In His Shadow

by M Koleosho

a team that had lofty ambitions on a squad comprised of some of the best players in Europe. Failure was not an option!

  Nicknames were being bandied around. Commentators and fans were having a field day trying to come up with what suited my style of play best. After previous stints as ‘El Quicko’, ‘Lightning lad’ and ‘Speedo’, ‘The Blur’ was what stuck.

  Personally I liked lightning lad best but the blur was a decent alternative. Apparently I was moving past opponents so fast, I deserved a nickname that was worthy of my quickness.

  Life was good, both on and off the field. As my talents shone on the field of play, so did the attention I got off it. The fashion capital of the world is filled with beautiful people from all walks of life. I saw so many beautiful women in just my first week there that I started to think I was living on a movie set. I generally try to keep a low profile but it’s tough when everyone wants a piece of the new ‘golden boy’. I had to hire a publicist along with having Hector move down to Italy permanently. Too many gigs and events were popping up; someone had to start organizing my life.

  It was one event after another and after a while I couldn’t keep up. Not that I didn’t like the attention, but I was beginning to spot a trend. These events were made up of the same type of people; rich and pretentious who wanted to be in the know on all things. They maneuvered to be around the golden boy, see what I was all about and how they could use it to their benefit. Some of these folks were movers and shakers in the country, a crowd I wasn’t entirely sure I fit in.

  For me, I enjoyed meeting the beautiful women the most. Honestly I do have a bit of a womanizer in me, but at least I can admit to my own flaws. How many straight men could honestly turn down some of the women that I met?

  Growing up in my little niche of the world, I never considered myself handsome; neither did I think I’d get this type of attention. Yet here I was, getting offers to star in commercials for major fashion ads because they thought I had the ‘look’

  Needless to say, my star was shining bright in Italy and unfortunately for me, I wasn’t sure I liked it being that visible. There were nights I just wanted to stay in and play FIFA, but my publicist would tell me, I was building a ‘brand’ and the last thing I wanted was pissing off the people who had the power.

  ‘Out of sight is out of mind’ he would say. In fact I heard that phrase so much, I was beginning to hear it in my head at random times.

  Eventually I was able to balance the expectations. My main allegiance was to the team and its fans. Whilst the social events opened me up to a new world and brought more opportunities for me to grow off the field, I never stretched myself too thin to jeopardize what was really important.

  Milanistas didn’t seem to mind if I were linked with one model or the other, as long as I was pumping in goals on Sundays, who I took to bed was not a big deal.

  And boy, did those goals come! I have tried to think of an apt comparison to what I was going through back then but the most accurate description I can tell is the analogy of a rusty faucet. At first, its tough getting it to turn, but with some grunt work and pressure, it starts to move, inch by inch. First it starts off as slow drips, but after much pressure is applied, it bursts open and a jet of water follows suit. That was precisely how I saw my career up to that point.

  I had always teased with my talent (I promise this wasn’t on purpose). Showcasing flashes of brilliance here and there but never truly consistent. Sometimes I’d string together a bunch of brilliant plays; sometimes it’d even last a few games but never like this. It was as if coming to Milan had lifted off whatever veil was keeping me repressed and I had evolved into something else.

  I have heard players describe this phenomenon as being in the zone. I am not sure I am doing it justice explaining it the way I am, but I will try my best. Being in the zone is an indescribable feeling akin to having an out of body experience.

  Imagine going through life at a certain pace only to discover suddenly that there are in fact several more paces you can move, all of which puts your peers behind you. I used to think I was good, but when I moved to Milan and started realizing my abilities, the game changed and I began to see things in a new light. I went from steady cruising at 10 Mph to constantly moving at 40 - 60 mph. Leaving defenders and opponents in my trail, lead footed to my quickness.

  To be honest I still don’t know what brought this about. I attribute it to hard work and working with world class dietitians who helped my body to achieve its true potential. The key to my locked potential was put in place and as the famous saying goes, ‘the rest is history.’ I was scoring in pretty much every game I played, sometimes even multiple times in one match. It wasn’t like my opposition was letting me do as they please, in fact it was the opposite, but regardless of whatever schemes they sent at me, my determination and abilities simply made me impossible to stop.

  There was one ploy opponents started using which made me very angry. The knock on me was that I disliked contact. Supposedly if you played me rough, it would throw me off my game. As unsubstantiated as it was, it started making teams go after me more physically. It never really deterred me from getting the work done, but I sure went home with a lot of unnecessary bumps and bruises.

  It seemed my default setting was now centered on scoring goals. I was getting so good at putting the ball in the net that it felt like an anomaly whenever I didn’t score. My team rose to the top of the rankings, comfortably in the driver’s seat in the league championship. My name started being bandied around for the major awards in soccer, but as much as I tried to ignore them, I could not avoid it. Fans and haters alike started growing. I would go to one city and be surprised at just how many were sporting my jerseys and in the same city see some of the vilest banners written about me. I had become quite a polarizing figure and I never understood why.

  All I really wanted to do was play ball. I could do without the side show and most definitely without all the hate.

  When all was said and done, we ended up winning a double, both the league and Italian Cup. As much as we tried to win the champions league, we lost out in the semifinals to a very resilient Borussia Dortmund side. The loss stung, but I was proud of how the team handled those games.

  My off season was packed, and even though I would be playing football minimally, there was still a lot of football related activities to take care of. Endorsements were pouring in, and I being the new golden boy on the soccer scene was in demand. Everything from cereal companies to pushing the latest smart phone was at my beck and call. I tried not to over saturate myself, but it seemed the more I backed away, the more the offers came.

  I had to hire a publicist, a stylist and someone to look after my finances. It felt like every other week there was someone that needed to be assigned to some new role popping up in my life. Sometimes I didn’t even know who was working for me; all I knew was that, at the end of the month, my signature was on their paycheck.

  Like I mentioned before, with my newly established fame, so came women of all shapes and sizes.

  I don’t consider myself the most attractive guy on the face of the earth but I have been told times without number that I am handsome. I suppose when you couple that with the fame from soccer, I was bound to catch a few starlets and celebrities.

  I had to learn how to play the media game. Sometimes it was fun, other times it was completely nauseous. As much as I liked being famous, sometimes I pined for those quiet times back home when I was fighting to survive. No one cared what I did and who I did it with. I never had to watch who I was seen with, where we were seen at and what it would do to my reputation.

  It was especially difficult when I had to turn down so many women, simply because I wasn’t sure who was watching.

  Another unfortunate thing about being the golden boy is how the thrill of the chase is completely lost. Women offer themselves to you without much effort. The very few that do, always end up leaving because of all the distractions that come with the lifestyle.


  Despite the bevy of A-listers at my disposal, my first and one true passion still remained soccer. I dedicated myself to staying in shape, improving my skills on the pitch and being at my absolute best entering the season. I was excited to get the campaign going. We had added some stellar players that off season. I was excited about not only our domestic chances but also how we would fare in international competition. Something else was spreading around the sports blogs and media publications. I was being mentioned favorably as a Ballon D’Or candidate with some even saying I had a chance of winning it. The whole thing sounded far-fetched at first, but as the season approached, the rumblings grew louder. Another angle to my story had opened up and how I was going to react to it was all in my hands.

  The Ballon D’Or is the most prestigious award in our sport. Also known as the world footballer of the year award, it is the soccer equivalent of winning the Oscar or Grammy or any such award that recognizes one’s best feats. A culmination of the year’s work awarded to the most outstanding player in the sport. To be mentioned as a Ballon D’Or winner immediately elevates you to a class that only a certain few have been able to achieve. It’s an incredibly selective process; one I never thought