It was a gloriously sunny Sunday morning when Niyog, with as much excitement as a puppy chasing its own tail, stepped onto the training field of the Kerala Kings.
Niyog scanned the bustling crowd, eyes darting like a cat spotting a laser pointer, wanting to find a familiar face amidst the sea of strangers. he spotted Fazil, Amir, Sachin, Arun, and Deeraj. It seemed they had all survived the chaotic selection process, a feat akin to dodging a barrage of water balloons at a summer fair.
"So you guys were also selected!" Niyog exclaimed, feigning surprise as if expecting a parade of unicorns to burst forth in celebration.
As they exchanged smug smiles and mock incredulity, Niyog couldn't help but relish in this unexpected camaraderie that felt both comforting and slightly terrifying, like opening a box of fireworks without reading the instructions.
"Of course I got selected!" boasted Sachin, puffing out his chest, ready to take on the world as if he'd just won the lottery.
"Is that even a question? Haha!" Fazil chimed in, his laughter echoing through the air, a clear sign that no one was going to let Niyog forget his recent trial blunders. It was as if they had all come together to poke fun at their shared failure while basking in victorious camaraderie.
"I'm surprised you were selected, Niyog! Haha!" Deeraj teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Haven't seen you since I beat you in the trials, Niyog," Arun added, flashing a grin that could only be described as diabolical.
Niyog chuckled, realizing that this ragtag team of friends would make the journey ahead much more entertaining, even if it meant enduring relentless ribbing and memories of past mishaps.
The coach and assistant coach stepped onto the field. With each stride, anticipation crackled in the air behind them. The Kerala Kings team followed, not the youth squad but the seasoned professionals. The coach's voice echoed across the field, announcing the shocking news: they were to face the professional team in 45 minutes training match.
Gasps of disbelief erupted from players; uncertainty clouded their faces. "U-us? Play against the professional team?" whispered a voice tinged with fear. They were mere amateurs, yet today held an air of impossible challenge,even if it was a training match.
With steely resolve, the coach began to announce the lineup, each name heavy with significance. "Sachin, you're in goal," he called out, and the young keeper swallowed hard, his heart racing. The defense was set: Alan on the left, Anil and Vishnu in the center, Kiran on the right.
Next, the midfielders were named; Fazil, Neeraj, and Deeraj stood ready, each determined to prove their worth. "Arun, you're the attacking midfielder," the coach continued, signaling for them to rally together. The pressure mounted, but there was also a thrill in the air, a spark igniting within each player.
"Ishan, you're our center forward," the coach declared, followed by Joby's name, a nod to agility and speed. The team's formation was complete, yet no voices carried a guarantee of victory. Only the fierce spirit of competition lingered among them.
The substitutes stood by, Nahyan, Rithvil, Arif, Asif, and Raees, shadows ready to spring into the fray. Would they be enough to support their teammates? The line between fear and excitement blurred as they faced the reality of their challenge.
As they took their positions on the field, the weight of expectation pressed against them. The professional team stood poised, a wall of experience and skill, while uncertainty loomed over the young team.
Niyog stared at the list of players, heart racing in disbelief. The realization hit him like a sharp gust of wind—he and Amir were not included. A whirlwind of self-doubt enveloped him; thoughts of inadequacy whispered insidiously, gnawing at his confidence. "Why wasn't I chosen?" he pondered, glancing anxiously at Amir, who wore a similar expression of shock and confusion.
With a lump in his throat, Niyog approached the coach, his voice barely above a whisper, "C-coach, why am I not included?" The words tumbled out, layered with vulnerability and desperation for understanding. His heart sank as the coach's gaze shifted, fixating on Niyog
The coach's blunt response echoed in the air, "You're physically weak. I've arranged a different training session for you." Niyog's stomach churned at the coach's harsh words, which stung more than a slap. The punishment felt excessive—20 laps around the field, followed by relentless shooting practice. His legs quivered at the mere thought of it, a mountain he could hardly envision scaling.
"Twenty laps!? That's impossible for me," he stammered, stunned by the arduous expectations. He felt a wave of dread wash over him at the prospect of failing yet again. The coach's unwavering tone held no room for negotiation, only a stern challenge that made Niyog feel smaller than ever. "Yes, you got a problem with that?" the coach retorted, an edge of impatience sharpening his words.
Feeling crushed beneath the weight of expectations, Niyog watched as Amir, still processing his own exclusion, hesitantly asked, "What about me, coach? Should I do the same as Niyog?" The coach's intimidating glare was enough to silence the room. "Learn to pass first, Amir," he stated gravely, causing Amir to recoil, stunned and speechless. The harsh reality of their situation settled between them, their mind was filled by the cold truth of their deficiencies.
Niyog stretched his limbs, his thoughts bouncing playfully like a soccer ball in motion. "What if the game crosses paths with my run?" he mused, a delightful curiosity sparkling in his eyes. He half-heartedly convinced himself that watching the match could be a part of his active life, even as excitement twinkled in his mind like the sun on the field.
With a mix of determination and slight dread, Niyog dashed around the track, his initial bursts of energy carrying him through the first few laps. But as the laps multiplied, so did the weight on his legs; shadows of fatigue began to whisper in his ears. Each step felt heavier, yet he pressed on, knowing that perseverance was his ticket to growth. The cheer of his teammates and the relentless drum of his heartbeat urged him onwards, even as he imagined fainting mid-lap.
By the time he reached the shooting practice, Niyog was running on empty, his energy reserves depleted like a rain gauge after a dry spell. He lined up, and his shots flew, or rather, limped toward the goal, lacking power and precision. Still, determination twinkled in his eyes; he knew this was all part of the game.
Suddenly, the coach appeared, his voice booming with pride. "Good work, Niyog! I didn't even expect you to complete the 20 laps."
Niyog opened his mouth to respond, but exhaustion weighed him down. His consciousness was slipping away, like sand through fingers.
With quick thinking, the coach poured water over him, refreshing his spirit. Niyog blinked and felt the world come back into focus.
"Come on," the coach said gently. "I'll drop you off at home. Here are a few exercises to strengthen your body. Make sure to do them every day."
Niyog nodded, a slight smile creeping onto his face. He felt grateful for the encouragement and knew he was ready to take on new challenges.
YOU ARE READING
Beyond the Goalpost: The Dream of Niyog V
Action"Discover 'Beyond the Goalpost'-an inspiring tale of Niyog V, a young boy determined to become a football legend. Join him as he navigates challenges with talent, perseverance, and humor, proving that dreams can come true on and off the field."
