Lately, I prefer watching soccer matches indoors to capture the totality of the game setup, from tactical play to style of play, to observe the weak and strong links of each side, not only but also noticing players' influence and coaches’ composure as usual, and not to be distracted. Most people in my vicinity prefer watching in viewing centers to have fun by arguing, and keep themselves alive and well. The truth of the matter is that everyone is entitled to their freedom and right to live as they wish.
“Soccer match is not as easy as it looked,” I said, remembering having to have had it by a potbellied man who was complaining loudly that a player was lazy, making me recall the last visit I paid to the viewing center, and I decided to watch from home since then.
It was a very crucial match and I wasn't going to miss it for anything in this world so I just had a few minutes walk to catch up and wanted to make use of my time judiciously going to a barbing salon I patronized before going to watch the match at the viewing center which was a street away.
“Bros, how is today's match going?” Setunji, a hairstylist of mine, said as he carved my moustache carefully, moving its friction to the sideburns. “ It will be a difficult one,” I answered, raising one brow of my eye, looking at him through the mirror’s reflection. “But bros, we supposed fit fry dem chop na” ( meaning our team should be able to annihilate the opposite side), he replied, smiling with his white set off teeth, which were displayed vividly as he was already on the team's jersey, being a fan of the same team as I do. “My guy, it is not as easy as it looked, but I am optimistic about a win,” I answered firmly to keep his hopes up.
“Bros, I know you don't miss anything when you watch a match, you go gist me next time too,” he said, pleased after applying the aftershave.
“Let's see how it goes, I replied before leaving for the viewing center, which was just a few minutes away.
The viewing center was packed long before kick-off. Wooden benches creaked under the weight of fans squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder, their eyes fixed on the giant screen that flickered with the green pitch. The air smelled of roasted corn and fried akara sold just outside, mixing with the sweat of anticipation.
“Today, we’ll win! It is an easy match,” shouted a man sitting right-sided towards me, raising his bottle of soda like a trophy. A wave of agreement followed, as cheers and chants filled the hot, crowded room while the other potbellied man was with a plastic of gin he was sipping surreptitiously as its odour oozed off in his mouth.
The match began with the home team, which was the opposing side, playing my team, passing dazzlingly. Every fan shouted advice as if the players could hear them through the television. “Shoot! Pass! Run faster!” The men on the benches that could not run from here to there stomped their feet, while children stood on tiptoe just to catch a glimpse of the ball on the screen as it was very competitive.
By halftime, the scoreline was still blank. The once-boastful fans had grown restless, especially the man beside me who was causing a nuisance ever since. My supporting team pressed harder, their defenders ruthless, their strikers quick. Sweat dripped from brows not just because of the heat, but from nervous tension.
The potbellied man, who had mocked the team earlier, now slumped with his head in his hands. “Ah, this is not as easy as it looked,” he muttered, earning laughter and nods from the crowd.
When the final whistle blew, the home side had lost. Silence lingered for a moment before the center erupted into heated arguments, jokes, and sighs. The fans walked out into the night air with heavy steps, some still defending their team, others already predicting a comeback.
The game had reminded everyone of a simple truth that from the outside, victory always looks certain but on the field, it is a different battle entirely. I got a serious headache on my way home, but couldn't stop laughing at what the potbellied man said, “Ah, it was not as easy as it looked”.