Only in Kenya do we pop expensive champagne and dance at the Ulinzi Complex for a league title that is essentially a participation trophy in the grand scheme of things. Kenya Police FC can celebrate all they want, but we all know the drill. They’ll win the league, get their shiny medals, and then head out to the CAF Champions League just to be used as a floor mop by some North African team that actually takes the sport seriously. It’s a cycle of mediocrity that we’ve rebranded as “progress.”

Then you have Nairobi United, who just finished their CAF Confederations Cup campaign with a big, fat zero. Six matches, zero points. That isn’t a football tournament; it’s a sponsored tourism excursion to the basement of Group B. They didn’t just lose; they went there to show the world exactly how hollow our domestic game has become. When Charles Okwemba talks about “sober persons” seeing the truth, he’s being polite. You’d have to be completely intoxicated to think this system is anything other than a burning wreck.

Okwemba is out here begging the FKF to “recognize its role,” but that’s like asking a hyena to look after your goats. The federation has turned Kenyan football into a private club where the only thing that grows is the frustration of the fans. They talk about “stakeholders” and “family assignments” because it sounds better than admitting they’ve successfully killed the soul of the game for a few kickbacks and some per diems.

We keep hearing about “getting back the glory days,” but those days are buried so deep they’re practically fossils. Whether it’s the league champions or the cup winners, the result is always a “preliminary stage” exit. It’s the national anthem of Kenyan football - start with hope, end with an apology, and repeat until the fans stop showing up. It’s a clear reflection of a country where we’ve mastered the art of looking busy while achieving absolutely nothing.

This isn’t just about sports; it’s about the same systemic rot we see everywhere else, from our sports pitches to our security. Much like the Mandera Mirage, we are experts at opening doors to chaos and then acting surprised when things fall apart. We are a “football talented country” led by people who couldn’t organize a kickabout in a backyard without losing the ball and the grass.

The earlier we realize that these “celebrations” are just funerals in disguise, the better. Until the FKF is cleaned out with the same ruthlessness they use to kill careers, we will continue to be the continent’s favorite punching bag. So, keep the trophies, keep the photos, and keep the lies - some of us are sober enough to see the zero points for what they really are: a crime against the fans.