Pass the ball to Hakim

Effortless movement. Like a graceful swan in its element, he makes everything look easy. He was born for this. Picking teammates out from incredible angles. Weaving around defenders with careless ease. Trying to lob the goalkeeper from the centre half.

When you asked for a picture or description, the scouts waved you off with a knowing smile; “Just watch for two minutes and you’ll be able to pick him out”. Staring out from the window of your hideout, you understand their certainty. Nobody comes close to him and he knows it.

it's in the unwillingness to exert himself as if he knows he is meant for more, the careless arrogance with which he tries to recreate the sweeping moves he watches every weekend from his favourite players. The way he stands out in his white top even when the coach has allocated blue and red shirts for contrast.

He mirrors some of your fears. The feeling that you are stuck in autopilot, doing just enough to get by and draw applause from fans and employers. Deep down, you know you haven’t raised your game but you wonder if this crowd deserves it. You are King of the Sunday League. Every move is followed by shouts of “idea” and “ Sabi ball”. They love that you have a formula: run, duck, weave and curve an overhead pass into the opposition half. Anything else is sacrilege. To evolve would be to offend, To grow is to alienate your biggest fans.

But what do I know? I am just a man looking for stories from the second floor of the house across the street. I have just one request; Pass the ball to Hakim, even if he fails to make it out of the Sunday League, at least I’ll be entertained.

Selah