Sunday, March 14th, 2010
Jos, Plateau State – 6:42 AM
Adam Black sat by the window in his small club apartment, staring into the dim morning. A thin curtain of harmattan haze softened the rooftops of Jos. The light was still grey-blue, like the quiet after a storm. But in Adam's chest, the storm hadn't passed.
He hadn't slept. Not really. Just fragments—bursts of dreams laced with regrets. The final whistle from yesterday's match rang again and again in his mind, a shrill siren of lost control. One-nil at halftime. Two-one by full time.
A loss.
His debut had ended in defeat.
The newspaper had arrived earlier than usual. "Niger Tornadoes Blow Plateau Away: Questions for the New Gaffer."
A column by a local journalist—Musa Talleh of The Jos Eagle Eye—called his tactics "admirable but naive." Another pundit questioned why a foreign-born rookie had been given the reins at all.
Adam closed the paper. The ink still smelled fresh. His fingers smudged the headlines as if erasing them would change anything.
Then came a knock.
A soft, polite one. That meant only one person.
He opened the door.
Efe stood there with a flask of hot tea.
"You haven't been outside yet, have you?" he asked, voice cautious.
Adam blinked. "Why?"
Efe shifted. "There are fans. Out front. Banners. Chants. They're not happy."
Adam's eyes narrowed. "Already?"
Efe looked down. "They were here before sunrise. Someone painted the gates. It says: We Don't Want Adam Black."
Adam took the tea without a word. He sipped slowly, the heat scalding, but it grounded him.
Outside, the city of Jos was already waking. But for Adam, the day felt heavy and slow—like trudging through water.
---
9:15 AM – Plateau United Club Offices, Meeting Room A
The boardroom was a cramped, brown-paneled space with an old air conditioner that wheezed every few seconds. Seated around the rectangular table were six men—none of whom looked pleased to be there.
Chairman Musa Balogun leaned forward, temple veins visibly throbbing. "We've had one game. And already, the fans are restless."
"I understand," Adam said calmly, sleeves rolled up. "We dominated the first half. We created chances. But—"
"But lost," said Samson Mba, leaning back with crossed arms. "That's all anyone remembers."
The words cut sharper than intended. Adam turned to face him directly. "What do you think I should have done, Samson?"
A flicker of a smile. "It's not my job to say. You're the one in charge."
There was a pause. Chairman Musa spoke again.
"Adam, we brought you here to bring fresh ideas. But fresh doesn't mean fragile. The fans don't know your plans. They just know we lost. At home."
A board member tapped his pen. "There are rumors in town. That we gave this position to someone untested because we were... experimenting. This club isn't a lab."
Adam's jaw tightened.
"I'm not here to experiment. I'm here to win. I know what I'm doing. I just need time."
"Time," Samson echoed softly, "is expensive. Especially in a title race."
Musa cut in. "Let's be clear. No panic yet. But we expect visible progress. You have three games. We want at least one win. Maybe two. Otherwise…"
He didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
---
Outside the Club Gates – 10:40 AM
The protest had swelled.
Thirty to forty fans stood clustered behind the main gate, waving placards and shouting chants. Some wore Plateau United jerseys, others had makeshift signs: "No To Foreign Experiments!" and "Bring Back Our Plateau Boys!"
Security tried to calm things, but the mood was volatile. A plastic bottle hit the gate. Someone let off a small firecracker that cracked like a gunshot. One sign read: "Black Out Adam!"
From inside the hallway, Adam watched it all through a tinted window. The sound was muffled but heavy. He said nothing.
Samson walked past behind him and muttered, "You're popular already."
Adam's shoulders tensed.
Coach Danladi came up beside him. "They don't see what we're building. But I do."
Adam nodded slowly. "We'll show them soon."
"Not words," Danladi said. "Points."
Adam turned away from the window. "Let's get back to work."
