They sat in Mengo’s marble rooms,
Counting coins, not dreams,
Writing laws with blindfolds on,
As the pitches cracked with neglect.
FUFA, priests of pretence,
Guardians of confusion,
They spoke of progress in boardrooms,
While the terraces screamed in hunger.
Magogo, the man with many microphones,
Preaching unity, practicing division,
Turning every whistle into a warning,
And every question into crime.
But from Kitende rose a kingdom –
Not of talk, but triumph,
Where sweat built glory,
And vision found a voice.
Dr. Lawrence Mulindwa,
Scholar of substance, steward of the sport,
He stood when others schemed,
He led when others lobbied.
When Mengo’s walls echoed with deceit,
He answered with results,
While others chased signatures,
He chased standards.
And the people, oh, the people roared!
From Lugogo to Lira,
From Fort Portal to Mbale,
Their chorus cut through the silence:
“You can’t privatize passion!”
FUFA fumbled with power,
But forgot who owns the game –
It’s not the desk men in suits,
It’s the dreamers in dust,
The fans who pay with faith,
Not fees.
So let Magogo’s pen rest –
Let the UPL unmask its mirrors,
For football was never theirs to rule,
But ours to remember, to guard, to grow.
And when Kitende’s floodlights pierce the dusk,
May they remind the nation-
That legacy is not written in minutes or mandates,
But in moments of courage,
In hearts that play for love, not gain.
Long live the game.
Long live its guardians.
Long live the spirit that refuses to kneel.
