Let Us Agree, We All Hate Victor Osimhen

Let us stop dancing around it. Let us stop pretending this is about one outburst, one sentence, or one moment of frustration. Let us agree, plainly and painfully, that Nigerians have a complicated relationship with Victor Osimhen, and that relationship often looks like hatred disguised as “high standards.” We love him loudly when he rescues us. We turn on him viciously when he reminds us that he is human.

Because if yesterday’s backlash was truly about attitude, then we must ask an uncomfortable question: when exactly did Nigerians start demanding emotional perfection from the one player who gives Nigeria everything else?

Victor Osimhen is not just Nigeria’s striker. He is Nigeria’s first defender. Nigeria’s first presser. Nigeria’s emergency midfielder when the shape collapses. He tracks back when others jog. He presses centre-backs built like trucks. He harasses goalkeepers into mistakes. He runs channels that are never rewarded with passes. He fights for second balls no highlight reel will ever celebrate. For years, Osimhen has done the work of defenders, midfielders, and strikers combined—and still gets reduced to a villain because he dared to shout.

Let us also talk about sacrifice. Real sacrifice, not online patriotism. Osimhen has played through pain more times than Nigerians care to remember. He wore a protective mask not as fashion, but because his face was literally broken in service of club and country. He rushed back from injuries. He showed up for qualifiers others quietly missed. He chose Nigeria again and again despite chaos, politics, and dysfunction. Yet the moment frustration leaked into his body language, Nigerians behaved as though he had committed treason.

And let me be clear: I am a fan. And if we are being honest, being a fan does not mean loving only the goals, the highlights, and the celebrations. Being a fan means taking the mess too. It means standing with your player on the good days and the uncomfortable ones. So to those who call themselves Osimhen fans and were part of yesterday’s shame, a simple question must be asked: where are you now? Where are the loud hype merchants who sing his praises when he scores but disappear the moment he shows fire? What kind of fandom evaporates at the first sign of imperfection?

It is therefore unsurprising that reports have begun to circulate suggesting Osimhen is considering walking away from the national team. Whether true or exaggerated, pause and ask yourself this: after what Nigerians showed him yesterday, what kind of non-human would not at least consider it? At what point does emotional abuse stop being called “criticism”? At what point does loyalty become self-harm? We demand unconditional commitment from players, yet treat them as disposable the moment they fail our emotional comfort test.

What makes this hypocrisy even more insulting is how selective we are. In Europe, we worship players with “ego.” We call them monsters. Mentality kings. Serial winners. Diego Costa was chaotic. Zlatan was arrogant. Cristiano Ronaldo sulks, gestures, demands, fumes. Luis Suárez bites and still gets defended. These players are excused because their hunger is seen as greatness. But when Osimhen shows the same obsession, Nigerians suddenly discover moral standards they do not apply anywhere else.

Yesterday also exposed something Nigerians refuse to confront: we are uncomfortable with players who demand more,from us and from their teammates. Osimhen did not react because Nigeria was losing. He reacted because Nigeria could be better. That is not indiscipline; that is expectation. Serious teams are not built on silence. They are built on standards, friction, and accountability.

And context matters. This Super Eagles team is still evolving. Chemistry does not fall from the sky. Voices will be raised. Emotions will spill. That is football at the highest level. Pretending otherwise is dishonest. Yet Nigerians froze one moment and used it to construct an entire personality profile, complete with insults, boos, and character assassination.

What happened yesterday was not “constructive criticism.” It was bullying. Booing your own player in the middle of a tournament is not love, not support, not standards—it is self-sabotage. Nigerians demand loyalty from players but offer none in return. Today you are king; tomorrow you are disposable.

Victor Osimhen is not perfect. He never claimed to be. But perfection has never been the standard we apply to ourselves, so it is dishonest to demand it from him. Nigerians complain endlessly about players lacking elite mentality, yet panic the moment one behaves like an elite competitor. We want winners, but only the obedient, quiet, apologetic kind.

Victor Osimhen did not fail Nigeria yesterday. Nigeria failed Victor Osimhen,again. And until Nigerian fans learn that loving greatness means enduring its rough edges, we will keep asking the same tired question in the future: “Why don’t our stars love us anymore?”

Maybe the answer has never been far away.
Maybe it has always been us.

Ogungbile Emmanuel Oludotun