EDSON ARANTES DE NASCIMENTO-Stories

I used the joystick to effect my favourite stunt-dribble on Roberto Carlos, who just slided towards me with enormous speed, only to feel the hard metal of the metal advert bar on the touch line. Next, I completed Ronaldinho’s signature leg-over on an approaching Patrice Evra, beating him ignobly, and laid my through ball in a mean minus to Iniesta. The crowd around me in the arcade cheered as I cleared Femi’s doubts over my superiority, systematically. In the euphoria, he actually hit me with his elbow, and in that momentary loss of concentration as I glared evilly at him, his Ferdinand had swept the ball off my Iniesta’s foot. He proceeded to reply my two-goal lead, relying on instant counter-attacks, and added his winner some minutes later.

He was trying fruitlessly to ginger me up when he knew he had won courtesy of a cheat, as we strolled out of the joint. ‘Abeg leave me joor, for your mind you go say you don win me now’.

‘IF SAY I NO KNOW YOU, I FOR WASH YOU THE SLAP WEY I RECEIVE YESTERDAY’, someone shouted into my ears, in a way that was meant more to hurt than alert me. He gripped my wrist, tightly.

It was Baba, my look-alike.

A-a’, Baba-o, wetin I do naa?’

Baba-o and I shared the same physical characteristics, height, looks and all, and though he was an acquaintance who fancied me too, I had been praying day and night I would not fall into trouble on account of his clandestine behaviours in the area. He participated in smalltime crime in the neighbourhood, did some harmless pick pocketing and sold petrol on a black market basis. I didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad that he was the first to reap the negative fruits of our similar looks and features.

He strolled along with us, and relived the drama that had unfolded the previous evening. He had been among the last people leaving the pitch, when suddenly he was accosted and slapped resoundingly by a certain woman, even before he had the chance to ask what the matter was.

‘Emeka, so I sent you to get water and you left that costly jerry can for thieves, eh? What is wrong with you? Why are you so addicted to football? You will meet me at home!’

‘Mama Emeka, no be me oo!’

According to him, my mother had come close, peered into his face, and withdrawn back when she discovered her mistake. Her face which had been contorted in anger straightened, and her pursed lips had parted in a shame-induced smile, as she had apologized. ‘Unless I don’t get that boy today!’ He will know me!’

‘Don’t worry, I will visit the slap on him when next I see him’, Baba-o had promised my mum.

I began to edge away from him the moment he told me that, for I knew his reputation for springing up such surprises, on the spur of the moment. I apologized from afar, and he accepted, calling it nothing.

The next Monday morning, I had woken late, dashed to the bathroom, and had a poor treat of a bath. My eyes were fixed on the Plantashun Boiz who were being featured on the morning’s AM Express show as I was drying myself, and out of the corner of my eye I made sure I got a good watch on my favourite meal on the dining table: beans and plantain. My sister’s presence on the table was a cause for the surveillance, and my worst fears were confirmed when she thought my attention had left its duty post, simply because Faze was explaining the concept of their reunion. Her hands had wandered and the mound of beans had lost a slice of plantain. I shot her a glare and she had recoiled, munching surreptitiously. I could take no more chances, so I descended on the food, and wore the momentary title of Zerrubabel, converting the mount to a plain in record time. I suddenly glanced at my wrist watch. 7.45 a.m. Good gracious Lord!

  I could not risk Senior Biodun’s whip once again, and I took a look at my elbow, where some serious damage had been done the previous week, at the instance of the same transgression of late coming. It had been aggravated, both in pain and in appearance, by a rough tackle I had received when I had disgraced a defender on Friday. I slipped on my underclothes, quickly peeling off my house wear first. I reached on the wardrobe for my uniform, and found it gone.

Grieved almost to the point of tears, especially when I took another look at the time, the rack, drawer, and every container which could house fabric in the room suffered varying degrees of assault, and it still was futile. My frustration had reached the zenith, as I returned to the living room to find my sister and brother gone, leaving me with no one to inquire further from. I was folding the forlorn room back into shape, and I heard a voice behind me the second time. When I turned, it was my father.

‘What are you looking for?’ The question was stripped of the usual touch of concern, and I didn’t fail to notice it.

‘My school uniform.’

He looked reflectively at me for a few seconds, and started.

‘I have condoned your recalcitrant activities in this house for some time, and I have had just about enough. I have also tried my best to bring you up as a responsible human being. But it seems footballing is more on your mind than your academics. To that effect, I seized your uniform. I bought it with my money, and I will keep it till Bill gets to its size, since you both attend the same school. Good luck, and may you make the English Premier League.’

