Tuesday, January 21st, 2010
Jos, Plateau State – Morning
The rain came early.
Jos didn't often wake up wet in January, but this morning the clouds had argued through the night and finally opened. The water hit the dusty streets like a cleansing ritual, soaking away the heat, the hurt, and, maybe, the sting of loss. But inside the Plateau United training complex, there was no cleansing. Just preparation.
Adam Black stood under the edge of the training shed, arms crossed, hoodie damp. He watched the rain batter the pitch, the droplets forming tiny rivers along the sidelines. Beside him stood Danladi, holding a tablet wrapped in cling film.
"Forecast says it'll stop in twenty minutes," Danladi said, glancing at the screen.
Adam didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the far goalpost, where a lone groundsman fought the rain with a broom, trying to clear a water puddle that stubbornly formed near the six-yard box.
"Tell the boys we start in thirty," Adam finally said. "Mud or not."
Danladi nodded and jogged off.
Behind him, footsteps approached. Samson Mba, clean as always, held an umbrella over his head and a plastic folder.
"They're saying Sunshine Stars are fast," he said without introduction. "Especially on the flanks. That right winger—Damilola—he's got pace like a motorbike."
Adam took the folder and flipped it open. Reports. Analysis. Some of it good. Some lazy. He snapped it shut.
"They're wide. But their transitions are slow. If we press their number 6, we stall the move. Push the line high, and we'll catch their fullbacks flat."
Samson blinked. "High line? After just conceding two?"
Adam's face didn't change. "You coach scared, you lose scared."
Rain continued to tap the roof above them.
Samson sighed. "Well. At least if we lose again, the chairman might finally decide he's had enough. Give someone else a chance."
Adam turned slowly. "You want this seat?"
Samson shrugged. "You're young. You'll bounce back. Me? I've been around."
Adam stared at him for a long second. Then said, "Then be around. Training starts soon."
He walked away.
---
Rwang Pam Stadium – Training Field, 10:42 a.m.
The rain had stopped, but the field was wet. Slick. Mud clung to boots. But the players moved.
Adam had set up a grid. Four teams of five. Tight space. One-touch. Two-touch. Constant rotation. No time to think. Just act.
"GO!" he shouted.
Pass. Move. Recover. Switch.
Obinna intercepted. Turned. Laid it off. Emmy collected and one-touched to Bashiru.
"PRESS!" Adam yelled.
Taye Mustapha lunged, mistimed, slipped in the mud. Laughter rippled.
"No laughing!" Adam shouted. "Mistakes in here mean goals out there!"
The tone sharpened. The players adjusted. The tempo rose.
Danladi walked over. "You're squeezing their instincts."
Adam nodded. "I want habits. Not reactions. Habits can survive pressure."
They trained through the morning. Possession drills. Defensive transitions. Pressing triggers.
By noon, soaked in sweat and caked in mud, the players were on the ground catching breath.
Adam stepped forward.
"Saturday is not about revenge," he said. "It's about identity. That badge on your shirt? It means fight. Intelligence. Commitment."
He looked around.
"And belief."
---
Tuesday Evening – Video Room, Plateau United Facility
The room was dark, lit only by the projector on the wall. Adam, Efe, Danladi, and Samson sat in silence.
On screen: Sunshine Stars' last match. They were quick. Wide. But loose in midfield.
Adam paused the footage.
"Watch their left fullback," he said, rewinding. "Ball-watching. Late to recover. Kelvin will have joy here."
Efe pointed. "If we rotate Bashiru and Samaila, we get vertical runs through the middle."
Samson said nothing.
Danladi added, "Their keeper plays high. Emmy can lob him if he ghosts in late."
Adam nodded. "Let's write it up. Tomorrow's session is about execution."
They sat in that room another hour. Mapping movements. Creating alternate shapes. Building something new from what was broken.
---
Wednesday, January 22nd – Afternoon Press Conference
The media room was modest. A few tables. One Plateau United banner. Three microphones.
Adam sat beside Mr. Dogo and a representative from the league.
Questions flew.
"Coach Adam, are you under pressure after your debut loss?"
"No more than usual."
"Are you confident about the weekend?"
"We'll be ready."
"Do you feel the players trust your methods?"
"They don't have to feel. They just have to work."
Murmurs.
A reporter leaned forward. "You trained in England. This is Nigeria. What makes you think your style will work here?"
Adam looked at him. "Because it's not an English style. It's mine. And it's about to come alive."
Flashbulbs.
Dogo smiled. A rare sight.
---
Wednesday Night – Adam's Flat
He stood in front of the mirror. Practicing.
Not speeches.
Silence.
He watched himself. The frown. The resolve. The small fire in his eyes.
Then he turned to the wall, where three words were written on a page he had taped up:
Create. Don't Copy.
Below it, another page:
MAKE THEM DREAM.
He sat at the desk. Opened the laptop. Began to write out the matchday plan.
Sunshine Stars were coming.
But Plateau was rising.
One day at a time.
One habit at a time.
One belief at a time.