

IN HIS SHADOW

BY

MAYOWA KOLEOSHO

Copyright Mayowa Koleosho 2013

Smashwords Edition
In his shadow I have stayed for so long. Watching him bask in success, trying so hard to catch up to him, sometimes succeeding, most times stuck in the wake of his glory. Ours will be written in the books of history, as a rivalry unlike other. Two mortals unlike any, two of the best to ever do it. Alas I think I am the only one who will see it so. History is never kind to the 'might- have beens', 'second bests' and 'also-rans.'

I will be forgotten. Perhaps mentioned in a highlight package or two, never truly getting the credit I deserve. Is it my fault that I am playing in the same era as he? How different would things be if I had shown up a good ten years before or after his reign?

People think I hate him. They've convinced themselves that I dislike him for stealing my shine. They couldn't be farther from the truth, and whilst we might not be the best of friends, I respect him as a competitor and most especially as a man. He is one worthy of emulation, a great teammate from all I have heard and an even better family man.

It seems this is also another point of contention between us. People perceive him as being humble and modest, an everyday man blessed with extraordinary talent. He looks like the guy who bags your groceries at the local store. Completely harmless, wouldn't hurt a fly. Yet when he steps on the field, time slows down and he does things even I am amazed by. You will never hear me saying he is better; I am too much of a competitor to concede such. There's nothing he can do that I can't, but certain factors have helped him do better, number one being the style of play his team employs. But I digress, my nemesis as the media likes to portray, shies away from the spot light. Rarely gets seen besides the field of play and is happily married with two kids. I on the other hand, I am completely opposite. I don't mind saying I love the attention. If you grew up the way I did, wouldn't you want to hug the spotlight too?

Born into poverty, I fought for everything I got and most times those battles were at the dinner table, trying to make sure I got enough to get through the day. Those times were harsh, and moments like these bring back those memories vividly.

Father wherever he is, had abandoned us after mother gave birth to me. She rarely talks about him, but once in a while, when the spirit moves her, she tells us how he was a no good bastard, but a very attractive one at that. She constantly reminds me that I have his looks but thankfully none of his character. If only she knew that I am terrified I might just be like him and that's why I avoid settling down. Unlike him, I have all the resources to give my kids all they ever want yet at the back of my mind, I wonder will I keep searching for greener pastures. Am I doomed to keep chasing something; be it my rival or that Holy Grail I still haven't been able to define?

Whereas I grew up with little, God blessed me with talent. Gobs and Gobs of it. In fact when I look back, he probably used that to compensate for us lacking in so many other areas. Ironically, my first love wasn't soccer. I never imagined I'd be making millions from it, never thought my name would be mentioned with the greats and most certainly never thought it'd be the path that would lead my family and I out of poverty.

It was simply a hobby that the local kids took upon themselves because toys were too expensive and most of us didn't have television sets in our houses. We didn't need expensive equipment, bare feet, a round ball or anything spherical for that matter was good enough. Goal posts were made of literally anything we had. Shoes, sticks, stones and what have you.

We played with no expectations, the game was pure. No ulterior motives, no agents, no fans, no media, no shoe companies and all those factors that add another dimension to what the global game is right now.

I don't recall being the best player in those games. I was a very frail kid that got pushed around a lot. Once in a while I'd do something that made the other kids look like their feet were stuck in mud, but I never stringed those type of plays together for a long period of time. If you asked anyone back then if they thought I'd end up playing professional football, they would think said person was out of their mind.

Things started to change towards my last two years of high school. That was when I had my growth spurt and went from a skinny short kid to a skinny tall kid. Yes I remained frail, but I was no longer the shortest kid in class. Do you know how weird it is to tower over the same people that used to look down upon you? It wasn't just my height that changed; my body seemed to have picked up on it too. I was faster on the playground, more alert. I reacted quicker than all those around me, which slowed down the games for me. Soon I became unstoppable on the playground and my popularity started to grow.

