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Lagos is home to millions shaped by different personalities and beliefs, yet the majority find joy in speaking one language – football.
On a hot, traffic-choked Sunday in the city, long before kick-off, the air already tastes different. If you’re anywhere near Agege Stadium, Volks Playground, the National Stadium, Teslim Balogun Stadium, or Onikan Stadium, you can feel it. Vendors spread out in their usual formation as fans stream toward the gates, singing selective chants backed by the steady thump of drums.
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By the time the teams, whether the Super Eagles, a grassroots side, or a league club, walk out onto the pitch and the action starts, the noise becomes something you can almost touch. It blends into one thick, powerful wave of sound. And the players feel it. You see it on their faces, in their movement, in the sudden confidence that wasn’t there during warm-ups. A winger who looked unsure now demands the ball. A centre-back who mistimed tackles earlier suddenly wins everything.
This is the 12th man.
For years, players, coaches, and fans have repeated the same truth: the crowd changes the game. European sports scientists use advanced technology to study home advantage, but Nigerians have always known from experience that chants from the stands don’t just encourage players, they push them.
In Europe’s top leagues, players speak about stadiums that feel impossible to visit. English players say Anfield can swallow you with noise. Germans dread Dortmund’s Yellow Wall. Spaniards describe certain arenas as pressure cookers.
But across Africa, the atmosphere isn’t just loud – it is alive. When thousands shout your name, your body reacts: your heartbeat quickens, your senses sharpen, you take risks you would normally avoid. Sometimes, you even forget your fears. This kind of support builds confidence.
The same energy affects the opposition. The crowd reminds them, every minute, that they are far from home. Referees feel it too. They are human. When tens of thousands roar at once, an official may hesitate for a moment. They might delay a decision. Nobody claims referees do this deliberately, but emotion touches everyone, including the one holding the whistle.
Stadium design influences this as well. In Europe, arenas are built to trap sound with steep stands and low roofs. In Africa, many stadiums are more open, yet still produce tidal waves of noise, driven not by architecture, but by passion.
But crowd power cuts both ways. Nigerian fans are passionate, but also demanding. When the team plays well, the stadium vibrates. When things go wrong, chants can turn, and the silence that follows often feels heavier than the noise.
This is why mental strength is vital. Around the world, more clubs are hiring psychologists and mental-performance coaches to help players stay balanced. Africa’s top leagues have adopted this too, though the support is still growing. Some players learn to block out pressure when the noise becomes too sharp. Others learn to turn it into fuel. The best find a balance: they enjoy the support but do not depend on it.
The COVID-19 pandemic made this clearer than ever. When football was played behind closed doors, everything changed. Across the world, even in Europe’s biggest leagues, matches felt flat. The urgency dipped. Many home teams struggled without the force of their fans behind them.
And across the continent – from Enyimba’s Elephant Park in Aba, to Ashanti Kotoko’s Slaughter Slab in Kumasi, to Mamelodi Sundowns’ base in Pretoria, and far north to Al Ahly’s fortress in Cairo, fans bring something to football that cannot be manufactured. It is a blend of culture, rhythm, passion, and presence.
It is the heart of the game.
