Our Coach – Chapter 12 – Nigerian Story, Football, Dapo, Sports Story, Read Free Stories Online, Free Web Novel, Fabling, Pam
Daniella’s steps quickened as she caught sight of Dapo and his teammates heading toward the stadium. She hesitated for a moment, then squared her shoulders and crossed the lot to intercept them.
“Dapo,” she called, her voice firm. “Can I speak with you?”
The team exchanged glances, smirks tugging at their lips. Max gave a dramatic sigh and waved Dapo off. “Go ahead, lover boy. We’ll wait.”
Dapo shot him a warning look before stepping aside with Daniella. She reached into her bag and pulled out a cigarette box, holding it out to him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “It was wrong of me to try to change you. You are who you are, and I am who I am. Just… don’t smoke around me, okay?”
Dapo stared at the box for a moment before taking it. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he handed it back to her. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of gum, shaking it lightly.
“Get me this instead,” he said. “And I’m sorry for calling you a witch.”
Daniella raised a brow. “I’m not forgiving that,” she replied, though her lips twitched with a reluctant smile.
Dapo chuckled. “Fair enough. But thanks for trying to, you know, ‘save me.’”
She returned his smile, her gaze softening. “So, where’s your girlfriend?”
“Who?”
“The girl from the other day,” Daniella said, tilting her head.
“Oh, Matilda,” Dapo replied, shaking his head. “She’s not my girlfriend. She broke up with me.”
“So, it’s over between you two?”
“According to my memory.”
Daniella smiled, her eyes searching his as if weighing his words.
“Hey, lover boy!” Max’s voice cut through the moment. “We need to warm up before the match!”
Dapo sighed, casting an apologetic look at Daniella. “I have to go.”
“Okay,” she said, stepping back.
“Wait,” Dapo paused. “Give me the pack. Still get me the gum though.”
She smiled and handed it to him, “kick Golden Stars’ ass!”
Dapo grinned. “Will do.”
As Dapo rejoined his team, his eyes caught sight of a familiar figure moving toward them.
“Mikel Odia,” Dapo murmured under his breath.
The man, about the same age as their coach but clearly still in excellent shape, approached with a confident stride. His gaze swept over the group, and he nodded in recognition.
“Golden Stars’ coach,” Dapo said aloud, his tone neutral.
Mikel smiled, his voice smooth as he addressed them. “Dapo, right? Captain, Swift, Uche, Mike, Josh, Max, Lanre…” He paused, glancing at the others. “Skipping a few names, but you get the point. It’s been a pleasure watching you guys play.”
“Thank you,” the Captain replied, his posture straightening.
Mikel’s eyes lingered on Dapo. “I’m looking forward to seeing our teams face off today. You’ve made it to the finals without your coach. That’s impressive.”
The Captain shrugged. “He trained us well and has been watching us closely.”
“I know,” Mikel said, his smile widening, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s why he’s been spending so much time with the NFF president lately. You’ve heard, haven’t you? After this competition, he’s set to become the Super Eagles’ coach.”
Mike frowned. “He told us he wouldn’t.”
“And he probably won’t,” Mikel said with a slight shrug. “It all depends on how the day turns out.”
His words hung in the air even after he turned and walked away, leaving the team in uneasy silence. Dapo exchanged a look with the Captain.
The door to Coach James’s hotel room stood ajar, a sight that immediately set the team on edge. Dapo pushed it open wider, the hinges creaking ominously. Inside, the room was in disarray—papers scattered across the desk, a chair tipped over, the bedding rumpled as if hastily abandoned.
“Where is he?” Max muttered, voicing the question on everyone’s mind.
The team spread out, searching every corner of the room. The tension in the air was palpable, each of them exchanging wary glances as they scanned the area.
Then came Max’s voice, sharp and urgent. “Guys… over here.”
The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and when the team pushed it open, they found Coach James crumpled on the floor. His usually commanding presence was diminished, his frame weak and trembling as he reached feebly toward a small vial of pills on the counter.
“My… med…” he rasped, his voice barely audible before a violent cough racked his body.
Dapo moved first, grabbing the vial and handing it to him with trembling hands. Coach James struggled to open it, his fingers fumbling. Dapo quickly stepped in, twisting off the cap and handing him the pill.
Before anyone could process the scene, the door swung open, and a man in a white coat entered briskly, followed by two paramedics.
“Who are you?” the Captain demanded, stepping protectively in front of Coach James.
“Dr. Sam,” the man replied. “I’m his doctor. His wife called me earlier. We need to get him out of here now.”
The sound of hurried footsteps announced Mrs. James’s arrival. She rushed in, her face pale but composed. “How is my husband?”
“Mrs. James,” the Captain greeted her, his voice heavy with concern.
Dr. Sam turned to the paramedics, issuing orders in a calm but firm tone. “We need to get him out of here discreetly.”
The paramedics moved quickly, lifting Coach James onto a stretcher with practiced efficiency. As they maneuvered him out of the room, Mrs. James turned to the team, her expression a mixture of worry and resolve.
