Untitled…

April 25, 2010
Yisa’s eyes are trained on the Nigerian flag standing at the near end of the pitch as he and his team mates file out of the tunnel. He is hoping the flag billows out to feed the team’s waning optimism. Instead, the green, white, green makes a weak effort at catching the wind. Flutters. Flays. The wind is not impressed by Nigeria’s inglorious attempt at courtship, so it changes direction and kisses the Ghanaian flag instead. The latter soars in triumph, the former dips in despair, plunging Yisa’s hopes.
The half-hearted claps and boos greeting the Eaglets re-entry tells the mood of the spectators. Yisa can feel their collective discomfort. The fans are unhappy. During the first forty-five, their over bloated pride had progressively fizzled out like fart out of the rear of someone with a bad case of flatulence. Book makers had predicted an easy win for them but instead the Ghanaian side had asked so many questions in the first half that they are grateful to the gods of soccer for the barren draw.
The stadium suddenly roars in applause and Yisa sees the Ghanaian team walking tall into the pitch. They are welcomed with more enthusiasm, their supporters rallying in song. If this atmosphere is sustained, the Ghanaians will be assured victory.
As the two teams begin to take their positions, Yisa wonders about the legend of the white jersey. He had been slightly apprehensive when he saw that they would be kitted in the infamous colour. He can remember a number of times Nigeria had lost matches at different levels while wearing white jerseys. He had read about the two time loss to Cameroon in 1988 and 2000 at the finals of the Nations Cup, and the loss in Saudi ’89 finals despite the Darman miracle. There have been others but there have also been exceptions. He is confident he can make this one of the exceptions if only he is allowed to play.
He makes his way to the same spot on the bench he occupied during the first half, seated next to an injured Chuks. Chuks has become one of his closest friends on the team. They became friends right after he helped him win a shirt during his first appearance for Nigeria. Chuks will be playing in Europe this season, if everything goes well.
Yisa watches as the referee takes the ball to the centre circle signalling the start of the second half. He looks towards the stands. Tension hangs over the field like heavy rain clouds. The only thing that can diffuse it is a precipitation of goals in favour of Nigeria.
He is beginning to regret honouring this invitation. He should have just remained in London to complete his try outs for the Division Two side. The scruffy voice of his Manager back in The Hoops as he handed him the letter inviting him for this friendly rings his head, “You gotta think waz bes’ for y’ career.” Thankfully, his decision to come play for Nigeria had not been taken primarily because he felt it would give him greater exposure “People who make it don’t get there because they are special, they get there because the stars align in their favour.”
He has enjoyed the favour of the gods so far. From the time the Super Eagles Coach had approached him after watching him play for his school at the finals of their annual inter-house sports two years ago up until now. He was then in SSS3 and was going to study medicine like his mother wanted but life had opened a different door and he had walked in after trading books for boots.
He had left London, abandoning the trials at QPR, allowing patriotism win against self-interest. He could not have done things any differently. He is, after all, the son of his father.
The senior Ahmed, Captain Ahmed as he rose in the ranks to become, had drummed into his head love for country during the eleven years they lived together. His Father had been part of the ECOMOG Peace Keeping Force sent out to Sierra Leone in 1999. However, he did not return from the last campaign at the tail end of the war in 2001. Reports said his unit was ambushed by the RUF. His father had died a gallant soldier. Yisa had inherited his father’s spirit and he is showing his patriotism by choosing to play for Nigeria ahead of his try out.
Yet, here he is wasting away on the bench while Nigeria struggles to get a goal against their opponents. He is getting agitated by the minute. Chuks gives his thigh three gentle taps. Yisa gets the message. He needs to keep it together. Good thing the coach is not paying attention to the bench at the moment. He looks up as he hears a huge gasp from the crowd as Nigeria loses another chance. Yisa sighs.
Playing against any of their West African neighbours has never been easy for Nigeria. Although this is a friendly, they are playing on home soil, at the National Stadium in Surulere. This is Nigeria’s seat of football and the fans can turn brutal once their expectations are not met. Yisa looks at the clock. They are seven minutes into the second half. A few more minutes and fans will turn full force against them and boo the Eaglets louder.
