By Eric Elezuo
The combination of myth and legend of one of Nigeria’s foremost footballers, John Fashanu, can only be encountered. His personality looms large, and presents a larger than life image. He was, and still is an enigma, who had triumphed in every field of endeavor, he found himself. His story, revolving round the status of his soccer days, family life, love for his home country, Nigeria, his entrepreneurial acumen and the eye-popping legacies that trail his name, is quite striking.
His name is John Fashanu; football star, entrepreneur, wholesome family man, who is the proud father of Amal, and one of the most patriotic Nigerian that has walked the face of the earth.
In this no-holds-barred interview with Ovation Media Group, Fashanu laid bare the most intricate parts of his life and existence, cutting across business, sports and television, and bringing to the fore a whole new experience and journey into a world of happiness, class and patriotism.
Excerpts:
Looking back over your extraordinary career, what defines John Fashanu more – the footballer, businessman, television personality or family man?
I have to be straightforward: above everything else, I am a family man. Football gave me a name, television gave me another platform, and business taught me how to reinvent myself, but family is what gives all of those achievements meaning.
My journey has never been conventional. I was born in London to a Nigerian father and a Guyanese mother, and after my parents separated, my brother Justin and I spent part of our childhood in the care system before being fostered in Norfolk. From those beginnings I went on to professional football, Wembley, England and television.
So when people say “John Fashanu”, they may remember Wimbledon, the FA Cup, the Crazy Gang, Gladiators or even “Awooga!” I am proud of all of it. But when everything else disappears, I am still a father, a brother and a family man. That is the title that matters most to me.
Wimbledon FC became known as the Crazy Gang. What made that dressing room so special?
It says it all: we really were crazy! But underneath all the madness was an extraordinary brotherhood. If somebody picked up a football, everybody wanted to participate. If somebody picked up a drink, everybody participated in that too! We laughed together, fought together, played practical jokes on one another and occasionally drove each other completely mad. But once we walked onto that pitch, we were one.
People remember Wimbledon for the physicality and the personalities – Vinnie Jones, Dennis Wise and the rest of us – but there was more intelligence behind that team than people sometimes give us credit for. We weren’t supposed to behave like champions and we certainly weren’t supposed to beat the biggest clubs. Maybe that was our greatest weapon: we didn’t care what we were supposed to be.
You won the 1988 FA Cup against Liverpool. What do you remember most vividly from that day?
Beating them!
Liverpool were the giants. We were Wimbledon – the Crazy Gang. On paper, people had already decided how the story should end. But football isn’t played on paper.
What I remember is the belief among us. Lawrie Sanchez scored, Dave Beasant produced that unforgettable penalty save, and suddenly this group that everybody had laughed at had beaten
Liverpool at Wembley. I can still remember the screaming, the disbelief and looking at my teammates thinking, “We’ve actually done it.”
That day taught me something I have carried through the rest of my life: never allow somebody else’s expectation of you to become your limitation. For me, the FA Cup medal represents much more than football. It represents the outsider winning.
If you were playing in today’s Premier League, how many goals do you think you would score?
Let me be very honest: today’s Premier League is far more organised, scientific and technically sophisticated than the football we played.
But give me today’s pitches, sports science, nutrition, recovery, analysis and protection for forwards? I would have enjoyed myself!
My game was about strength, timing, aerial ability, intimidation and making defenders uncomfortable. I wasn’t interested in giving centre-halves a pleasant afternoon. So yes, I believe I could score around 20 goals a season in the modern game. But I would have to adapt, just as today’s players would have had to adapt to playing against some of the defenders we faced every Saturday.
Football changes. A goalscorer’s hunger doesn’t.
Why didn’t you represent Nigeria internationally, and do you have any regrets?
Yes. Looking back, I regret that I never represented Nigeria.
At that stage of my life and career I was coming through the English football system, and eventually I represented England, making two senior appearances in 1989.
But identity becomes more complicated – and sometimes clearer – as you grow older. Nigeria is my father’s country and a fundamental part of who I am. At the time there were circumstances surrounding the Nigerian set-up that I wasn’t comfortable with, and I made the decision I believed was right then.
Would I make exactly the same decision today, knowing what I know now? Probably not.
That is one of the beautiful and painful things about getting older: you understand your roots differently. I cannot rewrite the international career I had, but I can spend the rest of my life contributing to Nigerian football in other ways.
If you could replay one match in your career, which would it be and why?
Manchester United against Wimbledon.
Old Trafford, Manchester United, that atmosphere – those were the games you wanted as a footballer because they tested your personality as much as your ability.