---
11:30 AM – Club Training Pitch
The players gathered under the late morning sun. Some moved with purpose. Others dragged their boots. Adam stood before them, hands on hips.
"I watched the tape again," he began, his voice cutting through the quiet. "First half—good structure, good movement, brave play. Second half? We lost shape. We panicked."
Silence.
"Leadership," he continued, scanning their faces. "It's not just the captain's job. We need eleven leaders on the pitch."
Efe handed him the tactics board. Adam pointed to the back four.
"Too many gaps here," he said, tapping. "Their second goal came because we didn't press the second ball. We can't afford passengers."
Eyes lowered. A few players glanced at each other.
"We go again," Adam said. "Train hard. Get better. Earn respect."
Then he stepped back.
Training began.
And the hard part wasn't over.
---
2:05 PM – Samson's Office
Samson Mba closed the door and dialed his cousin, who worked at Jos Sports Radio.
"You see what happened yesterday?" he said. "We were one-nil up. Then the kid bottled it."
His cousin chuckled. "You predicted it."
"I know football," Samson said. "He's playing PlayStation tactics with real men. The fans are already chanting. By week three, he'll be gone."
"You think they'll fire him?"
"They won't need to," Samson said. "The pressure will break him."
He smiled to himself and leaned back in his chair.
Outside, the wind stirred dust across the empty stadium.
---
6:30 PM – Black Family Phone Call (England)
"Adam, you sound tired," his mum said gently over the crackly line.
He exhaled. "It's been a day."
"You didn't lose alone," his dad added. "That team, those fans, they're all part of the journey."
"Yeah. But I'm the face."
There was a pause.
"Son," his father said, "pressure is the weight of belief. They shout because they care. That's football. But listen—don't ever forget who you are."
Adam didn't reply at first.
Then softly: "Thanks, Dad."
"We're proud," his mum said. "One loss doesn't change that."
---
Monday, March 15th – Jos City Market (Evening)
Adam pulled his hoodie low and walked the market streets. Jos at night was music, meat smoke, and soft quarrels about Premier League clubs.
He passed two older men arguing.
"That Black boy doesn't understand Naija football!"
"But he played good football o—just lost focus!"
Adam walked on.
A group of kids played with a deflated ball near a roadside buka. One of them nutmegged another and shouted, "I be Plateau coach now!"
They laughed.
So did Adam.
Just a little.
---
Tuesday, March 16th – Club Media Room
Efe brought in a file of compiled social media reactions.
"Some of it's ugly," he said.
Adam skimmed. Memes. Insults. A few supportive messages buried in the noise.
"This one," Efe pointed, "says you look like a math teacher pretending to coach football."
Adam almost smiled.
"Maybe I'll teach them something."
---
Wednesday Morning – Tactical Review
Adam stood before his coaching staff. Charts behind him. A new plan.
"We'll change our build-up slightly. Two holding midfielders will rotate more dynamically. And I want the wingers tucking in to create overloads."
Danladi nodded. "Better transitions."
Efe added, "Will the backline adjust?"
Adam turned. "Yes. High line, but staggered. And I want communication drills this week."
Samson, arms folded, said nothing.
But his eyes burned.
---
Thursday – Fan Podcast Clip Goes Viral
"He's just another European wannabe. They don't get Naija grit. Plateau United is not a chessboard—it's a battlefield."
The host's voice boomed through Bluetooth speakers across Jos.
Adam heard the clip at a mechanic's shop when he went to fix his club car. A few workers recognized him but said nothing.
One gave him a silent thumbs-up.
The others looked away.
---
Friday Evening – Training Ends
Adam walked across the pitch alone.
The sun dipped low behind the stadium stands. Players had gone. The grass was quiet.
He knelt down, touched the turf, and whispered, "Next match. Everything changes."
Behind him, a figure approached—Coach Danladi.
"Tomorrow," Danladi said.
Adam stood.
"No more smoke," he replied. "Only fire."