junior international who wore Nigeria’s colours with belief and hunger, Oguntuase now leads Bariga FC in the 2026 NLO.
But his mind drifts often, not to his own team, but to the struggling Nigeria national under-17 football team—a team that once ruled the world, winning the FIFA U-17 World Cup five times, but now finds itself stumbling, even failing to qualify for major tournaments.
“It’s painful,” he admits quietly, eyes still fixed on the pitch. “A team like Nigeria, with our history, struggling like this, something is wrong.”
Oguntuase’s own journey began in the dusty fields of Shomolu, where raw passion met opportunity. He recalls how coach Ajibode spotted his talent and connected him to bigger platforms.
From there, he climbed steadily—first to the U-20s, representing Nigeria at the WAFU Cup in Burkina Faso, and later to the U-17 level.
Back then, he says, the system worked differently. It was slower, more deliberate—but far more effective.
“We stayed in camp for over a year,” he recalls, a faint smile breaking through. “We trained together, lived together, understood each other. By the time we got to tournaments, we were not just players—we were a team.”
That, he believes, is what the current Golden Eaglets lack.
Today, according to him, the problem isn’t talent.
Nigeria still produces gifted young footballers in abundance—from academies, grassroots teams, and local leagues.
The real issue lies deeper, in preparation and planning.
“You bring a coach and give him three months, sometimes six,” Oguntuase says, his tone sharpening. “What do you expect him to build in that time? Football doesn’t work like that.”
He describes it as a “fire brigade approach”—short-term fixes for long-term problems. Coaches, under pressure to deliver instant results, often rely on quick selections rather than building cohesive squads.
There’s little time to test players, no room for gradual improvement, and almost no opportunity for proper team chemistry to develop.
“In our time, if you saw a better player during a friendly match, you brought him in,” he explains. “And if someone wasn’t performing, you replaced him. It was a continuous process. Now, there’s no time for that.”
Even the debate around MRI scans and age-grade integrity, often blamed for Nigeria’s recent struggles, draws a dismissive wave from him.
“MRI has nothing to do with football,” he says firmly. “Preparation is everything. Give coaches time, and you’ll see results.”
As his team warm up at Alade Stadium, ahead of their match against Okaka FC, Oguntuase steps closer to the pitch, calling out instructions to his players.
His voice carries authority, but also a sense of urgency perhaps shaped by what he sees happening at the national level.
He worries not just about the present, but the future.
For him, the decline of the Golden Eaglets is more than a football issue—it’s a warning sign.
“It affects everything,” he says. “If the foundation is weak, how do you build the senior team? Players must grow through the system.”
He pauses, then adds with a quiet conviction: “Nigeria still has what it takes. But we need patience. We need structure. And we need to stop chasing quick results.”
As the Sunshine hit higher temperature and his players jog into the pitch, Oguntuase remains standing for a moment longer, watching, thinking.
For a man who once lived the dream, the hope is simple—that one day, the Golden Eaglets will rediscover theirs.
