Thursday, November 28, 2013.
Underneath the veil of a night sky aglow with bright city lights, a bus slowly came to a halt right outside the wide gates of Stade Maurice Dufrasne, the home ground of Standard Liège, located in Liège, Belgium.
Zachary and his teammates immediately alighted from the bus, only to come face to face with a group of excited fans waiting in front of the stadium.
The entrance into the stadium was in a state of complete chaos, with the fans trying their best to push forward with the intent of getting a peek at the arriving footballers. Those dressed in Rosenborg's black and white colors even started screaming out the names of Zachary and his teammates, like a group of kids that'd just chanced upon an ice cream truck. Their excitement was beyond what words could describe at that moment.
"How come there are so many Rosenborg fans waiting for us at the gates today, even when we're playing away in Belgium?" Zachary wondered out loud as he exited the bus and stepped into the chilly late autumn air. "It's as if we're playing a home game at Lerkendal! The situation here is quite abnormal!"
"Do you even need to ask why many of our fans are present today?" Mikael Dorsin, Rosenborg's assistant's captain, chimed in from in front of Zachary. "Aren't you the very same person who urged them to come during yesterday's pre-match interview? You even promised that we would win the match for sure as long as they came to support us. So, why are you surprised?"
"Oh!" Zachary exclaimed, smiling ruefully. He couldn't help but recall the previous day's pre-match interview with Olav Brusveen, the TV2 sports reporter. "Are my words that effective at mobilizing the fans? Maybe, I should apply for a transfer to Rosenborg's publicity and marketing department." He added in a joking manner while still glancing around at the group of rowdy fans.
"Maybe, you should try," Mikael replied with a chuckle. "With your fame and standing among the Rosenborg supporters, you would be the perfect recruit for the publicity team."
"Hehehe!" Eric Bailly chuckled from beside Zachary. "I'm trying to picture our boy, Zach, moving around Norway, marketing and selling my jersey as part of the publicity and marketing team. Wouldn't that be an incredible sight to behold?"
The rest of the Rosenborg players laughed at that, causing the whole atmosphere around the team to become more easygoing as they marched into the stadium under the protection of the security personnel. They soon left the rowdy fans far behind and continued conversing among themselves as they marched through the stadium tunnel.
They were pretty relaxed even though they were well aware that they had to win that day's match. It seemed like winning the Norwegian Cup a few days prior had boosted their confidence by a significant degree. So, they all marched with confidence, unbothered by their surroundings, even though they were in enemy territory.
"Guys, silence!" Coach Johansen shouted, clapping his hands right after Zachary and his teammates had stepped into the dressing room a few minutes later. "We only have forty-five minutes to the commencement of the game since it's already 6:15 PM, as I speak now. So, I'll only give you five minutes as preparation time before we head on to the field for our pre-match warm-up."
On hearing the coach's words, the Rosenborg players immediately quietened down before settling down on the benches around the dressing room. They all knew what was at stake. So, they cast everything else out of their minds and started preparing for the game with a hundred percent focus.
**** ****
Concurrently far away in the Democratic Republic of Congo.
The sun was about to sink below the horizon in the west when a Mitsubishi Pajero SUV slowly pulled up into one of the parking spaces at the headquarters of the Congolese Football Federation in Kinshasa. Without any bit of dilly-dallying, Coach Samson Damata, the plump-aged coach that'd helped arrange Zachary's move to Norway, alighted from the vehicle.
"Bonsoir, coach," an excited voice sounded from behind him immediately after. "Welcome to the headquarters of the Congolese Association Football Federation. It has been long ever since we last met, old friend."
Coach Damata couldn't help but do a doubletake on hearing the voice. He was surprised for a moment as the voice belonged to Maxans Omari, the president of DRC's football governing body - FECOFA. But that didn't stop him from immediately turning around and coming face to face with a well-kept middle-aged man dressed in a DRC national team jersey over a pair of jeans.
"Bonsoir, Monsieur Omari," Coach Damata hurriedly replied also in French while taking the president's hand for a firm handshake. "Yes, it has been long. But is it a coincidence that you met me here in the parking lot, or could you have been waiting for me?"
Mr. Maxans Omari smiled, taking a step forward and patting Coach Damata's shoulder. "I just got a heads up a few minutes ago from Coach Makouana that you would be arriving here shortly to watch Zachary's match with the other coaches. So, here I am, waiting for you as we have some business to discuss."
"Oh!" Coach Damata's heart skipped a beat. "You could have called me if you needed to discuss something important, Mr. President."
"I was indeed planning on giving you a call before the end of this week," the president said. "But then I got wind that you would be here today. So, here I am."
"So, what can I do for you, Mr. President?" Coach Damata said. "What would you need from a simple coach like me, who has no inkling about anything going on in the association?"
"A simple coach, I hear!" Mr. Omari suppressed a chuckle. "Coach Damata, you're as humorous as ever. Anyways, I need a bit of your help, coach."
"Oh, I guessed as much," Coach Damata said, taking a peek at his watch. "Can we talk as we walk to the activity room? I don't want to miss Rosenborg's Europa League match against Standard Liège that is starting in about thirty minutes."
"Me, too," the president said with a chuckle. "I also don't wish to miss Zachary's match today for anything in the world. So, let's do as you suggest and discuss while heading to the activity room."
Coach Damata grinned and nodded. "How is everything at the association, by the way?"
"Same old," the president sighed, shaking his head. "We're under constant pressure from the public due to the poor football infrastructure in most areas around the country and the corruption at all levels of football, especially among referees. Of recent, there's also a lack of interest in domestic league matches due to the tyranny of European Leagues. All in all, we're still facing the same old challenges, especially here in Kinshasa. You guys in Lubumbashi and your TP Mazembe are the only ones that are fast-growing out of those few problems."
"You're the FECOFA president," Coach Damata remarked with a smile. "Can't you do anything to tackle those challenges to some degree?"
The president sighed, shaking his head. "Leadership is not as simple as you think, my old friend. There are a lot of institutional challenges that are impeding me from implementing most of my plans within the association. For instance, I'd put forward a proposal to build a public football academy in Kinshasha a few months back. However, the budgetary committee outright rejected it even when the money was available. As an individual, I couldn't do much to push forward with the proposal after that setback."
Coach Damata nodded but remained silent since he didn't want to give his stance on DRC's football governing association. Instead, he kept marching forward through the corridors of the FECOFA headquarters while waiting for the president to carry on and state the reason why he'd sought him out.
