He Had the Talent to Be the Best, but One Night Changed Everything – Etim Esin’s Untold Story

There are certain names in football that make you wonder, What if? Players who had everything—the skill, the charisma, the world at their feet—but for one reason or another, they never fulfilled their potential. Nigeria has had its fair share of these near-mythical talents, but few stories are as heartbreaking as that of Etim Esin.

Before Jay-Jay Okocha bewitched us with his feints and flicks, before Nwankwo Kanu danced past defenders with deceptive ease, there was Etim Esin. He was Nigeria's own Maradona, a player so naturally gifted that his teammates and coaches were convinced he was destined for greatness. But sometimes, talent isn’t enough. Sometimes, life throws a punch so hard that even the strongest can't recover.

It was 1987, and the Nigerian U-20 team was in camp in Surulere, Lagos, preparing for the FIFA U-20 World Cup in Chile. 

Etim Esin was the undoubted star. With the ball at his feet, he was unplayable—his dribbling was mesmerizing, his vision otherworldly. He didn’t just play football; he performed it.

The late Stephen Keshi, a giant of Nigerian football, once said: “We had Etim Esin and relied so much on him. The team was built around him because he had so much skill and had so much to offer. So we said this is our ‘Diego Maradona’ in Nigeria because he can do anything with the ball. It was like he was born with the ball.”

There was no argument. Everyone who watched him play agreed: Etim Esin was special.

But then came that one night.

The U-20 team had strict instructions: No leaving camp. No distractions. No unnecessary risks. But Lagos is a temptress, and Esin, barely 20, was drawn to her nightlife. He slipped out of camp with two other players, craving the adrenaline rush of a different kind of stage.

On their way out, disaster struck.

Armed robbers stopped them. Maybe they recognized the rising star. Maybe they didn’t. But in the chaos of the moment, a shot was fired, and Etim Esin was hit in the leg. The bullet that should have been fatal wasn’t. He survived. But the damage had been done.

Word spread quickly. Nigeria’s golden boy had been shot. The robbers later sent an apology letter, claiming they hadn’t realized who he was. A cruel irony.

With the U-20 World Cup just days away, the medical team scrambled to get him fit. They rushed his recovery, patched him up, and put him on the plane to Chile. But the magic was gone. Esin was half-fit, a shadow of himself, and Nigeria crashed out of the tournament in humiliating fashion. It was the worst performance in the country's U-20 history.

Esin still had his talent, but something had changed. He moved to Belgium and played for clubs like Lokeren and Lierse, but the carefree confidence that made him a superstar in the making had been dented. His career became a series of missteps, conflicts with coaches, and controversies.

And then came the scandal.

Accused of raping and impregnating a white girl in Belgium, Esin’s world collapsed. He denied the allegations, fled back to Nigeria, and insisted on his innocence. 

Eventually, the truth came out: the girl had lied. The child wasn’t his; the baby showed no trace of African heritage. He had been wrongfully accused.

But the damage was irreversible. His reputation was in tatters. The stigma never left him, and his career, already on shaky ground, crumbled entirely.

Etim Esin should have been a legend. He should have been mentioned in the same breath as Africa’s greatest players. Instead, he became a cautionary tale—a story of squandered potential, youthful recklessness, and the brutal reality that talent alone is never enough.

Some who saw him play insist he was better than Jay-Jay Okocha. That’s the thing with what-ifs; they leave room for endless debate. We will never truly know how great Esin could have been. And that might be the most painful part of all.

Today, he is 54. He still has his stories, his memories, and the cruel reminder that football, like life, is unforgiving.

His story isn’t just about football. It’s a lesson in discipline, in decision-making, in the fleeting nature of greatness. Because sometimes, your greatest enemy isn’t the defender in front of you.

Sometimes, it’s yourself.