From the touchline, I was a constant presence, my voice cutting through the noise of the small crowd, offering encouragement, barking instructions, and making minor tactical adjustments.
"Lewis, higher up! Squeeze the space!" I'd yell, and he would respond instantly, pushing the defensive line up another five yards.
"Eze, find the pocket! They can't handle you in there!" I'd shout, and he would drift into the space between their midfield and defence, his quick feet and even quicker mind causing havoc.
The first goal came after twenty minutes, a beautifully worked team move that started from our own half and ended with our backup striker, a lad named Tom, slotting the ball calmly past the onrushing keeper.
The celebration was a pure, unadulterated explosion of joy, the entire team mobbing the scorer, a clear demonstration of the unity and camaraderie that ran through this squad.
