Our Coach – Chapter 7 – Nigerian Story, Football, Dapo, Sports Story, Read Free Stories Online, Free Web Novel, Fabling, Pam
The room was a patchwork of chaos and order. Thin mattresses were arranged across the floor, some neat, others haphazardly tossed about. Bags, shoes, and clothes filled the gaps like a battlefield of belongings. The muted hum of laughter and banter echoed through the space.
Sean Swift sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed in meditation, a calm oasis amidst the chaos. Dapo lay sprawled on his own mattress, watching him with thinly veiled disdain before shifting his gaze toward Captain, who stood silently by the window, staring into the distance like a figure carved out of stone.
Finally, Dapo’s attention landed on Uche and Max, who were at the center of the room with a group of teammates. They were howling with laughter, clearly enjoying themselves at someone’s expense.
“Look, look!” Uche suddenly jumped up, waving his arms.
He stumbled around the room, flailing dramatically like someone searching for their glasses in the dark.
Josh chimed in, standing to mimic Uche. “No, no, it was more like this.”
Josh kicked at the air, narrowly missing the wall. He stumbled, tried again, and fell, the entire room erupting into even louder laughter.
“Please pass me the ball!” Max chimed in mockingly, his voice pitched high and whiny.
Dapo stiffened. He knew exactly what this was about. He knew they knew he could hear them. Yet, the sting of their ridicule burned just the same.
Without a word, Dapo rose to his feet, his expression dark. Captain turned slightly from the window, and Swift cracked one eye open, both noticing his departure.
The door slammed behind him, cutting through the laughter. The room fell silent.
The streets were alive with movement, vendors hawking wares, car horns blaring, and voices shouting over the din. Dapo walked aimlessly through the throng, his head down, his fists stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t care where he was going, only that it was away.
The bar was loud and smoky, filled with the scent of stale beer and sweat. Dapo stepped inside, squinting through the dim light as he made his way to the counter. He slid onto a stool, his elbows resting heavily on the scarred wooden surface.
The bartender approached, a middle-aged man with tired eyes and a stained apron. “What can I get you?”
Dapo didn’t look up from the menu. “Your cheapest and strongest drink.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow but said nothing, turning instead to mix a drink. He set the glass in front of Dapo with a small thud.
“Two thousand,” he said. “It’s my special concoction.”
Dapo fished into his pocket, pulling out crumpled bills. He downed the drink in one gulp, the burn hitting his throat like a punch.
“Another,” he said, sliding the glass back. Then another.
By the time the money his mother had given him was gone, so was the world’s sharpness, replaced by a hazy, swaying fog.
The cool night air slapped his face as he staggered out, his steps uneven and weaving. The crowd of Abuja’s nightlife swirled around him, faceless and indifferent.
He didn’t see the young man until it was too late. They collided, and Dapo stumbled back.
“Sorry,” he muttered, trying to keep walking.
“Hey!” the stranger snapped.
Dapo turned, blinking to focus on the figure in front of him. Early twenties, dressed to impress, with polished shoes that gleamed under the streetlights. The kind of guy who reeked of privilege.
“You just stepped on my shoe,” the Rich Kid said.
“I said I’m sorry.”
“Will sorry clean my shoe?” the Rich Kid demanded, his voice rising. “Bend down and clean it!”
Dapo stopped, the alcohol dulling his restraint. “E be like say you dey craze,” he slurred, his accent thickening with his irritation.
The Rich Kid’s hand shot out, aiming for Dapo’s face. Even in his drunken state, Dapo swayed out of reach, but his unsteady footing betrayed him. He tripped, crashing forward into the Rich Kid.
And then it happened.
The world spun, and his stomach churned. Before he could stop himself, he vomited—splattering the Rich Kid in a mess of cheap alcohol and regret.
For a moment, the world stood still.
The Rich Kid’s face twisted in horror, his perfectly tailored shirt and expensive shoes now a disaster zone. The crowd around them erupted in gasps and stifled laughter.
Dapo swayed on his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I said sorry,” he muttered again, before stumbling off into the night.
The midday sun beat down on the asphalt, unforgiving and bright. Daniella walked ahead, her pace brisk and determined, while Dapo trailed behind, a shadow of his usual self. His white singlet bore faint smears of blood, and his face was a map of bruises and exhaustion. He looked like someone who had been on the receiving end of a lifetime’s worth of bad decisions condensed into one long night.
Daniella’s lips twitched as she glanced back at him, struggling to suppress her laughter. By the time they reached her car, the mirth had built to an unbearable pressure.
“Are you okay, or do you need a second to, I don’t know, die dramatically right here in the parking lot?” she teased, unlocking the car.
Dapo scowled.
The moment she slid into the driver’s seat, Daniella buckled her seatbelt with practiced ease. Dapo, in his daze, fumbled awkwardly with his. She sighed, leaning over to secure it for him.
Her gaze flickered to his battered face, and she burst into laughter, loud and uninhibited.
“You—” she started, but his sharp glare cut her off. She coughed, reigning herself in.
“So,” she began, trying to sound serious, though the corners of her lips twitched. “You threw up on a rich kid.”
Dapo didn’t answer. He stared out of the window as if her words hadn’t registered, though the tightening of his jaw betrayed him.
“On a serious note,” she said, her tone softening, “you should stop drinking and smoking. Look where it landed you.”
Still no response.
Dapo finally broke the silence, his voice low and rough. “Thank you for bailing me out. When I have the money, I’ll pay you back.”
Daniella rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, “Moron.”