The coach of our high school team convinced me to join them and said I could play any position I wanted. This was right about the time when Maradona was weaving and probing defenses like they were made out of holes. That man was a god to me. The things he could do on a football field where unheard of, and no matter how much I tried, I felt I wasn't good enough.

Now that doesn't mean emulating him didn't improve my game. It did a lot for me, and even up till now, some comment on how much my game is a lot like his. It was a no brainer asking to play in attack. I pictured myself scoring all the important goals and the adulation that would follow. I imagined how all the girls who had once ignored me would swarm around me after such heroics. I had already counted my sheep, fleeced them and was well on my way to collecting the profits only to have the rug yanked from under my feet.

We sucked! There is no other way to put it in simpler terms. We were B-A-D, in every sense of the word. Whereas I thought I was waltzing into a championship season, it was actually the opposite. I don't want to lump all the blame on my teammates, after all we win and lose together as a unit, but some of those guys should never have been let near a ball talk less starting on the team. Out of a possible 15 games we played that year, we only won 3. It was a tough time for me; the humiliation sometimes too much to handle. From loving the game of football, to detesting stepping on the field. I considered quitting the team but back then I was getting free food and some rations for playing on the school team. Our financial situation at home hadn't changed and I wasn't about to pass up those free lunches because we lost some games. Lest it sound like my conscience was placated because of some free meals, I am here to set the record straight that such wasn't the case. Each loss hurt and after a while you begin to dread what's coming next.

Your confidence wanes and the joy you once had about the game is gone. It becomes a chore to step on the field, teammates aggravate you easily, you become detached and life loses meaning. Extreme perhaps, but losing sure gives you a jaded view of reality.

My senior year was definitely better and would turn out to be the stepping stone to my future endeavors.

The school had hired a new coach and we picked up some new transfers that year too. It was the perfect prescription for our ailing team and we could tell from the very first practice that it was going to be a special year.

I owe Coach Manuel a lot and I don't think I'll ever be able to repay him for what he did in my life. Prior to meeting him I was an undisciplined; starving young lad whose main priority was making it through the day. I played soccer because I had to not because I loved it. Some of my teammates had talked about applying to colleges, going to university but those dreams never appealed to me. I who struggled to eat daily could surely not be able to pay for university. Besides, I was not that great of a student. I could probably have done better if I had applied myself but I had more pressing issues on my mind.

Coach Manuel saw that talent in me and helped nurture it. He saw what 'could be' and he steered me towards the path. I went from a guy who showed up, laced his boots and danced around with the ball, to a guy who started to understand that there was more to a game than how good you looked. I began to comprehend just how important that piece of round leather was. How much it meant to us and how I could use it to better myself.

It worked!

I began to change on the field of play and it benefitted all not just me. With his training, I moved better with the ball. With his teaching, I learned to beat opponents not only with my skills but with my mind too. It was a lethal combination for a high school attacker, and soon we turned our fortunes around. The more we won, the more my fame spread around the region. Soon our once empty stands were being packed with crowds. In all honesty, I also played with some talented teammates back then, two went on to play professional football so it wasn't like I was the only one doing it all. Where was this talent a year ago you might ask? The same place it had always been, lying dormant within us, looking to be brought forth by the right person. Manuel Gomez just happened to be that man.

It wasn't easy to be honest. He was a disciplined man and he demanded the best from us. He simply could not stand incompetence and to not give your best was a grievous offense in his eyes. Yet despite the tough exterior, Coach Manuel was a very caring man and the first father figure I had in my life. After our rocky start, with most of the team learning to shed the bad habits we picked up from the previous year, we were able come together as a team, unified by one goal which was to win. More importantly this was the home away from home that I craved back then. What I lacked at my real home was made up for by my school family.

It was the recipe for success. It was a weird feeling at first when we started winning games. I had my fair share of goals that year, enough to get noticed by some of the big teams in the country.

Soon, their scouts started coming to our games and there were rumors I'd get signed soon. I tried to block the rumors out, but the more we won, the more the hype grew. I had turned into an overnight star but many didn't know just how much coach Manuel was putting us through to make us look that good. Like I said earlier he really changed the way we saw and believed in ourselves and for that I will be eternally grateful. I became the hottest thing on campus.

