June 29th, 2013
Jeremiah woke before dawn, heart filled with nerves and excitement. He sat on the edge of his bed, boot bag beside him, glancing at the old wall clock ticking loudly in the silence. Today was the first step to change his faith, and he knew it was the first real test of this second chance.
He double-checked everything: boots, socks, jersey. He knew what was coming. A test not of skill alone, but of composure, of how much control he truly had over this new life. In his previous life, he had gone on many trials, so he knew the importance of steadying his mind before the game and being able to relax, so he did some light stretches before heading to the pitch.
By 6:30 a.m., the first rays of sunlight had shown his face as he rode his bike to the pitch. The familiar scent of damp grass greeted him. Coach Benson was already there, cones lined perfectly, eyes sharp like he hadn't slept.
"You are early again," the coach said without looking up.
Jeremiah smiled faintly. "Old habits, Coach."
Benson grunted, a sign of quiet approval. He knew Jeremiah from having seen him play for his school, so he knew the boy had talent, but yesterday, what he saw looked like a completely different player. The subtle touches and sharper tempo he played at impressed him, but more so the fact that he was the youngest player and didn't let that faze him.
He wanted to see for himself whether he could replicate that form.
One by one, the others arrived. The energy in the air buzzed. Everyone wanted that Lagos ticket; everyone wanted the opportunity to shine. To them, today was hope wrapped in sweat and grass stains.
"Oya, put on your bibs, you know your team, so align with them." Said Coach
The big pitch was divided into two, as two games would be taking place simultaneously.
Red vs Blue and Green vs Yellow would start, the next matches would be between Purple vs Lime and Orange vs Light Blue.
The red team versus the blue. Jeremiah could tell early that his team had height, but whether they had the chemistry remained to be seen. Coach Benson stood at the sideline, arms folded, a neutral expression masking the sharp assessments running through his head.
Jeremiah positioned himself in central midfield, scanning the field like a general before battle. He took note of spacing, body angles, and who favoured which foot from yesterday's training session. Every detail mattered.
As the game unfolded, it started messily, which Jeremiah predicted, as everyone was still finding their groove playing together. Players dribbled too long, passes went astray, and tackles flew in heavy.
A pass came bouncing his way; just like the training with Xavi in the system, one touch to control, quick swivel, and a threaded ball pierced through the defence line to the striker. Shouts of "Omo!" "Nice ball!" echoed. The striker missed, but Benson's eyes followed Jeremiah now, not the striker. The striker, with his hand on his head, turned around and gave a thumbs-up to Jeremiah.
The blue team knew they had to step up, so they raised the tempo. They quickly got a chance of their own as some quick two-touch passing put their right-sided midfielder in a prime position to take a shot, which drew a brilliant save out of the keeper.
Sweat glistening, Jeremiah's touches grew lighter, his reads sharper. When opponents pressed two-on-one, he let the ball roll between his legs before flicking it back to a teammate, a calm improvisation that drew gasps from the sideline.
Soon, his first assist came not too long after a diagonal through pass that split two defenders clean. The striker was once again in a one-on-one with a clear sight of the goal. This time, he didn't disappoint with a clearly placed shot to the bottom left, giving Team Red the lead.
The red bibs roared, high-fives all around. Jeremiah smiled quietly and jogged back to his position. But inside, his pulse beat fast with satisfaction. In his previous life, he used to crave praise from coaches to notice him. This time, he just wanted an opportunity; he knew his skills would handle the rest.
End of the first half.
Teams took a 10-minute break. Nosa, the red team striker, came up to him saying, "I appreciate your passes." Followed by a dap, "No problem, let's just get the win," he replied.
Midway through the second half, one of the bigger boys, Ose, a muscular winger who had been showing off all morning, decided to test him. Shoulder barges, late tackles, and whispered taunts.
"Small boy, go sit down. This pitch na for men."
Jeremiah didn't bite. He knew temper was a trap after this wasn't his first rodeo. But when Ose charged in again, late and hard, Jeremiah used his balance, let the contact roll off, then flicked the ball through his legs and sprinted away. The crowd exploded: "Ahhhh! He don scatter am!"
Coach Benson almost smiled.
Minutes later, Benson blew the final whistle. 3–2.
And though Jeremiah's team had narrowly won, it wasn't the score that mattered. It was how he played—unflustered, precise, composed.
After the Match
"Everyone, sit," Benson commanded. Silence blanketed the pitch.
He looked over the tired faces, eyes narrowing slightly when they met Jeremiah's.
"Most of you played like you dey show movie," he began bluntly. "Dis no be YouTube trial. No coach carry player wey no fit think."
His gaze shifted again. "Some of you impressed me, some didn't. I will call names later today."
A collective breath held. Jeremiah sat quietly, reconnecting with his heartbeat and calming himself down.
As everyone dispersed and chattered about their performance, as the next set of matches would soon start, Benson called out.
"Jeremiah. Wait."
The boy turned back, boots muddy, shirt soaked.
Coach Benson folded his arms, eyes dissecting him. "You play as if you have ten years of straight experience. Where did you learn all that composure?"
Jeremiah just shrugged lightly. "Experience, Coach."
Benson studied him for a long moment, then finally gave a small, rare smile.
"Tomorrow, we go to Lagos."
In the dim twilight later that evening, Jeremiah sat under the mango tree outside his late parents' house, staring up at the stars. The scent of night air carried distant echoes of cheers and dreams.