”Anglatia playing well-organised but Os Gnus try to raise the pressure one last time. Joao Ferreira added Lua Banga to the side, Edison Joao waving to his teammates to charge along with the three strikers but the Crusaders seem eager to walk away from Sao Pedro with a point. A corner kick! A passionate glance from Amarinho to the referee, he’s giving us one last chance. The fans are chanting the name of Landa Landa but he seems to be the only Banguelan not in the box now.
Amarinho waving only his left hand, whatever that’s supposed to mean. There it goes and… Rui! Rui! Like a buffalo he puts it against the net! Rui Mokanga! What a goal, what a player! We’re going to the Campionato! Look at him, he’s been the driving force behind these qualifiers and now he does it again with goal number five in four games. He’s pointing to the cameras, this one was one for y-…”
In a lonesome trailer at the outskirts of Mpulo, the screen suddenly turned black. Usually, Gilberto could blame the cracked satellite dish but his finger remained rested on the big red button of the remote for what seemed an eternity as he hazed across the window. Despite trying to swallow away his sentiments, a tear escaped his eye. It was a small room, with a worn-out sofa forming the barrier between the kitchen and the television set, but it still occupied nearly half the space of the trailer.
He mused upon the last time he had seen Rui Mokanga play, back than a surprising debutant who received the remarkable honour of teaming up with Ze Vidigal in the attack of one of Banguela’s most illustrious sides. Despite only being able to obtain a ticket for the angle stands, even he saw what many people around him immediately spotted: that ‘that broomstick knows his game’. And that impression made it out of the stadium as well, with scouts noticing that the much more selfish Ze Vidigal hardly made better stats than that youngster.
A decade had come and gone and the scruffy junior evolved into a leading figure of the national team. When he left Uniao behind and joined North Laithland, Rui Mokanga had suffered. The step up to the Premiership, one of the – if not the – most demanding competitions in the world had been harsh but with fifteen strikes last season, he had grown to someone who deserved his spot. Admittedly, most eyes were on the admirable technical duo Chloe Rudden and Prisca Stenet, but it was his power in the box that allowed the Spiders to challenge the top teams. Although numerology fetishists saw little similarities between them and the national team, Rui Mokanga there was as well the strong man who both scored and made his team better, surrounded by shorter profiles such as Bogwa, Macabanga and Amarinho.
Gilberto had cried that one time as well, barely noticeable, stuck like a fish in a barrel of Uniao fans who cheered for their new star. That very evening he had picked up his pen and written a letter, explaining who he was and why he… The handwriting had been godawful, he hadn’t put anything to paper in a long while. But the message was honest. Ten years later, the letter was still there. He had put it away in the sole cupboard he possessed but Gilberto still fell its presence every time Os Gnus graced his screen. Or when there were Premiership highlights. Or when he saw football or… He rose and as he did so, he put on the television again. Not to hear anything, but the sound did an attempt to chase away loneliness.
”Indeed… Indeed, let’s look at that goal again. Perfect outside-inside swing from Amarinho but look at how Rui Mokanga gets away from his guard. That’s what playing with the best week-in week-out does to you and of course the celebration. It’s a trademark one for the man of the day, a thank you wave to Amarinho, a clenched fist and then pointing to the cameras. I guess it’s one for his mother who follows all his games at home, surrounded by her other children. She raised all four on her own, a proud woman I guess!”
Gilberto Mokanga sighed as he walked up to the cupboard, trying for once to take the most courageous road.