Getting attention from girls that had previously ignored me was alien at first, but after a while it became the norm. Just as it became normal for my name to be yelled out whilst walking down the street and random store owners giving me gifts for my 'mama and siblings.' We had restored the city's pride and I was the major beneficiary of its citizen's goodwill. It is amazing just how much winning changes; overnight it seemed our sleepy town had finally woken up from its slumber. This was none more evident than the state championship game. A game many would say propelled me into local lore and one that would cement my relationship with the townspeople for life.

Back then local championships were played at the city's University stadium, but there was so much hype surrounding it that the venue was shifted to a professional football team's arena. The other team was considered the best in the country, and at least four of their players were going professional after the season. It was like walking on egg shells back then. The attention to the game and its participants was suffocating. Everywhere I went someone had something to say to me about it. It got to a point I didn't want to step out of the house for fear someone would be waiting at our doorsteps to tell me how badly the city needed the win. The pressure was getting to me and I needed an escape of some sorts. I began to worry about not living up to the people's expectations. What if I didn't perform like they expected me to? What if we let them down? I had gotten accustomed to being treated nicely and I was scared of jeopardizing it. It showed in the practice sessions leading up to the game. My timing was off and so was my attention. Coach Manuel, sensing what was happening, called for a timely retreat and took the whole team into the mountains a week before the game.

There we were able to get away from the distractions and concentrate once more on what was at hand. It was a God send and much needed. I was able to purge my mind of the negativity and focus once more on the task at hand. Apparently I wasn't the only one feeling this way, as the overall team mood seemed to improve. It was weird practicing in the mountains; the serenity was a distraction when we first started, but after a while I got used to it. It helped me so much back then just getting away from all that was clouding my thoughts that I still take retreats to the mountains up till now.

After our week was up, we went back to the city. Strengthened mentally and physically, prepared to give our opponents the fight of their lives. The attention didn't stop from the city people but it was easier dealing with them this time around. I shut out most things that could bother me and focused on the game at hand. Offers were pouring in from clubs to come play for them after the season but I chose to ignore the stacks of letters piling up on our dining table. After the game I'd go through each to see what was best for me. But until then, the final was all that mattered.

The tension that preceded that game was unreal. I remember sitting in the locker room with my teammates thinking to myself that I was going to puke at any moment. I knew I wasn't the only one who felt that way; a mere glance at my colleagues in nearby stalls, showed a team battling with nerves. A lot of athletes will tell you they get nervous before games. It's nothing new, what you don't want and need is a complete meltdown before your big moment. We were quite close to it, and if not for some timely intervention, the outcome of that night might be completely different. Coach Manuel pulled a rabbit out of his hat which would prove quite decisive. He gave a speech that still makes my heart race whenever I think about it.

A speech about the underdog, about never getting the respect due. About fighting for everything we've got. A speech that made us seem larger than life, one that made us realize just how far we had come. Yes the team out there had more talent, more fans and was expected to kick our behinds, but this was the game of football, nothing was guaranteed. He spoke about pride, about a city that has been overlooked for years. A city that has dealt with harsh economic problems yet the people continue to plow ahead despite the obstacles they face on a daily basis. He told us the city was counting on us, and the least we could do was repay all the good will they had shown us. Slowly our confidence started to rise again and we began to think we could do it. In a matter of moments our whole outlook on the game had changed. We weren't going to cower in our shells, waiting to be destroyed by our opponents. If at all we go down, we'd do so fighting.

