An Enigma

          “Shoot it, kid!” I roared over the commotion made by the running players on the football field. “Shoot it now!”

          At the centre of my attention was a young boy with the football at the corner of the opposition box. He heard my pleas and looked up for a brief moment to survey the defenders scrambling back to their positions in front of him. It was the perfect time to unleash one of his trademark curlers towards the goal.

          The boy, however, chose to ignore my calls and instead burst forward directly towards the goal post. He skilfully dribbled away from one player, then another, and left one more in his wake before finally he was crowded out by the swarm of men closing in on him and was sent crashing towards the ground.

          Another promising attack had come to nought thanks to the child labelled my ‘wonder boy’, and I decided I had had enough. I stopped the practice game to make my way towards the boy, finding him sharing a few laughs with a couple of squad members and wearing that mischievous grin that usually indicated that he thought he had done something spectacular on the field.   

          “That’s it, kid! I have had enough of you. Pack you kit and clear the pitch right now. I don’t want to see you here till you get your act together and agree to follow my orders,” I barked at the boy. His smile waned and got replaced by an expression of perplexion.

          “But coach… I was about to score! I got through three and if I just hadn’t messed up my ball control at the last moment I would have got through. Didn’t you see? I have done it before, haven’t I?” the boy squeaked in a defensive tone.

          I let out a deep sigh at the insolence of the boy. “Yeah, son. You have… IN THE PAST!” My voice reflected my anger. “This is not the past though anymore, is it boy? We are in the big league now, and you can’t go about dancing your way through haggard opposition defences anymore, can you now? Grow up, kid. Become a professional,” I added.

          The boy bent his head in shame and went teary-eyed, which made my heart flinch for a moment. I checked myself though, and instead forced myself to stare down at the young boy with a condescending expression. Finally, one of the other players took the hand of the boy and escorted him out of the pitch.

          “Come back when you are ready to follow my instructions. TO THE WORD!”

          As the players resumed their game and all went back to normal, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander to the player who I had just chastened so ruthlessly. I had known him since he had arrived as a kid of nine to the club. He had gone through a hellish childhood filled with hardship and loss, which was reflected in his shy and melancholic demeanour. Even in those initial days though, the talent in him was visible, and it was plain for me to see that the boy saw in the sport a way to express his hidden emotions. With time, he found happiness and his skills kept on growing. Though he was prone to occasional bouts of laziness and inconsistency, on his day he could make the sport seem like an art. These days had gone on to become the bright spots in an otherwise tough time spent by us in the lower divisions of the country.  

          This year though, we had finally been able to claw ourselves back into the top division, and the year which was to follow would be the breakthrough year for both the club and me. Our future depended on what we did now, and we needed the boy to step up to become the player he had promised to be for so many years. There was a buzz in town and everyone was expecting wonders out of him and me, but the boy simply refused to grow up.

          I had tried every sort of motivation within my powers to get this player to listen to my advice and follow my game plans, and during my talks with him and the team, it would seem that the boy was determined to give it his all. In the actual sessions though, the kid would somehow contrive to forget everything and break the entire plan down. When I would question him after the sessions, he would ramble on childishly about how it didn’t feel right and how the ball told him to do something else, which would leave me feeling like tearing my hair out after all the hard work of the previous night in setting up the plans. Yes, I understood all about the beauty of the sport and how one should enjoy the game, but all this merriment and freedom needed to be toned down with discipline and hard work if one wanted to be successful in the job. After all, the boy was not a kid in the park, but a handsomely paid professional entrusted with the responsibility to keep us up in the division. This move to punish the player was the final roll of the dice to get the message across to him, and I just wished he would get to act like one before the start of the season, both for his sake and for the club’s.

          A couple of days passed and I didn’t see the boy in the field, which raised some doubts in my mind. So it was a welcome sight when on the third day, I found the boy in the middle of the field practicing his heart out even before the practice had started.

          “I am sorry, Coach, for my behaviour,” he said panting as he ran up to me.” I have been acting like a diva over the past few days, but I have had a couple of days to think about my actions. I now realize that I owe it to you, the club, the fans, and this wonderful sport that got me out of the ditch I was in to treat it with respect and give it my all. From now on, I am your man, Coach,” said the boy. I pondered over his words for a moment and looked at his face. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes had been replaced by a steely look that oozed dedication and a will to work hard for me. The boy had finally grown up.

          The years rolled on and they brought with them unimaginable success for me. One of my biggest achievements in my job was a reputation as one of the best coaches of young talent in the game. However, on some days my mind would go back to my first club and the boy who had been the most naturally talented player I ever encountered. During one such nostalgic moment, I finally surmised the courage to go pay a visit to that now middle-aged man. With some effort, I got his address and headed out for that long-awaited visit.

          As my car made its way through the decrepit area where the boy now resided, I couldn’t help but feel the all-too familiar feeling of helplessness and guilt that now marred my memories of him. After that fateful day in the training ground when he had pledged his loyalty to me, the boy’s fall had been spectacular and there was nothing I was able to do for him. He had done everything I had told him like he had promised and had transformed into the most hard-working player in the team and would run his socks off even in practice matches. His game improved manifold and for a while, all seemed to be going perfectly. With the start of the season though, the boy’s form had dropped alarmingly, and by the end it was clear the weight of his failures were bearing down on his personal life as well as he grew more forlorn and depressed. By the end, he had become a shadow of his former self, both as a footballer and a person, and his departure from professional football came as a relief to all those involved. The boy went on to become a modest salesman who had to struggle to even make ends meet.

          I was lost in these thoughts when I happened to gaze upon a group of boys playing football in a dusty park in the middle of a crowded community. Among them, I saw a visibly older man with a familiar face. I halted my car near the park and got out to watch the proceedings. By now, the man had got a hold of the ball and was trying to dribble his way through his numerous opponents. He glided through one, then two, then three, but by now two more players were right in front of him. Out of the blue, he tried a ridiculous pirouette to put himself between his onrushing opponents and for a moment it seemed he had got through, but his leg stuck something (maybe one of his opponent’s leg or a rock in the park) and he went tumbling down in the dirt. The man seemed hurt and I took two steps forward to check on him, but then he let out a roaring laughter as he was lying on the ground. His eyes had that familiar mischievous spark about them, which I hadn’t seen since that fateful day on the training pitch all those years. The kids joined in on the laughter, and for once, so did I.