FOOTBALL TRIUMPHS.

The Stadium of Bright was filled to capacity certainly living up to its name, refulgent and action packed. The green grass gleamed under the scorching rays of the sun, quite spectacularly, as the spectators and fans threw their support behind their favourite teams. Football brought life in to this part of the otherwise sleepy country. In the streets, conversations would be kicked off with a simple inquiry, “Are you a black or a yellow?” Often, this would lead to daylong arguments, as everyone would hype their best player, their coach, their history… You know typical football fans. Then again, football here was a uniting factor as was clearly evident on this day, as the Stadium of Bright hosted persons from every walk of life, old and young, male and female, rich and poor, black and yellow. It was football first, everything and anything else was secondary.

So was it. The fans enjoyed the spectacle that was unfolding right before their eyes, as twenty two mature men chased after a leather ball. The yellow jerseys were moving the ball from the right to the left. The blacks were on the other side, struggling to maintain a one nil lead, as the yellows were clearly intent on bringing things level before halftime. The game was tense, it was the first time the blacks had looked this resplendent in a couple of years. Clearly, the new coach had come with new tactics, and the purchase of a new goalie had certainly made their backline more formidable than ever. “Is this finally the year for the Black Bonkers?” The commentator cued, as the Black Bonker’s fans ruptured in to instant song, “WE ARE THE MIIIIIIIGHTY BONKERS!” They went bonkers indeed.

The referee glimpsed at her watch, it was thirty eight minutes into the game already! She had been enjoying the game; she hardly noticed it was nearing the end of the first half. She was keen, not the kind to interrupt play. She let the game flow; she was never hasty on the whistle. She let the men be men; she turned a blind eye to an occasional shove here and there. She was however in total control; don’t for a minute doubt her prowess. She had made good calls, such as when Jiboloboi was brought down just at the edge of the penalty box. She awarded a free kick to the Yellow Yankers, which they had miserably squandered. So she flicked back her hair, and ran to follow the play at the opposite end of the Yellow’s goal, as the fans attributed her presence, and they all sang in unison, “EVA KANIORI! EVA KANIORI! SHE KNOWS HER FOOTBALL MORE THAN SHE KNOWS HER COOKING!”

She signaled for a goal kick, after the lines man had lifted his flag to signify that the ball had gone out of play. She blew her whistle, urging the goalie to proceed with the game. The gigantic fellow stood behind the ball and started it with a soft touch to his centre back. The ball was spread off to the midfield, and the Yellow’s defensive midfielder exquisitely held off a challenge, before he swung the ball in a lofted pass to the wings, Jiboloboi bringing it down magnificently and with a classy touch. He instantly sparked off a loud cheer from the Yellow’s fans, he was, if anything, their most admirable player on the pitch.

He showed exactly why he was purely stylish, his dreadlocks flinging with his movement, his boots bladed and his jersey tightly fitted and left untucked. His left stocking hung low, slightly exposing his shin guard. His small body allowed him to be so quick and so creative on the ball. He dribbled past his first challenge, mercurial; just to echo the words of the commentator. He rainbow flicked the approaching defender, before cutting in from deep, double nutmeged opposing players before pulling himself in to a position for the finish. Suddenly, the Black’s centre back came in for a challenge, quite late, as he dangerously flung Jiboloboi off balance, sending him sprawling. The fans roared in to contest, as the referee pulled out her first yellow card of the game and immediately awarded a free kick, right at the edge of the Black’s penalty box.

So the Black’s goalie arranged his human wall, unsuccessfully concealing his boiling up tension. Everyone dreaded the Yellow’s set pieces, especially with Jiboloboi, a dead ball specialist who had a free kick scoring record that would render Lionel Messi green with envy. He had scored against some of the best known goalies; he knew how to place the balls just where it was hardest for the goalkeepers to reach. So the Yellows set up a move straight off the training ground, as two player stood next to the ball, and Jiboloboi standing just about a meter away. Anyone could guess that Jiboloboi was to take the free kick, but no one could imagine what the yellows had up in their sleeves as they watched one of the two players next to the ball take up a bending position and put his hands together, as if he was a goalie! The spectators were cast in to a state of perturbation, as they wondered aloud, some laughing, they hadn’t ever seen anything of the sort.

So Jiboloboi took a step back, just as the referee blew her whistle. He took in a deep breath, and took off in a slow and calculated run, moving straight towards the bending player. Just as he neared the ball, the other standing player lobbed it high in to the air. The stadium was now loudly silent, as the imagination of the spectators was captured in a single act, just like a good story teller captures the imagination of his readers. In a quick follow up, Jiboloboi stepped on the placed hands of the bending player, who used all his energy to fling Jiboloboi off in to the air. He twisted and turned his body, placing himself in position and thus met the ball just as it found itself back to the ground, and in one of the most unorthodox bicycle kicks he sent a dipping shot straight in to the back of the net. Not even the wall was capable of stopping this football maestro from scoring on this day.

The silence ensued; mouths were left open for a couple of seconds. It was one of those moves that had left even the commentator speechless. In fact, it was the referee who cast off an explosive celebration, as she herself was exceptionally captured by the moment; she blew her whistle to signify the goal, as she ran towards Jiboloboi who was just dusting himself off the ground. She jumped on to him and squarely placed a kiss on his cheek. The crowds cheered, Black and Yellow. The players lifted Jiboloboi and threw him in to the air. “HE SCORES WHEN HE WANTS! THE MIDGET SCORES WHEN HE WANTS!” They sang. The rival coaches were seen hugging each other in pure bliss. You might have guessed it right, this match lasted only forty five minutes, but football here was immortal. Football lasted forever!

You see, in this part of the football world, it was the football that matters, and in the following day’s paper, the headlines read, FOOTBALL TRIUMPHS!