Play went on, and this time, the opposition's approach to the game changed completely.
Just like Jesse's team, they didn't seem intent on settling for a draw. So, they immediately began to press forward with high intensity and their attacks grew more urgent as they looked for a chance to snatch back their lead.
So far, Jesse's team was able to defend the onslaught, but of course, no team could absorb pressure forever.
If a team's defense kept getting prodded on and on, at some point, it would crack and the goals would start flying in.
Worried about this, Jesse found himself dropping deeper to help out the defenders. He tracked back tirelessly, trying to intercept passes and break up play.
The opposition flung everything they had towards their goal, but luckily, if was to no avail and the ball was turned out by the keeper for a corner kick.
Everyone came into the box to defend, and Jesse was the marker for one of the opposition's very tall center backs. It was a comical mismatch.
What could Jesse even do against someone of that size?
Just as he thought that, one of his teammates put a hand on his shoulder. "No dey sleep o! Or dem go jam you!"
Jesse just nodded in response. Mismatch or not, he could at least try.
What was the point of being on the pitch if he wasn't going to give it his all?
The ball was sent into the box from the corner kick and met by a strong header from the opposition's striker, but it ricocheted off the center back who stood in the way none the wiser.
The other center back quickly stepped in and booted the ball away, which gave them a little breather.
But the reprieve was short-lived. The opposition came again with even more determination, launching assault after assault. Forget scoring a third goal, right now, it was taking everything they had to keep the scoreline level.
Jesse's team was struggling to keep possession, and with the pressure mounting, things weren't looking good.
Then, almost inevitably, disaster struck.
One of the team's midfielders was caught in possession in midfield, which led to a counter.
The opposition team was quick on the counter, and they passed the ball to their left winger, Bayo, before they could be closed down.
Bayo knocked the ball past the approaching right-back, and from there, Jesse knew it was all over.
Once Bayo got past you, there was no catching up to him.
Never!
Not with the kind of speed he had in those legs that never seemed to touch the ground once he was at full sprint. If there was ever a case where football didn't work out for Bayo, Jesse was pretty sure he would make it easily as a track athlete.
Bayo ran for the eighteen yard box and before the center back could dispossess him with a sliding tackle, he laid the ball for the striker in the center with a fine cross. The striker met it with a well executed header, and it went into the net with the keeper watching it go in, rooted to the spot.
There was nothing much he could do to stop it.
3-2
They had conceded a goal during the last seconds of the game and lost it.
Jesse slumped flat on the ground, exhausted both physically and mentally.
***
"Jersey, Jersey! Father of David, how far now?" Bayo asked Jesse who was still sprawled on the ground.
He extended a hand towards Jesse. "Is there anything troubling you?"
"Would you look at that?" Jesse groaned as he swatted at Bayo's helping hand. "It's the one who's the source of all my troubles asking me that question."
Bayo smiled meekly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry about that. You tend to forget a lot of the times that winning a game in its dying seconds is just as euphoric for the winning team as it is painful for the losing side."
"Yeah..." Jesse agreed.
There was nothing quite as bitter as all the work and effort you put in coming undone in the last few seconds of the game. It was a very bitter pill to swallow.
"But hey, don't let it kill your spirit. You played like a lion today and it was amazing! How did you even keep that ball in play?! The way you caught it with your foot while you were airborne and brought it down on the touchline was like watching Shaolin football! And those dribbles of yours!?" He mimed blowing a kiss to the sky. "Chef's kiss!"
Jesse rolled his eyes.
Bayo had always been like this: equal parts infuriating and uplifting.
Bayo was a fairly tall seventeen year old who stood at about 6 ft. The two of them were amongst the youngest participants at the community field but were also some of the most talented especially when you factored in their age and space for further growth.
Eventually, Jesse grabbed onto his outstretched hand and Bayo yanked him up to his feet with a friendly chuckle.
After dusting Jesse's back, he grinned widely. "Don't worry, though. I have the perfect news to lighten up your mood."
Jesse raised an eyebrow. What could possibly lighten up his foul mood?
Bayo did an annoying and overly exaggerated drumroll in the air causing Jesse to sigh.
