From Carthage to Calm: How the Super Eagles Redirected the Eagles to History Class

From Carthage to Calm: How the Super Eagles Redirected the Eagles to History Class

By Jerry Adesewo

Before the quarter-final whistle was blown, confidence was already airborne. The Carthage Eagles of Algeria flapped their wings loudly, boasting that they would defeat Nigeria and send the Super Eagles “back to the Sambisa Forest.” It was a bold prophecy—part football banter, part geography remix, part motivational error.

Football, however, has a cruel sense of humour. It listens patiently, takes notes, and then responds on the pitch.

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When the match finally arrived, it became clear that two species of eagles had shown up: one armed with talk, the other with talons.

The Super Eagles, true to their name, did not soar into noise; they descended with purpose. Across the field, the Carthage Eagles looked less like imperial birds of ancient legend and more like tourists who had taken a wrong flight out of history.

And then came the twin instruments of correction: Victor Osimhen and Akor Adams—Victor and Ademola, or as Nigerian fans would now prefer, Judgement and Confirmation.

Victor struck first, reminding everyone that goals are louder than press conferences. Adams followed, as if to say, “In case the message wasn’t clear, let me repeat it—politely, with my left foot.”

Suddenly, Sambisa Forest vanished from the conversation. In its place appeared something far more frightening: the scoreboard.

The Carthage Eagles, once rulers of ancient North Africa, discovered that history does not guarantee form. Past empires don’t press, and old glories don’t track back. On this night, Carthage met aviation reality: Super Eagles fly higher when provoked.

It was a masterclass in football diplomacy. Nigeria did not respond with insults. They responded with structure. They did not trade words. They traded passes. The kind that end up in the net and stay there, long after tweets have expired.

By the final whistle, the only forest anyone was talking about was the dense tactical jungle Algeria found themselves trapped in—outnumbered, outpaced, and out-eagled.

If football teaches one lesson consistently, it is this: never invite geography into a game governed by gravity. The pitch is a ruthless equaliser. It has no memory of boasts and no respect for metaphors.

So, from Carthage to courtesy, the lesson is now complete. The Super Eagles remain super. Victor and Adams delivered the sermon. And the Sambisa Forest—quiet, unbothered, and uninvolved—has officially been cleared of football commentary.

Next time, let the Eagles do the talking.

With their feet.