Sunday, January 26th, 2010 – Jos, Plateau State
The faint scent of wood polish mixed with that of ripe mangoes wafted through the early morning air. Adam Black stirred awake not in a flat or modern apartment, but in the familiar room of his grandparents' bungalow—the one he had slept in as a boy during holidays. His room was still the same: faded blue curtains swaying slightly in the Harmattan breeze, a wooden shelf stacked with chemistry textbooks and dog-eared football magazines, and his tactical board pinned to the wall beside a poster of Thierry Henry in his pomp.
It was 6:10 a.m. The sun was only beginning to yawn over the distant hills of Jos, casting a slow golden stretch across the floor. Adam sat up slowly, hearing the faint hum of the transistor radio in the sitting room. His grandfather, Baba Moses, was already awake.
Adam padded into the kitchen, where the smell of roasted yam and pepper sauce greeted him. His grandmother, Mama Ogechi, wore her usual lemon wrapper and a light scarf. She smiled without turning around.
"Good morning, Coach of the people," she teased, stirring the pot.
Adam smiled, rubbing his hands. "Morning, Mama. Smells like we beat Enyimba already."
She chuckled. "You'll beat them with sense, not only mouth. Come and eat, biko."
He sat to eat. Baba Moses joined them soon, clutching his folded Daily Trust newspaper, glasses low on his nose. "They're still debating that comeback from yesterday. Hmm. Second half was strong. But Enyimba is not Niger Tornadoes."
Adam nodded. "I know, Baba. Today, we prepare."
Rwang Pam Stadium – 8:50 a.m.
The team bus pulled up, cutting through the fog that still hung lazily around the slopes. The players filed out, dressed in Plateau United tracksuits, earbuds in, minds set. But Adam noticed their faces — confident, not complacent. The comeback against Tornadoes had lit a fire.
Danladi greeted him by the training shed. "Morning. Field's set."
Adam gestured to the assistant coaches. "All players today. We train with rhythm. Let the squad feel the flow."
By 9:15 a.m., the squad stood in a semi-circle around him. Adam looked over them—from the young right-back Goke, who was still nursing a slight knock, to Abdullahi, whose break-up play yesterday had been crucial. He spoke calmly.
"Yesterday, you showed grit. Not just talent. That matters. But football doesn't reward one-time effort. It rewards consistency. Discipline. Intelligence. Enyimba is no joke. They play with tempo. We must be faster."
He clapped his hands.
"Let's work."
Training Session – 9:30 a.m. to 11:45 a.m.
The drills were sharp. Rondos. Quick transition plays. Positional rotations. Adam walked the pitch like a conductor among instruments.
"Two touches only, Abdullahi. Keep it moving!"
"Goke, shoulder check before you receive!"
Danladi and the physical coach worked the pressing drills. Meanwhile, Adam watched the front three replicate runs behind the line—he was particularly pleased with Bello's clever feints.
Then came set-pieces. Efe curled balls into the box; defenders leaped like hawks. One ball clanged off the bar. The players groaned, laughed, reloaded.
Finally, a full-pitch scrimmage. Adam stood quietly now, watching from the sideline, arms folded. Samson Mba hovered behind him, taking notes.
Coaching Office – 1:05 p.m.
The office was modest but efficient. An overhead fan spun lazily. A whiteboard displayed formations and arrows. Adam, Danladi, and Samson gathered around the screen.
The footage of Enyimba's recent match against Sunshine Stars played.
"Look at their shape," Danladi said. "Wide 4-3-3. Fullbacks push high. Uche, their number ten, drops deep to connect play."
Samson scratched his chin. "Their press starts the moment the centre-back passes out."
Adam rewound a sequence, pausing just as Enyimba overloaded the right flank.
"We counter that by overloading their overload," Adam said. "Draw them in, then switch quickly to the left. That means our midfield has to be comfortable under pressure."
He pulled up the tactical board.
"We try 4-1-4-1. Abdullahi sits. Musa and Kazeem advance. Sikiru holds width on the left. Bello drops slightly."
Danladi nodded. "We need a video session with the players. Show them this clearly."
Samson added, "What about fitness?"
"Rotations will help. But intensity must stay high."
Plateau United Media Room – 3:15 p.m.
Flashes clicked as Adam stepped up to the dais. He wore a clean white Plateau United polo, arms tense at his sides. Reporters were already whispering.
Bolu Ade from Jos Sports Radio asked first. "Coach Black, your team came from behind to win yesterday. Are you confident against a side like Enyimba?"
Adam spoke steadily.
"Confidence isn't loud. It's preparation. Enyimba has history. But we prepare with detail, with humility. The boys are hungry."
Another reporter pressed, "Rumors say some senior players are unhappy with the training intensity."
Adam looked up, his eyes calm. "We train like we want to win. If anyone's unhappy with that, they don't belong here."
He thanked the press, stood up, and left. Outside, Danladi smiled. "Nice hit, gaffer."
Adam shrugged. "I'm not here to please everyone. Just to build something real."
Evening – Back Home
It was nearly 6:40 p.m. The sun dipped over the ridges, setting Jos aglow with orange and gold. Adam returned home, feet heavy. Baba Moses sat outside with a transistor radio by his side, reading aloud news about the CAF Champions League.
"That Enyimba squad, they say they've added another striker."
Adam sank beside him. "Let them bring ten. We'll bring our plan."
Mama Ogechi called out from the kitchen. "Adam! Come and eat before you start dreaming tactics again."
He laughed.
And for the first time in days, Adam let his shoulders drop. But only for a moment. Shadows of Enyimba loomed. But his signals were clear.
Preparation. Clarity. Purpose.
Tomorrow, they would be tested.
But tonight, he rested. Not in a flat. In the home that made him who he was.