You are nothing, Sir. At best, perhaps, a useful pawn in a game that is way over your head and understanding. From my vantage point here in Babimbi-Ouest, I see a sorry underdog. And I always had a soft spot for underdogs like you, so I am siding up with you against them. I dare argue here that in all of Cameroon, Sir, I am probably the only man alive who would consider buying a second-hand jalopy from you. I love you, Mr. Ben, I do apologize for hurting your feelings the first time around. So please, listen to me.
Run, Sir, just disappear. Get lost. Go sleep. You won’t build anything, you can’t build anything. You have nothing to show for, you have zero achievements in the ever expanding field of dreams that is Cameroonian football. You have been had. The stunt some mightier souls were about to pull blew in their faces when Mr. Akoa sternly refused to play the game.
The fat lady has sung. Game over. But before you exit, I should mention here that I did not at all appreciate your attitude the last time around. You questioned my professionalism. Fair enough. But I wasmiffed at your lame attempt at arousing public support and sympathy by pitting the diaspora – the well-wishing, benevolent, rich, the bleeding-heart sort – against us, the wretched Cameroonians back home in dire need of hand-outs and assistance. Don’t go there anymore, Sir, I could get downright peeved. I pack a mean pen.
You once were a man of the cloth I believe, so I would direct you, while on your way to oblivion, to Ezechiel 25:17 : “The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men”. Regards, Sir Ben.