Scoring against Manchester United is the type of memory that stays in your body. For a striker, there is a split second after the ball leaves you when everything seems to stop. Then it hits the net and the noise changes.
You spend your career chasing that feeling. People sometimes think footballers remember seasons.
We don’t. We remember moments: a goal, a dressing room, somebody’s face, a roar from the crowd.
That is one of mine.
Who was the toughest defender you ever faced?
Steve Bruce was certainly one of them.
Playing against Manchester United meant going toe-to-toe with defenders who were physically strong, mentally tough and absolutely unwilling to give you anything. And I respected that.
I was a physical centre-forward. I wasn’t going to spend 90 minutes avoiding contact. If you wanted the ball, sometimes you had to go through somebody to get it. Steve could give it and he could take it.
There was a mutual understanding between players of that generation: today we are going to battle, and afterwards we shake hands.
You have three different black belts in martial arts. How has that shaped your life?
Martial arts gave me something even more valuable than physical strength: discipline.
People hear “black belt” and immediately think about fighting. For me, the real lesson is control. Knowing what you are capable of should make you calmer, not more aggressive.
Of course, during my football career the reputation didn’t hurt! If an opponent knew I had a martial-arts background, perhaps he thought twice before starting something.
But seriously, martial arts taught me repetition, patience, concentration and respect. Those qualities transfer directly into elite sport. Talent might open the door. Discipline determines how long you remain in the room.
What has been the toughest battle you have fought away from football?
Starting my life again.
People look at somebody who has played professional football, won the FA Cup and been on television and assume life simply continues upwards. It doesn’t.
Football eventually ends. My playing career finished after my move to Aston Villa, and suddenly you have to discover who you are when the stadium is no longer chanting your name. Then life brings relationships, loss, family responsibilities, business, mistakes and new beginnings.
Eventually I made the decision to reconnect much more deeply with Nigeria. Starting again in the country of my heritage has humbled me. It has also given me purpose.
Sometimes rebuilding your life requires more courage than building the first one.
What makes you proudest about your children?
Their independence.
Of course, as a father you want your children to achieve things, but achievement isn’t only money, fame or titles. I am proud when I see them developing their own minds, careers, principles and identities.
My life has been loud. Football was loud. Television was loud. Public life can be very loud. What I want for my children is the confidence to hear their own voices through all that noise.
I don’t need them to become John Fashanu. I need them to become themselves.
What has marriage and fatherhood taught you?
Humility!
Football dressing rooms can convince you that you’re a very important person. Family quickly reminds you otherwise.
Marriage and fatherhood have taught me that love is not simply about being the strongest person in the room. Sometimes strength means listening. Sometimes it means compromising. Sometimes it means apologising.
I jokingly say: always be submissive to your wife and children! But underneath the joke is something serious. The older I become, the more I understand that relationships cannot survive purely on ego.
You have to know when to lead and when to listen.
What would surprise people most about John Fashanu at home?
Probably how soft I actually am.
People remember the big striker, the Crazy Gang, the martial arts, Gladiators and this strong public character. But that is only one part of me.
Underneath it I have always had what I call a little baby heart. Family can hurt me. Loss hurts me.
Seeing somebody I love suffering hurts me.
Perhaps when you spend your professional life being physically strong, people forget that strength and sensitivity can exist in the same person. They absolutely can.
Who has been your greatest source of strength during the most difficult periods of your life?
My family.
And I must also mention Rachel. May her soul rest in peace.
There are certain people who enter your life and leave something behind that time cannot remove. I will always remember her as a genuine companion and life partner.
Football teaches you about teammates, but life teaches you that the most important teammates are sometimes the people standing beside you when there are no cameras, no trophies and no applause.
Those are the people you never forget.
Your eldest daughter Amal has been very visible supporting you. What has her support meant to you?
There is no greater joy than seeing your daughter grow into a strong, intelligent and independent woman – and then discovering that she is also prepared to stand beside her father.
Amal has her own life, career, ambitions and responsibilities. So when your adult child chooses to give you her time and support, you don’t take that for granted.
Our family has experienced extraordinary highs and very difficult chapters. Amal has also played a role in keeping the wider Fashanu story alive through her work around football and the legacy of my brother Justin.
For me, there is a simple truth behind it all: blood is thicker than water. Whatever life brings, she is my first daughter and that bond will always be special.
If you had one message for Amal today, what would you say?
Keep going.
Keep being courageous, keep building, keep thinking for yourself and never allow anybody to make you smaller so they can feel bigger.
And remember something very simple: your daddy has always got your back.
