Chapter 95: The firestorm
You thought it was over?
After Sam singlehandedly stole the headlines in a game of tight margins against Atletico Madrid, stealing the win from Atleti’s Wolf jaws?
After scoring the goal of the season reminiscent of Messi’s Getafe goal and Maradona’s Hand of God goal against England?
Hell nah, think again.
The world of football would rave about that goal, they would discuss it endlessly, dissect it to the most minute details before they would finally rest.
And even after that, they would keep on discussing it because that was simply a goal that could not be forgotten. That was a kind of goal that defines childhoods, that creates unforgettable adult memories.
For every child in Riyadh who watched that goal, heck, for every child who watched the game through their parents’ TV, they would never forget it.
Watching one guy slaloming through the opposition team had this ability of triggering dopamine and adrenaline. Watching him go against grown men just like him, and tear them apart with skill, there was something primal to it.
Something that resonated with the man in every boy, with the alpha in every father, and with the ambition in every footballer.
Watching their parents jump for joy after the ball went in, instinctively joining the celebrations themselves, these children created memories of a lifetime that they would never forget.
That was what Sam did on the night, and it was not something regular, it was a feat as rare as phoenix feathers, and so, the media would rave.
The morning after Riyadh did not wake gently, it literally exploded.
From Lagos to London, from Madrid to Miami, every headline blazed with the same image... Samuel Moses, arms stretched wide, Supercopa raised above his head, the Nigerian flag draped across his shoulders.
The wondergoal had gone viral before dawn. By sunrise, it was stuff of myths and legends.
Marca (Spain): ["Un Dios en Riyadh: Samuel Moses Wins Supercopa with Goal of the Century!"]
AS (Spain): ["Atlético Build a Wall, but Moses Walks Through It."]
The Guardian (UK): ["From Abraka to Olympus: Samuel Moses, Football’s New Immortal."
Punch Nigeria: ["Our Son, Our Pride: Samuel Moses Lifts Barça, Lifts Africa."]
L’Equipe (France): ["Maradona, Messi... Moses?"]
Social media? It was a battlefield.
Hashtags trended worldwide: #FootballGod #SupercopaFinal #SamMoses.
By now, if there was any doubt who the Ballon d’Or favorite was in this new season after Sam claimed his first Ballon d’Or award for his last season’s performance, by now, there was no more debate.
At the moment, unless something drastic happened in world football like FC Barcelona being eliminated early from the UEFA Champions League, Sam was on his way towards swaggering to a 2nd straight Ballon d’Or win.
By now, there were no more doubts; this truly was his era.
This was the Samuel Moses era.
Clips of the goal were everywhere on social media, edited into anime fight scenes, replayed with operatic music, slowed to frame-by-frame dissections.
The engagements? Borderline crazy.
One viral post read. "Lenglet turned into a traffic cone, Barrios a training dummy. Oblak? He was just a silhouette... greatness!"
Another simply captioned. "This isn’t football anymore, this is prophecy."
Lionel Messi, watching from Miami, posted again. "That was special, Sam. Reminded me of something... but it was yours. Congratulations, crack."
Cristiano Ronaldo tweeted again as the attention of the world narrowed on the significant event that happened in Riyadh. "This is why football never dies, its because of magic like this. Congratulations, Samuel."
Didier Drogba called into an African sports channel live, his voice heavy with pride. "We waited for an African player to do this, to dominate Europe, to win finals, to be the name on every lip".
"Well, Sam has opened the door wider than ever before."
...
In Madrid, the defeat stung like acid.
Diego Simeone scowled at reporters, refusing to repeat "the goal" more than once. "We did everything right for 92 minutes," he said before shaking his head. "But sometimes, one man changes destiny."
Atlético fans seethed online, half furious and half awestruck. One viral comment read. "We hate him. But God, we respect him."
Real Madrid, watching from afar, sharpened knives. They could feel their archrivals blazing fiercer than ever before, and they didn’t want to be left behind.
Vinícius sneered into a camera after training. "Enjoy the trophy. The league and Champions League? That is a different story."
Bellingham echoed the fire, no longer willing to back down. "Let him have his moment, we’ll take the big ones."
...
In Catalonia, murals went up overnight: Sam’s silhouette, mid-chip, painted across walls with the words. "El Déu del Futbol."
At Ciutat Esportiva, Hansi Flick addressed the press. "We’re fortunate. He is special, yes, but this is not a one-man team. This is Barcelona."
Sam, cornered by journalists at the airport, kept his composure. "It was a good goal, yes, but the trophy matters more. I’m proud of the team, we fought until the very end."
But his smile gave him away; he knew what he’d done.
...
The celebrations also blazed in Nigeria.
In Abraka, children played barefoot in the dust, shouting. "I am Sam Moses!"
"No, I am!" They argued.
Every trick, every rainbow flick, every roulette, they tried to recreate the impossible that Sam had made possible in the big stage.
In Lagos, viewing centers replayed the goal on loop. Beer spilled, men shouted, women sang, and whole neighborhoods came alive with joy.
Even the Nigerian President tweeted, though Sam may not have appreciated that gesture very much.
...
And then, finally back in Barcelona, Sam reached his apartment with Kayla as she came back with him after the final goal. The noise of the world faded again at home, just for a moment.
He dropped onto the couch, a replica of the trophy that he made to relive the moment gleaming on the table before him. Kayla curled up beside him, scrolling her phone.
"You’ve broken the internet again," she teased. "Half the world thinks you’re an alien."
Sam chuckled, rubbing his temple. "If only aliens got this tired."
She nudged him. "So? How does it feel?"
He looked at the trophy, then at her, then closed his eyes. "Like... the beginning of something even bigger."
Kayla smiled softly. "Then keep going, Football God."
Sam leaned back, his heartbeat steady now. The firestorm raged outside, but inside, he was calm.