I just stared on woodenly at him. He was shaking his car keys, waiting for me to react, but he was disappointed. He walked away, but returned again.

‘Don’t you have training today? You can go, so I can lock my house.’

Without a word, I slipped into something good, and started out of the house. Watching me all the way, he followed behind. I got to the balcony and made my self comfortable, his eyes still on me. When it became obvious he was going to get none of my tears and entreaties, and a possible loss of face was imminent for him, he went to his car, got in, and zoomed off.

I liked my books, no doubt, and I looked forward to settling down to a nice career one day, the identity of which I could not just put a finger on, but anyone who thought he could put me on edge with that, where my darling game was involved, sure had another thing coming. I was not just sensitive enough to get the hang of such a punishment. I removed my eyes from my father’s BMW as it receded out of my sight, and fixed my eyes to things that held more promise of interest on the street. Five minutes on, I got a run for my effort.

Some loud noise in the distance attracted my attention, and I ran out to check it out. A Toyota Hi-Ace bus was swerving from side to side, unmindful that there were two or three people sitted on top, with legs and hands sticking out of all the windows. There were flags as well, and when I saw the inscription, I shouted for joy. The regional finals! So this was what I would have missed!

 I ran to the middle of the road, and spread my hands high in the air in solidarity. The driver horned impatiently above the din of the noise, but slowed down when he recognized me, as I had expected. ‘Up Pillars!’ I shouted as I hopped in, and got in the feel of the moment. I stuck a foot out of the window, but was not satisfied. In a matter of minutes, I was on the roof of the bus, declaring my loyalty and daring anyone who refused to support our darling Pillars.

We were ushered into the pitch, green to the pews, where Femi and I had led several missions, and had been two trophies experienced, and better. As I was settling down to enjoy my milkshake, someone dropped beside me.

‘Well, talk of the devil!’ I exclaimed, hugging him.

‘So you are calling me a devil now, abi?’ Femi asked, pretending not to get the message.

‘Yes’, I retorted, playing along. He nudged me strongly, playfully though, while I treated his sneakers to some milkshake polish. ‘You were in the bus?’ he asked. ‘Yep’, came the reply.

  A loud boo took our eyes back to the field of play. Our Salami had tested the visiting goalkeeper the second time, and he had risen gracefully to the occasion. He was good, and we had to painfully agree. He had stood gallantly between us and the opener, time and again. His defenders were not helping matters, and he often shouted brave orders and instructions.

In the 88^th minute, Oba, our defender took a goal kick. The ball soared high, and was hotly contested in the air, but our Uche got the better of it. It got to Ike safely, and from there got a feel of the feet of Nasir, Ojo and Fash in an impressive flinging network. Its next port of call was Bash at the midfield, and he did the unbelievable.

In a show reminiscent of that of Houdini the magician, he dipped his foot under the ball sharply, and it spun forward furiously. That second, three defenders who knew his reputation surged forward, with intentions varying from retrieving the ball to making him lose his ankle. He made a beck, and believe it or not, the ball responded promptly, retracing its way back to Bash and causing a legendary collision between the defenders. Our cheering then accompanied him on his way to beating the last man helplessly, and slotting the ball past the stubborn goalkeeper, and coolly home. The net almost laughed, but managed to reveal a smirk.

The pitch was agog, and our coach was on hand to reassure us that the trophy was just two minutes away, and the game continued in earnest. Our goal tender was virtually on holiday for the remaining period.

Nna then got a lobb at the far flank. He spun the ball over the head of his opponent, and a five-metre chase for the ball began. The defender, who had the advantage of height and build over him, got to him, and sent both his legs and the ball to God in one sweep. When Nna landed, he punched the defender angrily, and a scuffle ensued. Every player on the pitch ran to the spot, and things began to get messy.

  I heard a swishing sound, and the next minute, my bosom friend lay beside me, beheaded and lifeless. When my ears picked up the sound of the explosion two seconds later, I looked behind me, and every supporter sitted behind me had been killed, blood splattered everywhere. I dove for cover under a corpse. Our wing had been hit by a rocket launcher!

There were two more explosions, and everyone struggled to the exit. When the third sounded, the population around the outlet tripled.  Someone axed it wider, and there was a stampede. Unable to keep pace with the hurrying and milling crowd, I fell, and my hands, feet, stomach, back and thighs suffered tremendously. Lastly, I had a large impact on my head, and I went blank.

  I woke to the seething face of my father who hissed loudly as I came to. My mother praised God.

My love for football has not waned a bit, but I am more careful these days. On his own, my father returned my uniform soon as I got well.