England’s first black international and his 42-year wait for recognition (original) (raw)

Football Trailblazers: Ben Odeje's debut for England schoolboys in front of 70,000 fans at Wembley had largely been forgotten until recently

At 2.45pm on 6 March, 1971, 22 boys from England and Northern Ireland stand in the tunnel of Wembley Stadium.

The noise is piercing, the shrieks and cries of a 70,000-strong crowd largely comprised of schoolchildren.

Outside Wembley, red-and-blue programmes have been sold in their thousands for 5p a time, documenting for eternity the players’ forthcoming appearances. Every child in the tunnel puffs out his chest, stands tall and tries to forget the nerves.

In such a scenario, choice becomes an illusion. Nerves tie a thousand knots in the stomach, but for what? Each player knows what they must do: cross the white line. It has all been for this. Should things work out well, talent and fate twisting and turning in dance, they will be back here over and over again.

For one of those players, this – unknowingly – means more. Ben Odeje was born 4,000 miles away in Nigeria, but has grown up in Deptford. He has scored at astonishing rates for South East London School, Blackheath District and London Schoolboys, where his coach was Roy Hodgson. When the call-up letter arrives, he fails fully to understand its significance.

Roy Hodgson was one of Odeje’s early coaches (Getty Images)

On that spring afternoon, Odeje becomes the first black player to represent England. Given the nerves, it’s probably best that the milestone remains undisclosed. An assortment of family members watch but his mother is missing. She must work her shift at the local hospital.

Odeje’s future looked bright. He was dubbed the ‘Boy Pele’ by the English media after scoring 400 goals in three seasons at schoolboy level. Having signed terms with Charlton Athletic, manager Theo Foley remarked that Odeje “had every chance of reaching the top”. The next morning’s Daily Mirror described him as “the first African to play for England”. Even when Ade Coker made his West Ham debut eight months later, Odeje was mentioned in a newspaper column which also held up Clyde Best as “the perfect combination of strength and negro grace”.

But life in football for Odeje was tough. He never made a first-team appearance for Charlton and failed to find a Football League home, largely spending his career at London non-league clubs including Hendon, Dulwich Hamlet and Clapton. The rest of 1971 was no easier. Despite being named Man of the Match at Wembley, Odeje was immediately dropped by England schoolboys without explanation. After 25 years in the game, one of his coaches resigned in protest.

And so, for 40 years, Odeje’s historic appearance remained hidden. The great Laurie Cunningham, Odeje’s friend, is recognised as England’s first black representative when playing for the Under-21s against Scotland six years later. Viv Anderson became England’s first black senior international in November 1978. Jokes were made in the media about him being the only player not to turn blue in the cold weather.

Instead Odeje was forced to wait for his recognition. His children would be mocked and called liars at school, desperately proud of their father; Odeje himself would attempt to state his case but found only deaf ears. And then, in 2013, a campaign provoked Football Association analysis, a BBC News story and the immortal words Odeje had waited half a lifetime to hear: “We’ve spoken to our historian… and we can confirm Benjamin Odeje was the first black player to represent England at any level.”

The great Laurie Cunningham played for England’s U21s in 1977 (Getty Images)

Vindication doesn’t smooth over the wrongs of the past; more hurtful than professional disappointment was the normalisation of racist abuse he suffered. Bananas were regularly thrown at him, and he recalled in an interview being taunted with racial slurs by his own team-mates and managers if he made a mistake or underperformed. “The home games were OK,” Odeje recalled in 2016. “But the away games were horrible.”

It is tempting to look back on that period fondly, preferring to champion in hindsight the black players who were able to establish themselves in English football. But do not fall into the trap of believing that success raised them above abuse. Thousands watched not to see them play, but to wish them to fail. Odeje suffered twice. He was racially abused at school and then racially abused at work, all the while his legacy growing more distant, whitewashed by history. Nobody knew who he was, and few cared.

This is not an attempt to erode the legacies of Cunningham or Anderson, and Odeje would not wish it. It is obvious why both would gain more recognition, and nobody should attempt to steal the limelight of any trailblazer of colour.

There should be enough praise to go round. But if we are truly to atone for the abhorrent treatment of black sports people in this country, we owe it to them to tell their history completely. Odeje was a child superstar but, ultimately, a failed footballer who was mistreated by his peers and scorned by those who refused to countenance his trend-setting and thus his legacy. An appropriate gesture to recognise his accomplishment is long overdue.