Then, louder: “I don’t need the money. But if we’re going to be friends, you’re going to have to quit smoking.”
He turned his head slightly toward her but said nothing.
The field was eerily empty except for the rhythmic thud of shoes against the ground as the team warmed up. A few stray birds swooped overhead, their chirping the only soundtrack to the stillness.
Dapo approached the group, his steps deliberate, though his body betrayed the toll of the previous night. His face had been scrubbed clean, but the bruises lingered, and his movements were stiff.
Captain spotted him first. “Where have you been?” He was calm, but the edge was unmistakable.
“What’s it to you?” Dapo retorted.
Captain stepped closer, his gaze steady and unyielding. “Listen here. This is a team, and a team is only as strong as its weakest member.”
Dapo’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “So you think I’m the weakest person here.”
The tension between them was palpable now, drawing the attention of the other teammates.
“Training starts at five a.m.,” Captain continued. “I don’t care where you go or what you do, but being late for practice will not be tolerated. Now, run ten laps around the field.”
Dapo blinked, his disbelief giving way to incredulous laughter. “You’re joking, right?”
Captain didn’t flinch.
“You’re serious.”
Dapo’s gaze flickered to his teammates, their faces a mix of curiosity and unease. He’d never felt more alone.
He turned back to Captain. “I’m not going to beg you. ten laps, you say? Let’s make it a hundred.”
Captain’s brow furrowed. “You’ll get a muscle pull if you do that.”
“Who cares?” Dapo shot back. “It’s not like I’ll be playing anytime soon.”
Without waiting for a response, he began jogging.
Captain resumed instructing the team, though his voice had lost its usual authority. The players’ attention drifted, their eyes trailing Dapo as he circled the field.
The sun had long since risen, its light casting golden hues over the field. The team’s practice had come to an end, players dispersing in small groups, their chatter and laughter fading into the distance.
Dapo remained on the field, jogging in relentless circles, his steps heavy, his breaths labored. The weight of exhaustion clung to him, yet he refused to stop.
“Is it pride?” a voice called out, cutting through the quiet. “Or are you just stupidly stubborn?”
Dapo turned his head, startled, to find Sean Swift matching his pace effortlessly, running beside him with the ease of someone who hadn’t just finished a grueling practice.
“What?” Dapo asked, irritated.
Swift smirked. “I said, which is it? Pride or stubbornness?”
“Don’t annoy me this early in the morning,” Dapo shot back, though there was no real bite in his tone.
Without breaking stride, Swift pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and held it out to Dapo.
“You’re always smoking, right?” he asked.
Dapo frowned, his gaze shifting between Swift and the pack. “What’s this supposed to mean?”
“It’s a thank-you gift,” Swift said nonchalantly.
“For what?”
“For what you did yesterday,” Swift replied.
Dapo raised an eyebrow. “What did I do?”
“Hugging the ball like it was your long-lost lover, making the rest of them look like amateurs boiling with spite,” Swift said, amused. “It gave me the chance to shine in the second half. The NFF president asked me to join the national team after that match.”
“And the girls…” Swift added with a wink, leaving the sentence hanging.
Dapo’s eyes narrowed. “What did he say about me?”
Swift shrugged. “Didn’t ask. Don’t care.”
The silence stretched between them, filled only by the thud of their footsteps.
Swift finally broke it. “The guys don’t hate you, you know. They don’t like you either. You’re selfish, conceited, arrogant, and desperate. It’s not about being a team player—I don’t give a shit about those guys. But on the field, we’re a machine, and every part has to do its job for the machine to work. a hundred laps, done.”
Swift abruptly stopped running, forcing Dapo to do the same. Dapo looked at the cigarette in his hand.
Without another word, Swift turned and walked away, leaving Dapo standing alone on the field.
Dapo’s legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground with a groan. “Argh,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut against the wave of pain that shot through his muscles.
A familiar voice floated into his consciousness, teasing and light.
“We should stop meeting like this,” Daniella said.
He cracked one eye open. “Are you stalking me?”
“As if,” she replied, her eyes twinkling. She knelt beside him and immediately spotted the cigarette in his hand. Reaching for it, she tried to snatch it away.
“Don’t,” he warned.
She arched a brow. “Don’t smoke around me,” she commanded.
Instead of pressing the issue, she handed him a neatly wrapped sandwich and a steaming cup of coffee.
“After all that jogging, I figured you’d be starving.”
Dapo accepted the offering with a grunt of thanks, tearing into the sandwich like a man who hadn’t eaten in days.
Daniella watched him for a moment, then leaned back, thoughtful. “By the way, that guy running with you—Swift. Is he single?”
Dapo paused mid-chew, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Oh, come on!” Daniella said, exasperated. “I just gave you breakfast. The least you can do is help a sister out.”
A laugh bubbled out of Dapo, the sound surprising even himself. He glanced in the direction Swift had gone and shrugged. “I don’t know anything about him that nobody else knows.”
“Too bad,” Daniella said with a dramatic sigh. “A guy like that would probably bore me anyway. Or drive me to an asylum. You know, never knowing what he’s thinking, always suspicious of him, always insecure, he seems too perfect. It’d be exciting at first but, toward the end? A total disaster.”
She noticed him staring at her, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“What?” she asked, feigning innocence. “Anyway, I should let you rest before the muscle cramps kick in.”
She rose gracefully, brushing imaginary dirt off her jeans. As she walked away, Dapo watched her.
Sliding a hand into his pocket, he pulled out a lighter and stared at it for a long moment.