Pressure is high. A goalless draw against Ghana will not give Nigeria the needed bragging rights. It will mean the suits in the National Football Association will have an excuse to meddle and handpick the team that will represent Nigeria in the forthcoming FIFA Youth Championships. The Nigerian crowd is growing more restless. Yisa can hardly sit still himself. The Ghanaian side looks dangerous in the Nigerian half, the defence rallies. Thirty thousand spectators exhale as the ball goes wide off the foot of Kwesi, the Ghanaian attacker. Nigeria gets a goal kick.
Ten minutes gone into the new half and the match is still goal-less. Yisa is even more depressed because he has dragged his mother out to watch him play. He looks towards the stands and knows that she must be seated next to their neighbour asking him questions that will help her understand the proceedings.
He had written ‘Thank You Mama’ on his singlet. He knows that if he is allowed into the pitch he will definitely score a goal. This is an opportunity for him to celebrate his mother before the world, a chance for him to say thank you to her for letting him follow his dreams.
His emotions are going haywire. The coach has made one more substitution and he is still on the bench. He tries to keep it in check using the breathing exercises he has been taught. He should just enjoy the match. If there is one thing he has learnt in his short time playing football, a player must never argue with his coach or get into an argument with them. Although, at this time, he really feels like packing his entire 165 pound self into a punch and smacking it across the coach’s jaw. That will be a good way of knocking some sense into Coach Garba.
The Captain is booed as he hands over the arm band to Tunde. He walks head bowed to join them on the bench. The coach does not spare him a look. Today is not his day.
Yisa is quite surprised when twenty-five minutes to the end of the match Coach Garba beckons on him.
“Warm up, you’re going in.”
Yisa removes his track suit and begins to engage in warm up exercises - touching his toes and practising the jump for headers. He has watched the match long enough to see the opponent’s weak spots. He can easily outrun the defence to the left and had noticed that the goalkeeper seems to favour his right. The Ghanaian Keeper is also quite tall, so Yisa would have better chances at scoring by burying a ball into one of the angles. He bursts into a run. His speed is good. He is fit.
The whistle goes for an infringement and Yisa gets his chance. He is replacing Daniel, the Centre Forward. He would have preferred to play from the wings but he has to make the best of the circumstance. He gets his first feel of the ball about a minute later, a cross from one of the defenders. He sees an opening as he traps the ball on his chest and drops it, moving the ball forward seamlessly without pausing. He breaks into a run, keeping the ball close to his feet. He has just one defender to beat. He is fixated on the net.
This is going to be one of those goals that will be instantly replayed from different angles to show the sheer beauty of it. Yisa knows that hundreds of cameras are trained on this moment, his moment. He can tell with an uncanny precision the angle into which he is going to bury the ball. The keeper is expecting a right footer but he is gifted to deliver shots from both feet. He is going to go with his left. He doesn’t want this to be a penalty. Wasn’t this why he had jumped over the tackle of the defender? It is just he and the goal keeper now. The keeper tries to read his body movement, he sends him a dummy. Everything is going just as he had seen it in his head. All he has to do now is finish with a powerful left footer. He cannot even hear the fans let alone see them…
He finds himself sailing through the air. This is not part of the plan. How foolish can the defender be to tackle him from behind? There is no way he will not get a red card for that. The referees whistle goes and fans go wild. He earns a penalty. Yisa smiles. Now Nigeria is certain to get a goal. He hopes he will be allowed to take it.
A team mate arrives and tries to help him up. He stretches out his hands but it refuses to obey him. He tries again and again. The referee arrives and signals the medics. Yisa wants to tell them he is fine. He can take the kick. He can score this goal for his team, for his mum. But they cannot hear him even though he is screaming.
The medics arrive with the stretcher. He cannot believe this is happening. He sees the look of his team mates as he is carried off the pitch. It is clear the fall is bad. The grim faces of the medics reinforces his belief. His arms are still refusing to obey him and now even his legs have joined in the rebellion. He can still turn his neck and he tries to. The last thing he sees as he is carried off is the ball being placed on the spot for the penalty kick. This should have been his moment…
