The Cup Final

Last Saturday I played for Megbente FC in the final of the MCH Cup. Here is the day as I remember it:

3pm: Gearoid and I join our team mates, who have set up a “Camp” at the nearby hospital. The Camp is a meeting place where we come together and prepare for the games. We listen to some Krio pop music and talk tactics. The atmosphere is relaxed.

3.30pm: We change into our shorts and socks, leaving our boots off for now. The camp is our outdoor changing room. The ceremony begins. We take turns to approach the village elder and have oil rubbed on our legs, hand, chest back and face. We then take a small amount of potent smelling liquid and rub that on our limbs.

3.45pm: We rub limes on our legs, and tuck a small piece of cassava leaf into our socks. This will protect us from injury.

4pm: The manager arrives, with new strips in hand. The boys are excited. He hands them out one by one, with a great deal of ceremony. In the absence of my usual number 7 shirt, I opt for the number 14. I am also presented with the captain's armband in the absence of our regular captain. I suspect that this honour is largely due to being one of the two token white men, but I accept it gladly.

4.15pm: We walk to the pitch and warm up. There are huge speakers blaring out crazy music. Children are dancing. A fast talking high pitched male voice occasionally interrupts the music to make announcements. There are around 200 people there to watch the game. We shake hands with the opposition, and prepare to kick off. I am nervous and it is even hotter than usual.

4.30pm: The game kicks off, it is fast paced and we look confident.

4.40pm: The ball spills loose on the edge of our box, I sprint out to clear it as an opponent lines up a shot. I narrowly get there first, but I go down hard on my left knee. I stand up, and feel the blood running down my leg. It is more than a trickle. I must have hit a rock and gashed it open. I try to run it off.

4.42pm: Adrenaline is a wonderful thing, and I start to feel comfortable running. I take advantage of a break in play to feel the wound. The bleeding is slowing. I wipe the blood on my face. The crowd love it, and start to chant my name.

4.50pm: Our star forward, Saio Conteh, scores a great header. The boys celebrate, I run to the sidelines to drink water.

5pm: I make a forward run, and slot Saio through alone with the keeper, he makes no mistake, and we are 2-0 up.

5.13pm: Just before half time, I hit a left foot volley from a corner, which is handballed off the line. Penalty. I am keen to take it. Saio needs one more goal for his hattrick and to be top scorer in the cup. I let him take it. 3-0

5.15pm: Half time. I drink half a litre of water, and stay on my feet, whilst the other boys sit in a circle on the side of the pitch. I wash out my knee with water. The cut is pretty deep, and it is full of dirt and sand. But it is not bleeding and I am running comfortably. I will continue.

5.30pm: The opposition kick off the second half. We win the ball straight from them, and I pass it to fellow midfielder, Tyson. He takes the ball half the length of the pitch, largely unchallenged, and passes the ball into the bottom corner. 4-0.

5.45pm: We give away a silly penalty. 4-1. The clean sheet is gone.

5.50pm: The manager uses his last substitution to replace me. I hand over the captain's armband, take a gentle jog from the pitch, as our supporters chant my name. This is unreal.

5.14pm: In the last minute of the game, the opposition deservedly score again, but it is too little too late. 4-2

5.15pm: The final whistle is blown. The crowd invade the pitch. The music blares out. I try to seek out opponents in the crowd to shake hands, but eventually give in to the high fives, handshakes and hugs that continually come my way from delighted villagers and children.

6.30pm: We take a break from the jubilations to shower and change. Blood stains my jeans within minutes. Suzie, a VSO nurse, cleans up my knee with iodine and dresses it. It hurts now!

7.30pm: We feast like heroes on goat meat and rice. The village can be heard from miles away. They have hired a generator and massive speakers. Krio pop bursts out and commands us to dance. People have set up on the floor wherever there is a space and are selling warm star beer and pega packs (imagine small ice pop packets filled with poor quality gin, or rum).

9pm: It is time for the presentation. The music stops. The village crowd around to see. People love ceremony here. We come forward one by one for our medals. They are very modest. The cup is brought forward, and, as captain, I am urged forward to accept it. I hold up the trophy like I have just won the world cup and the place erupts.

10.30pm: Someone brings me a glass of white wine – and its cold! It has been three months without such a luxury, and I enjoy it. When my cup is empty, it is filled once again with chilled wine; this time, it is red. Any cold drink is a blessing here, and I enjoy it. I begin to dance, and marvel at the clothes people are wearing. Many of the players have opted for white shirts. I have no idea how they manage to keep their clothes so clean, mine are always filthy here! The party is amazing. The moon is full, and spirits are high. Footballers from both teams dance together, old women in traditional dress dance with babies in their arms, children hold my hand everywhere I go, and old men smoke suspicious substances.

1pm: I party way too late, then walk along the highway back towards Makeni. After half an hour, a bike passes on the road and I manage to swing a ride back home. I fall asleep knowing that this day could only have happened to me here.