“James is stubborn,” she said, her voice steady despite the situation. “He’ll be fine. All you boys need to do is go out there and win. That’s what he would want.”
Mike hesitated, guilt clouding his features. “Is he like this because of us?”
Mrs. James gave a faint, reassuring smile. “No. He’s like this because he’s stubborn. Always pushing himself too hard.”
Lanre cleared his throat. “But the NFF—”
“I asked him to consider it,” Mrs. James interrupted gently. “It’s okay. Just focus on the game. Win it for him.”
The team nodded, their resolve hardening. Mrs. James watched as they turned and filed out of the room.
As the paramedics wheeled Coach James out of the building, the team knew one thing for certain: this wasn’t just about a trophy anymore. It was about honour, loyalty, and the man who had given everything to make them believe in themselves.
The Abuja Stadium thrummed with energy. It was alive in a way no one had ever seen for a local match. Fans packed the stands, their cheers rising in waves that seemed to shake the very ground. On one side, the volunteer supporters of the Green Stars chanted and waved their banners, their voices a cacophony of hope and pride. On the other, the Golden Stars’ paid supporters drowned the air in orchestrated chants, their synchronized cheers like the roar of a distant machine.
The commentators’ voices boomed over the loudspeakers, trying to match the crowd’s energy.
“There’s a good chance that most of these players will be bought today,” Commentator 2 remarked, his tone clipped with excitement.
“It would be shameful for anyone who isn’t,” Commentator 1 responded.
“Are you trying to provoke them?”
“No,” Commentator 1 countered with a sly grin audible in his voice. “It’s called inspiring them.”
The match began in earnest. Dapo moved with precision, his focus razor-sharp as he stole the ball from Rich Kid. But Rich Kid was no easy opponent. He spun back, reclaiming possession with a swift flick of his foot.
The two danced across the field, the ball weaving between them like a taunt. Dapo feinted, trying to pass the ball, but Rich Kid anticipated the move and stepped into his path. The clash sent Rich Kid sprawling to the ground inside the penalty area.
The whistle blew sharply.
“Ten minutes into the match, and David earns his team a penalty,” Commentator 1 announced.
David, Golden Stars’ prized forward, stepped up to take the shot. The stadium held its collective breath. His kick was powerful, aimed to obliterate doubt, but Swift, the Green Stars’ goalkeeper, was faster. He launched himself with feline grace, swatting the ball away.
“What a waste of a penalty!” Commentator 1 cried, his voice triumphant.
The crowd erupted, a mix of jeers and cheers.
The game pressed on. Hulk, Golden Stars’ towering enforcer, collided with Dapo in a brutal challenge, but the referee’s whistle remained silent. The crowd roared in protest, but Dapo waved them off, standing with quiet defiance.
Moments later, he answered the assault the best way he knew how: by scoring. The ball sailed into the net with unerring precision, leaving Rich Kid fuming.
Dapo’s pass to Max was seamless. Max found Captain, who lobbed the ball to Uche, and in a symphony of skill, another goal found its mark. The stadium exploded with jubilation.
3 – 0.
“Three goals to zero,” Commentator 1 exclaimed, his voice nearly a shout. “Now that’s what I call revenge!”
“I think you’re smitten with this boy,” Commentator 2 teased.
“I can’t help it!” Commentator 1 admitted. “His colors are shining so beautifully!”
The first half ended with the Green Stars leading 3 to 0. The team huddled on the sidelines, gulping water and catching their breath. Across the field, Rich Kid sat rigid, his eyes fixed on Dapo. His grip on his water bottle tightened unconsciously until it snapped, spilling water down his arm.
The second half began with the same ferocity. Mikel Odia, the Golden Stars’ coach, exchanged a knowing glance with the referee, a silent signal that did not go unnoticed.
Rich Kid pushed forward, setting up a shot on goal, but Hulk barreled into Swift in the penalty box. The ball found the net.
The referee’s whistle cut through the chaos, and he awarded the goal, much to the dismay of the Green Stars.
“This referee has been bribed,” Commentator 1 declared, his voice dripping with derision. “And they’re not even doing it with sense!”
“But he gave Hulk a yellow card,” Commentator 2 countered weakly.
“He also gave Golden Stars the goal!”
The tension boiled over. Uche confronted the referee, his anger unchecked. Words turned into action, and a slap landed on the referee’s face. The red card came swiftly.
Josh stepped forward, fists clenched, but the referee bolted, waving a yellow card at him from a safe distance.
The field descended into chaos. Players shoved, argued, and tempers flared like wildfire. Amid the uproar, Captain pulled Swift to his feet.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice steady despite the storm around them.
Swift nodded, though he leaned heavily on his captain.
Captain turned to Max and Dapo. “Take defense.”
“But we’re attackers,” Max protested.
“Defend Swift!” Captain barked.
Understanding dawned in their eyes.
With Uche gone and Swift limping, the team gathered in a tight circle. Captain’s voice cut through the noise. “We fight. Together.”
The whistle blew, and the game resumed.
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