It was the 52nd minute of the game, 1-1 was the score, in a friendly game against Lokoja Utd U-16s. I was being substituted into the game. It was my first game since I was promoted to the U-16, over a year ago. Word on the streets is, I was the worst player in all the Ikeja City Football Club.
It was a free-kick for us, and I was the best taker on the pitch. I stood on the ball, waiting for the referee to blow his whistle. I had a walking "run up", I gently walked to the ball, increasing my pace as I got 5 steps close to it, then it came, a Roberto Carlos-esque curler, top bins. The home crowd of about 100 people jumped in celebration. My teammates jumped me. I didn't celebrate, I knew the only positive about my game was my ability to take set-pieces.
Soom after the celebrations, the game restarted, a minute later we had the ball again, 4 passing sequences later, the ball came to me, and the worst 10 minutes of my career began. An awful first touch, which allowed the opposition winger get the ball. I tried to turn and get the ball back immediately, but I slipped, hit a split in front of everyone, as the winger went through on goal, unmarked. SWISH.... 2-2. We were back to all square.
We held the ball after restarting the game, this time we progressed slowly. I tried not to get on the ball, and when I did get the ball, I released it just as quickly. We were an attacking team, so we pushed the opposition deeper and deeper into their box.
After keeping the ball for 5 minutes after the restart, at the 61st minute of the game, I was on the ball again, as the fullback I had overlapped down the byline, I looked up for a split second, to see my options. The winger was open, showing with his hand where he wanted the ball. The striker was running into the box as well as one of the midfielder, the strikers hand was up and straight, which meant he wanted a cross on his head, he was in between two defenders, but looked confident that he would beat them in the air, the midfielder, on the other hand, called my name, signalling that he wanted the ball played to his feet. On the far end was the right winger and right back, both behind well marked, but the winger looking like he has evaded his man. I hit the cross.
It was a sad and pathetic cross, not close to any of the players I saw and relatively easy for the goalkeeper to come off his line and claim. The opposition goalkeeper, after claiming the ball, kicked it deep and as I turned I noticed that they had two players, striker no.9 and no.15, another striker up against just one of our centerbacks. I started to run.
As I ran, the opposition striker(no.15) did his stepovers, to confuse our CB, then he passed to the second striker(no.9) who was behind him, our CB was now in a tough spot, does he back up and try to shadow the no.9, that way leaving the no.15 free for a pass, or does he go for the tackle. He went for the tackle, but the no.9 played the ball back to the no.15, completing a beautiful one-two. Now they were on against the keeper.
I gained on them, thinking on what decisions to make, I had hoped the keeper would cover his near post, leaving the no.15 with little space to shoot unless he passed the ball back to the no.9, the pass which I would now slide in and scoop. It was all perfect in my head. I get to save the situation which I put the team in myself.
Our goalie did as I hoped, and the no.15 did also, passing the ball to the no.9, I lunged at the ball, forgetting one bit of information which might have changed everything. The fact that the no.9 had longer legs than mine.
Well... he got to the ball first, which meant, I got to his leg "Pheeee...." went the referees whistle, I had given of a penalty. The referee ran towards me, showing a yellow card. My hands on my waist and my head down, the booing from the crowd was the only thing ringing in my head, as well as my teammates, rightfully voicing their frustration.
The referee tapped me, only then did I open my eyes again. Then I heard the coach, "EASE!!! You're coming off" . Well, I can't blame anyone but myself, I've only been on the pitch 9 minutes, and though I had scored that goal, I had also committed two errors, one leading to a goal, one leading to a goalscoring opportunity, as well as conceding a penalty and getting a yellow card. Even if that performance was spread across the whole 90 minutes, it was still woeful. Doing all that in just a tenth of the time though, absolutely shambolic.
I was subbed off and on came Dinho, touted as the best player at Ikeja City FC under the age of 16, Dinho (who was nicknamed after the legendary Ronaldinho) got the nickname ay before he turned 9, and most of us at the club don't even know what his real name is. He, our team's captain, who, although being the same age as I was, 14, has already made 5 appearances at the under-18 level. The coach had planned on giving him a rest as he and Jordan, my best pal, who was nicknamed Zlatan, for how he played like Zlatan Ibrahimovic, were called up for a game against Mountain of Flames FC under-18 the very next day.
The boos got louder, with some of the fans throwing water bottles and empty sachets of water at me as I walked off the pitch.
"CHEEEE..." The net hissed as the ball kissed its surface. The penalty was converted. We were now down 2-3. I felt even more worse now. In less than 10 minutes I had gone from unlikely hero, to enemy no.1. As I sat on the bench, as far from the rest of my teammates as I could possibly be, I could hear some of the fans condemn my play. "Can you imagine bringing on someone that bad in a game you were planning on winning" one said. "No wonder he's wearing number 46, and nobody knows his name. Useless player" the other responded. I buried my head in my towel.