A father may not always agree with every decision his daughter makes, and a daughter will certainly not agree with every decision her father makes! But real love survives disagreement.
I am proud of the woman you have become.
What does Nigeria mean to you today?
Everything.
Nigeria is no longer simply somewhere my father came from. It is home.
There is something powerful about returning to your roots later in life because you appreciate them differently. I grew up in Britain and Britain gave me tremendous opportunities. I represented England and built my football and television career there.
But Nigeria connects me to another part of myself. Now I look at Nigeria not simply through nostalgia, but through responsibility.
I ask myself: “What can I give back?” That is where I am in my life today.
What does African football still need to reach the next level?
First: zero corruption.
Africa does not have a talent problem. Walk through Lagos, Abuja, Accra, Johannesburg, Dakar or almost anywhere on this continent and you will find young people with extraordinary natural ability.
The challenge is turning talent into sustainable excellence. That means governance, facilities, coaching, education, scouting, player welfare and accountability. Young African players should not have to believe that knowing somebody is more important than being good enough.
Build a transparent system around African talent and the world will see what Africa is truly capable of.
If appointed to transform Nigerian youth football tomorrow, what would be your first priorities?
Organisation first.
Everybody needs to understand his or her role – administrators administer, coaches coach and players play.
Then I would concentrate on grassroots identification, proper coaching, education and infrastructure. But I would also teach young footballers something that sounds basic: understand your position.
A talented young player isn’t helped by being told only that he is talented. Teach him movement, responsibility, decision-making, nutrition, discipline and what his position requires when he doesn’t have the ball.
Nigeria already produces footballers. My ambition would be to build a system that produces complete professionals.
What achievement outside football are you most proud of?
Gladiators.
When I walked away from football, I had to prove that John Fashanu could exist outside a stadium.
Then Gladiators happened. Suddenly I was standing beside Ulrika Jonsson presenting one of Britain’s defining Saturday-night entertainment programmes – and shouting “Awooga!” into millions of homes.
I presented the first five series between 1992 and 1996 and returned for the final series in 1999.
That mattered because it showed me something: you can have more than one life. Football didn’t have to be the final chapter. It became the first major chapter.
What misconception about you would you like to correct?
That because I laugh, joke and sometimes allow people to underestimate me, I don’t understand what is happening around me.
I do.
Throughout my career, being underestimated has often worked in my favour. People saw the physical footballer and perhaps missed the businessman. They saw the television personality and missed the thinker. They saw the jokes and assumed there was no strategy behind them.
That’s fine. Never interrupt somebody while they are underestimating you.
What keeps you motivated every morning?
Faith and gratitude.
When you understand where you started, gratitude becomes very easy.
My brother and I experienced separation and foster care as children. I then had opportunities most young boys can only dream about: professional football, Wembley, England, television and a life that has taken me around the world.
So when I wake up, I try to remember that every additional day is an opportunity.
At this stage of life, motivation isn’t about proving everybody wrong. It is about making the time I have count.
What advice would you give your 18-year-old self?
Guard your peace.
Build your confidence before you build your reputation. Don’t spend your life competing with somebody else’s journey.
I would tell that young John: “There are going to be moments when people doubt you, misunderstand you, celebrate you and criticise you. None of those things should determine who you are.”
Work hard. Embrace the grind. Learn from everybody. And stay in your own lane.
You will get there.
What are your biggest ambitions for the future?
To do more for Nigeria.
I have already had my football career. I have had television. I have travelled and experienced things that the boy I once was could never have imagined.
So the next stage cannot simply be about John Fashanu collecting more things. It has to be about legacy.
I want to help create opportunities for young Nigerians through football – proper development, education, mentoring and pathways that can turn ability into a future.
If my generation has acquired experience, contacts and knowledge and we don’t transfer those things to the next generation, then what was the point?
I don’t just want Nigeria to remember that John Fashanu came home. I want Nigeria to be better because I came home.
How would you like history to remember John Fashanu?
As a complicated, imperfect, larger-than-life man who refused to be placed in one box.
A boy who came through a difficult childhood and reached professional football. A footballer who became part of one of English football’s great underdog stories and lifted the FA Cup with Wimbledon. A Black British player who represented England. A footballer who crossed successfully into mainstream television and became part of the Gladiators era.
A Nigerian son who eventually came home. A father. A brother. A man who made mistakes, learned lessons, reinvented himself and kept moving.
History doesn’t need to say John Fashanu was perfect.
I would rather it say: “He lived. He fought. He entertained. He opened doors. He came home. And he left something behind.”