"Bayo, abeg."
Were the theatrics really necessary?
Jesse's facial expression had grown so flat and deadpan with how unimpressed he was that his face had become a near perfect rendition of a tsukkomi face in real life.
His eyes and lips were as parallel as parallel could get.
At that, Bayo pulled a rumpled flyer from his backpocket and unfolded it with a flourish, then cleared his throat.
"The Pepsi Football Academy is holding open trials at the National Stadium on Sunday!" Bayo announced, thrusting the flyer into Jesse's face. "See? Right here! That's tomorrow! 'Calling all future stars aged 1 to 18! Show your skills and win a spot in Nigeria's most prestigious youth academy!'" He jabbed a finger at the bold text. "And guess who's going to audition? You and me!"
Jesse's eyes widened.
He grabbed the flyer from Bayo who gave no resistance — he seemed pretty smug and happy about how things were progressing — and scanned the details of the fine print:
Sunday, 8 AM.
Lagos National Stadium.
Registration fee: ₦20,000.
Bring proof of age, boots, and a guardian's consent form.
Jesse's throat tightened.
The Pepsi Academy was one of the most prestigious football academies in Nigeria — producing stars like Kanu Nwankwo and Jay-Jay Okocha — and it was also gateway to professional clubs, international scouts, and everything he'd dreamt of since he first kicked a ball.
But... how would he go about this?
He needed a guardian's written consent and heaven's knew his mother would sooner sign her own death certificate than that guardian's consent form.
And 20,000 Naira?? Where the hell was he supposed to find the money needed for the registration fee?!
Jesse massaged his temples and sighed. No matter how he thought of it, it just didn't seem feasible.
Bayo noticed the frustration on his face and read his silence. "Why the long face, Jersey?"
Jesse traced the Pepsi logo on the flyer with his thumb, hesitant. Eventually, he spoke, "My mum... you know how she is. She'll want me to focus on school. And the money—"
"I'll lend you the registration fee, and as for the guardian's consent form, I'll have that prepared for you tomorrow morning," Bayo said, cutting in.
"Consider it an investment." he continued, winking. "Once you're rich and famous, you can pay me back with VIP tickets to your matches in Europe."
'Haa... this crazy guy.'
Jesse shook his head. "You're talking as though we've already passed the trials and been selected."
"Isn't it a given?" Bayo asked matter of factly. "I doubt there's anyone around your age as talented as you are — we are amongst the best players in this field, too, despite our age."
The way he spoke, he certainly had no shortage of confidence. It made Jesse chuckle a little in self-depreciation.
"Still... what makes you so sure? How are you so confident about how things will end up? What if we actually end up not getting selected?"
Bayo crouched in front of him, and for the first time during their conversation, his playful demeanor turned very serious. "Listen, Jersey. You have everything needed to succeed, you're good at free kicks, you have great vision and technique, not to mention how you're able to dribble past people in a row like they are palm trees. You know what your biggest problem is? It's that you think too much."
Jesse almost scoffed. According to his mother, he wasn't thinking enough.
"Football isn't played here—" Bayo said, tapping Jesse's temple. "—it's played here." He pressed a fist to his chest. "You have the heart. Let it speak."
... That ended up leaving Jesse pretty much speechless and Bayo thoroughly satisfied.
Jesse smiled a little, thankful for the pep talk.
At the very least, Bayo believed in him.
He believed in him enough to bet on him — and of course, those VIP tickets he was very specific about, too.
So Jesse would have to reciprocate and believe in himself, too. It would be to his own personal advantage and betterment, after all.
This was his chance. All along, football had been mostly an escape — his calm in the storm. But now, it could finally be a lot more than that.
Clenching his fists, Jesse came to a resolve and looked Bayo in the eye. "Alright, I'll be there. Let's do it."
"My man! We'll show those rich kids at the trials what street football looks like, they won't even know what hit them! First, you just have to find a way to get around your mother. Your mother is a Christian, not a Muslim, right? Just tell her you were invited to a "youth development program" by a friend. Technically, it's not a lie!"
Despite himself, Jesse let out a long laugh.