Chapter 77: Dust and glory
FWEEE!
The whistle blew, sharp and thin and all hell broke loose on the pitch as the Christmas game commenced, dust rising in its wake.
Christmas in Maitama had become something else entirely, a five-a-side match under the fading sun, neighbors crowding around like it was the Champions League final, Nigerian version.
Kids balanced on fences, men clapped rhythm on empty bottles, and women shouted encouragement between laughter.
It was simple, it was harmonious, and it was full of joyous energy.
This wasn’t Barcelona. This wasn’t the Bernabéu.
This was home.
Sam’s team had the first kick of the game. Sophia insisted on starting, puffing her cheeks in determination. The crowd cheered wildly.
"Go Sophia!" They cheered as if she were the Ballon d’Or winner and not her brother. Sam smiled.
Well, at least she knew to pass to Sam. The first pass rolled back to Sam, but he barely nudged it forward before Ian lunged in recklessly, trying to nick the ball.
Reading him like a book though, Sam was unfazed, literally rolling his eyes as he rolled the ball through his legs effortlessly.
The crowd screamed. "OHHHHHHH!"
Ian spun, jaw dropping. "Bastard! You started already?"
Sam grinned. "Nutmeg tax, bro. You must pay up".
But Ian didn’t care. He hustled back up, the electric energy of the moment already catching up to him as he charged like a bull.
The ball zipped around, feet clumsy but hearts on fire.
A local boy on Sam’s side sprinted down the wing, toes barely in shoes. Sam didn’t try to hog the attention, playing him in perfectly but the boy sent a scruffy shot wide. Cheers erupted anyway.
Ten minutes in, Team Ian struck first.
One of the teens flicked a cheeky nutmeg on Sophia, leaving her yelling in grievance, "Foul! Foul!" The ref only laughed.
The ball rolled to Ian, who with the composure of a man who hadn’t scored in ten years toe-poked it past the lanky cousin in goal.
The crowd erupted. "Goal!"
Ian felt on top of the world.
He sprinted the full length of the dusty pitch, arms out like Mbappé, chest puffed, celebrating wildly as he slid on his knees once he arrived at where grass was, dust coating his trousers.
Sam shook his head, laughing. "Shameless."
But legends never stay quiet for long. Well, Sam was holding back in the first place, and he finally decided to let out some steam.
Immediately after Team Ian’s goal, from kickoff, Sam took control.
He received the ball and danced past one, skipped over a reckless slide, before chipping the ball over Ian’s attempted tackle. The crowd gasped; Kayla covered her face, peeking through her fingers.
Sam arrived before the goal as he set up to shoot, but he didn’t. It was a feint. He rolled it sideways, unselfish.
Raph, the neighborhood boy with pace charged in and with the bell set so perfectly for him, all he needed to do was take one touch.
Bang! Net.
1-1.
The crowd bounced, dust flying. "SM10!" chants broke out, small children running along the sidelines.
Sam raised his hands, smiling softly. For a moment, he wasn’t Barça’s savior. Here, he was just Sam, playing barefoot dreams again.
But then after that goal, the game descended into glorious chaos.
Sophia clattered into one of Ian’s teammates, both tumbling into the dust. She got up first though, brushing herself off.
"Haha," she laughed. "Soft tackle! Man up!" she shouted.
The boy’s face twitched.
The referee whistled randomly, sometimes favoring Ian, sometimes Sam. Arguments sparked, laughter louder than protests.
At some point, Ian tried to do the spectacular as he tried a bicycle kick only to miss completely and fall flat on his bum. The crowd laughed so hard someone nearly dropped their puff-puff.
"Highlight reel!" Sam shouted between giggles.
Ian gave him the f*ck you sign.
At 2-2, tension thickened. The crowd grew louder, drumming on chairs, chanting every touch.
Ian’s side pressed high as they fought for the goal that would take them ahead. Winning against Sam? Even if it was a meaningless street game, to these players, that would be a lifetime achievement and so they toiled for it.
But then a loose pass rolled back to Sam, and suddenly the dust stilled. He flicked the ball up, rolled his foot over it, and rainbow-flicked it over Ian’s head.
"...!"
The crowd lost its mind.
"Ehhhhhhhhh!" They shouted and screamed.
Sam laughed, grinning as he laid it off for Sophia. She scuffed the shot horribly, but the ball somehow trickled through the lanky keeper’s legs.
Goal! 3-2.
Sophia jumped, screaming like she’d won the World Cup. "Did you see that? Ian, I’m better than you!" She laughed. "I’m better than all of you!"
Sam laughed, lifting her onto his shoulders as the crowd cheered.
But Ian wasn’t done.
In the 4th minute of stoppage which only existed because the referee was enjoying himself, the ball rolled to Ian at the halfway mark.
Sam jogged over, ready to snatch it. But Ian, with eyes closed and lungs burning, swung his right foot.
BAM!
The ball soared. It arced over everyone and over the bewildered keeper, dipping at the last second.
Then, it slammed into the net.
The crowd exploded.
"GOALLLLLL!"
Ian tore his shirt off, whirling it like a helicopter, running in circles. "Messi who?! Ronaldo who?! It’s Ian Moses!" He shouted shamelessly.
Sam collapsed in laughter. "Shameless, absolutely shameless!"
After fulltime, still searching for a winner, the referee decided to implement the golden goal rule, meaning the next team to score wins.
The dust grew heavier. The crowd leaned in as children screamed while uncles shouted tactics like they were Pep Guardiola.
The ball rolled loose in midfield and Sam pounced. With a shoulder drop, a feint, and a burst of pace, he surged forward like a ghost.
Ian lunged, but... too late.
Sam glided past the last defender, toes brushing the dust, before slamming it home as the net bulged.
The game was done.
"Noooo!" Ian collapsed to the ground in defeat.
[Final Score: Team Sam 5-4 Team Ian]
The pitch became chaos at the end as excited kids rushed into the field. Neighbors cheered, and Sophia bragged endlessly about her goal, while on the side Kayla laughed so hard her stomach hurt.
Ian remained flat on his back, chest heaving, shirt still missing. "I was robbed. VAR! VAR!" He rasped.
Sam crouched beside him, grinning. "You should’ve stayed in med school, champ".
Ian pointed weakly at the sky. "One day, I’ll beat you".
"Never," Sam ruthlessly said, laughing.
As the night deepened, the firecrackers went off. The dust settled, but the joy lingered.
For once, football wasn’t about trophies or records. It was just a game, a gift, a Christmas memory.