TAP TAP... I felt a hand on my shoulder. I raised my head to see Jordan standing over me. "Coach is calling you" he said. I buried my head once again in my towel, letting out a muffled scream before raising it back up and muttering "okay" as I stood up and dwadled towards the coach.
"I'm Sorry" I said, as soon as I got to the coach. "I tried, things are just different. I did what I could do and I'm sorry I let you down, when you gave me this opportunity". Tears strated to well up in my eyes once again, I was really dissatisfied with my performance and I didn't need anyone to tell me how badly I showed. Coach patted my shoulder as he gestured for me to calm down. "Look at the pitch" he said to me, after I had calmed. "What do you see?" I looked at the pitch and it all came to me, I could see our positions on the pitch, how Lokoja u-14 couldn't cope with our runs, how Dinho was dictating the play, turning opponents as well as releasing the ball perfectly. I looked at the clock, 77 minutes gone, which meant we had 13 minutes plus added time to make something of the game.
"We can still win this" I said responded. "We're better than they are and our system of overlapping one fullback and underlapping the other, causes us to always outnumber them in situations, cause if they try to bring someone to help, it leaves space, and you don't want to give Dinho any space" I continued. The coach then look at me and said, "You're young. You can still be as good on the ball as you are up here" he said, pointing at my head. "Just remember the basics, you're trying to do too much because you think to much. The beauty of football is it's simplicity". He then shoved me back, telling me to go back to my sit. I stood there for one more minute, watching them play.
"DINHO... if you get past the DM, the CBs lack reaction time so they would find it hard to cover in time for you to take a shot!!!" I shouted. "SHUT UP!!" He yelled back in response. I chuckled and went back to where I was sat. Jordan shook my hand as I got there, "nice free kick" he said. "I wish I can score free-kicks the way you do" he added, nudging my shoulder. "You're 14 and you've already played one game in the under-18, you didn't play today cause you have a game with them again tomorrow. You wish you can carry those free-kicks in. I wish I had half your general ability"
Seconds later, Dinho did it, just as I had said. A rabona flick over the head of the DM left him with an opening in front of the goal. CHEEEE... 3-3. 9 minutes left.
The game ended with us winning by 5 goals to Lokoja's 3. Dinho's hat-trick ensured we conquered the game. The team sat down and listened to the coach give his talk. Then Dinho, the captain gave his own, we laughed, as a team, as some of us changed back into their clothes and the players washed their bodies, He also commented on my telling him about the opening saying "You always see all those things but if they give you ball now, zero" to which the players laughed.
Chialuka came around after we had dressed up. She was a close friend of myself and Jordan and she came to watch me play. "Nice goal" she said as she handed me a caned Cola. I opened it and we shared as we walked home. Jordan, herself and I. When we talked about me conceding a penalty, she put her around my neck pulling me close and said "You see, you did what you were told to do. You came on, scored what? Your 23rd free-kick goal since you started playing for Ikeja CFC, and you stopped them from scoring. The goalkeeper should have done his own job too and saved the penalty. It's not your fault" Jordan and I laughed as we got to my place.
Knock Knock...
Mum came to the door, I walked in with Jo and Chialuka (Whilst everyone called him Zlatan, I simply called Jordan or Jo. They call me Ease). Chialuka quickly ran to my mum proclaiming "Ease scored another one today" she showed mum a video of the goal as both of them smiled. "My son, you're good at this football thing", she said, in our native Igbo language. Then from the other room, I heard my father ask, "You guys played again today??" To which Jo said, "yes, we won 5-3 today and Ease scored another free-kick". "Another free-kick? This my son is David Beckham" my father joked. "You guys should go home, it's getting late. Your parents will soon start looking for you". My father said as he bade them goodbye.
When Jo and Al were a distance away, my father called me into his room. "HOW MANY TIMES WILL I WARN YOU TO STOP THIS FOOBALL NONSENSE?!!" He asked. "Kneel," he said. I hesitated a little and he screamed, almost jumping off his sit. "GET ON YOUR KNEES." He then went on for a while shouting at me, cursing and occasionally slapping me as he scolded me for insisting on "wasting my life". "Good brain on your head and you want to waste it because you want to be kicking ball up and down? Are you sure you're even my son? I can not have birthed such a stupid fellow" he added. He then stood from his chair, "You know what?" He said, as he reached for a belt, rolling it in his hand, leaving the belt buckle dangling, "I will make sure I beat that football demon out of you, even if it means I damage those your legs, for good"