And so it began. Very few feelings can compare to what one feels walking down the tunnel and out onto the football pitch. The deafening roar of the crowd stunning you for a few moments. Some get used to it, but for me it's a brand new feeling even till date. You look around that stadium, hoping to find someone you know, and sometimes you do, but most times all before you is a sea of faces. Most unrecognizable to you, but you not to them. There is this familiarity in their eyes, like they've known you all their lives. They scream your name and it almost feels like they've known you beyond that soccer pitch, and maybe they do, after all they've read up on you and followed your every move. Some even know so much about your personal life, you begin to wonder if they live in your head. They call themselves fans and our success brought them out in droves. Now I am more adept at dealing with the fanatical ones, but back then, such was still a novelty to me. The force of over five thousand people, yelling and screaming at you, all at once, can be quite intimidating for a sixteen year old. From playing in front of hundreds, to suddenly being thrust in front of thousands. Some on your side, a lot hostile to your team. I bet every hair on my neck was standing as I walked to the center of the pitch, I sure know there were butterflies in the pit of my belly, frolicking around without a care in the world.

The beauty of football is that once the game starts, and the players begin to move into place, that whiff of the grass beneath you and the first touch of the ball...it places you in the moment and all the distractions fade away. Slowly all the distractions and mental barriers you have built up crumble into nothingness as you focus on the task at hand. All credit to our opponents, they gave us all we could handle and much more. It was a well played game from start to finish. Sometimes tempers got out of hand, but that's to be expected when so much is at stake. We were the under dogs that wouldn't give up, they were the alpha dog intent on imposing itself on us. The result was an exciting, fast paced game that left the fans on the edge of their seats for most of the game.

Both sides had chances to score, none willing to budge to the other. Plenty of dramatics from both keepers, incredible displays of will and grit from the defenses, but with all things in life, all good things must come to an end.

It was in extra time and the game was still deadlocked at 0 -0. We had the ball after forcing their keeper into a quick save. Frustration was beginning to mount as we saw our chances slipping away. Penalties were simply not our thing. We practiced for them, but the whole team seemed to stink at it. The reality that this game might be settled that way was beginning to sink in. We were so desperate for a goal that even our goal keeper came up front for the corner kick. The ball was swung in from the right corner; I was fighting for position in the box. A teammate headed at the goal but the opposing team's defender was in place. He hurriedly kicked it out, only to have it aimed directly at me.

What happened must have taken less than 30 seconds but as I think about it now, replaying it through the lens of my memory, it felt like everything had slowed down. I broke free from the guy tugging at my jersey, knew I only had a few seconds to react and had to make it count. Opponents yelled to distract me, teammates yelled at me to shoot. It was chaos in those few moments, so much depended on that one shot.

I hit the volley, barely missing the guy who had just thrown his body at the ball. A second earlier and he'd have blocked it, but such was not the case and I watched the ball sail past the out stretched hands of the keeper and safely into the roof of the net.

We had won!

I was besieged with more offers than I could follow. It was as if every decent team in Europe and some from the Americas had discovered my address and were intent on getting in touch with me. At first the attention was exhilarating but after we started receiving so many offers and visitors hoping to pry me away, the excitement started to turn into annoyance.

My mother and I concluded that whatever happened next, coach Manuel would play a part in it. It was only right that a man so instrumental in my success would partake in helping me with the next phase of my life. It was he that suggested that I look into getting an agent. Said person would be more qualified dealing with these teams and also work out a situation that was beneficial to me. After going through numerous candidates, we finally settled on Hector Romero. Hector had been in the business for a while and had an impressive client list. He was a pudgy man with a friendly demeanor. Unlike the other agents who talked like they owned the ground you walked on, he was soft spoken but direct. In fact I think the reason we chose him was based on him not looking and acting like he was an agent.

He quickly swung into action and set up try outs for me with some of the top teams in the world. Some of these teams I had only ever watched on TV, to be mentioned in the same breath as them was something I could never fathom up until that point. Now I would not only try out for some of the most iconic teams in the history of the game, but I also had a chance to play for them. It was simply mind blowing stuff for a kid who had only recently finished high school and had no idea what he was going to do with his life.

