June 28th, 2013
Jeremiah was on top of the bike's backseat, heading to the pitch for trials. None of his friends or family knew he was embarking on this journey, but for him, this was a second chance at life, and no one would stop him.
As he arrived on the pitch, he gave the bike man 50 Naira, told him thank you and walked towards the pitch. He was the first one there as he arrived, nothing surprising cause it was a lot earlier than everybody else. The reason he had decided to come this early was to speak with Coach Benson. In his previous life, Coach Benson was like a father to him.
Not only was he not the junior/senior high coach throughout his years in secondary school, but when he decided to pursue football as a career, his parents kicked him out of the house. Even though his childhood friends did their best for him, at some point, he had to move, and that was where Coach Benson came in.
He took him in, trained and helped him secure trials with his first-ever club; for that, Jeremiah was eternally grateful.
"Coacheee," Jeremiah said as he made a light jug towards the pitch. "Jeremiah," Coach Benson returned the phrase. What are you doing here ?" he asked. "I'm interested in the trials going on for the boys you want to carry for the Lagos trials." Coach Benson was surprised, for one, he had never informed him about it, and even though he was a good player, he was still a bit too young compared to the players he was about to play against.
"Are you sure about that? A lot of the players coming here today will be much older, and that would mean more physical than age mates," Coach Benson said. For the coach, it wasn't that he thought Jeremiah was a bad player, but he was worried that players' physicality might be too much for him to handle, especially from older players striving to go pro. "Coach, trust me, I want this".
He could see the burning desire in his eyes, and he was never one to turn down players, so he nodded, indicating he was good to go ahead. "Come and help me set up," he motioned to Jeremiah what he wanted him to do.
It was time for trials, and the pitch had filled up with multiple players. "We are a lot," he uttered to himself. There must have been about 50 players on the pitch. In his previous life, he had gone for multiple trials in Nigeria and Ghana, whether closed or open trials; he was already experienced in these sorts of scenarios, plus with the system backing him, he knew he could perform as long as he was ready.
He went to a corner of the pitch and started stretching to make sure his muscles were relaxed and ready to perform when the opportunity came knocking on the door, using that time he paid attention to some of the people at the trials. Some he recognized, and some he didn't, but one thing was for sure: everyone was a baller. He could see some juggling the ball with ease, which alerted him that these guys were comfortable with the ball.
"Can I have your attention?" Coach Benson said loudly, making everyone stop what they were doing and listen to him, "gather round and sit down". Immediately, all the players did what he asked with swiftness, seemed nobody wanted to get on his bad side.
"Good," Coach nodded to himself. My name is Benson Omoruyi, but you can call me Coach Benson."
"For today and tomorrow, you will be going through drills and a trial match to see who will follow me to Lagos. The aim is to impress me and show me the skills you have," he explained.
"Before we go any further, if you know you are older than 17, just leave the pitch. I don't do overage." That was something about Coach Benson: he hated overage players, and he never wanted to cheat the system. "Don't waste my time, some of you know I know you already, na" some players left the pitch.
"This is not a playground," he began in a firm voice. "This is a trial. If you impress me, you stay. If you don't… You go home." The players nodded nervously. Jeremiah simply stood still, calm. Coach Benson pointed toward the far end of the pitch, "Let's begin the drills."
Coach Benson clapped his hands loudly."The first drill go be ball control and movement. I want to see how comfortable you are with the ball." He pointed toward a row of cones he and Jeremiah had set up earlier that morning. "You'll dribble through the cones, accelerate past the last marker, then shoot. No fancy nonsense. Just clean football."
The players quickly formed a line. Jeremiah stood somewhere in the middle, quietly observing. Even though he had the memories of his previous life, his body was still younger. His stamina, strength, and explosiveness were still developing.
He couldn't rely only on experience. But what he did have was football intelligence far beyond everyone here's and new skills from the system. The first few players stepped forward. Some rushed the drill, losing control of the ball between the cones. Others showed decent control but lacked speed when accelerating toward the goal.
Coach Benson watched everything silently. He didn't speak much, but the way his eyes followed the players made everyone nervous. Soon it was Jeremiah's turn.
He stepped forward calmly and placed the ball at his feet. A few players nearby glanced at him. Some recognized him from local secondary school competitions; others just saw a younger kid trying his luck among older boys.
Jeremiah inhaled slowly. Then he moved. The ball stayed glued to his feet as he navigated through the cones smoothly, with no wasted touches. Left foot. Right foot. Quick shift of balance, the movements were simple but efficient. When he reached the final cone, he suddenly accelerated, and the burst of speed caught several players by surprise.
He approached the ball and struck it cleanly with the inside of his right foot; the ball curved beautifully into the far corner of the net.
A few players murmured.
Coach Benson said nothing, but inside, he was impressed. His control is better than I remember, Benson thought.
The next drill began shortly after. "Na we go do Passing triangles," Coach Benson announced. Three players at a time moved into position.
Quick one-touch passes, movement, and communication. Jeremiah once again showed his composure. Instead of forcing flashy plays, he focused on timing and positioning.
Every pass he made arrived perfectly weighted. Every movement opened up a new angle. One of the players paired with him suddenly smiled, "Omo, I like your ball," the boy said quietly in Pigin.
Jeremiah only nodded. Years of mistakes in his previous life had taught him something important: It was about decisions.
After nearly an hour of drills, Coach Benson blew his whistle.
"Enough."
Everyone gathered around him again, sweat dripping from their faces. Some players were already breathing heavily. Jeremiah was tired too, but he kept his composure.
Coach Benson crossed his arms.
"Tomorrow we play."
A ripple of excitement ran through the group. "This will be a 7 vs 7 match. I want to see your movement, teamwork, and mentality."
He quickly divided the players into two teams. Jeremiah ended up getting a faded red training bib. Position: midfielder.
'' Una don see your teammates, no late comers, you come late you don't play, is that understood."
"Understood," the players replied.