Our first stop was England to try out for some top premiership clubs. I had never left the boundaries of my little city talk less the shores of the country. I was curious to know what the world offered me and how different it was from what I had imagined. I only knew about England from the little I saw on TV. It had a great footballing tradition and now I would have a chance to try out for the likes of Arsenal, Manchester United, Chelsea and Newcastle. These were all popular teams and I couldn't imagine why any of them would want me. I was simply the guy who scored the final goal in the high school championship game. That didn't necessarily qualify me to play on the same pitch as the likes of Eden Hazard, Jack Wilshere and Wayne Rooney. Hector reassured me that I had something to offer. These teams had some of the best scouts the world had to offer, if they didn't think I was worth their time, they would never have scheduled the try outs. Of course the doubts persisted but Hector's words seemed to prevail. The least I could do was give them my best effort and if it didn't work out, at least I got to travel to a foreign country and play on pitches I had only dreamed of seeing. I had nothing to complain about, life had been good to me in the last six months.

Hector had convinced the English teams that in order to cut down on expenses and resources; one try out with all teams present would make sense logistically. Since I would be arriving in London by plane, Emirates was agreed upon to be the venue where this would take place. On getting to London, I was blown away at the sheer amount of people on its streets at any one time. I came from a place where seeing 50 people at once was considered a big deal. All of a sudden I was thrust into this vibrant city, where people moved around like worker ants. Hustling to and fro, a sea of human bodies. If not for Hector, I probably would be swallowed by said sea. He quickly commandeered the situation and got us into the comfort of a cab that would take us to the hotel we'd be staying at. My trip to London was my first eye opening experience at what major cities looked like. Back then it all felt so alien to me.

On the day of my try out, I was hit with a nasty case of nerves. Showing off my abilities in front of one coach was daunting enough, but to have four or five present was enough to send me into full blown jitter mode. Hector tried to convince me this was no big deal, all I had to do was be myself and everything would work itself out.

Unfortunately all that seemed to dissipate as soon as I got into the Emirates. I might not be a die hard Arsenal fan, but there are very few football fans out there who do not know of this place and its hallowed history. As we walked down its halls, past trophies and memorabilia, it almost felt like those heroes behind those glass boxes and portraits were calling out to me. Telling me of their exploits and achievements; warning me not to soil their sacred pitch. I tried to walk faster, to get away from it all, but everywhere I turned, I saw something that showed just how respected this club was and why it belonged to a select fraternity on the global stage.

We were almost at the entrance leading up to the pitch when I leaned on the wall and started breathing rapidly. I was having a panic attack and I couldn't control my nerves anymore. Hector quickly swung into action, doing all he could to calm me. There was only one person that could help me at this point but he was hundreds of miles away. Luckily, Hector never went anywhere without his cell phone. Coach Manuel was called immediately and he pretty much talked me out of whatever was crippling me at the moment. With me, a lot of what fazed me was mental. Get past that and I was good to go.

I don't know why or how it came to be that Coach Manuel had such an understanding of my psyche, but it probably has to do with the fact that he was the first father figure that truly connected with me. He genuinely cared and wanted the best for me.

Hector was a good man also, but he never could get through to me like Coach Manuel. After that phone conversation I felt a thousand times better and looked forward to getting on the field to show what I was capable of.

I stepped onto the pitch and immediately I was awed. Empty as it was, looking up into the stands was still an amazing sight to behold. This place was no ordinary arena. I couldn't imagine I was out here, when only a month or so ago I was just a high school student. A bunch of men stood in the middle of the feed, conversing with each other. My heart almost a skipped a beat when I realized who they were...Sir Alex Ferguson, Arsene Wenger and four other men I didn't know.

They were all chatting amicably; it looked like they all got along well. I couldn't believe I was not only in the Emirates but here were two men, known as rivals across the sporting world, chatting it up like they were the best of buddies. An image like that never leaves you and helps to put things in perspective. It is a game after all, no matter what's at stake; two competitors should be able to get along off the pitch. Seeing them talking without a care in the world seemed to have helped, as I became less nervous and quite eager to show these football titans what I was capable of.

Arsene was the first to notice us. He smiled and pointed, the other figures around him, following suit...turning their attention towards Hector and I. Hector walked forward briskly, shaking the hands of every one present. He introduced me to each one, making sure I shook hands only after he had introduced me. Arsene's grip was firm but he smiled at me like we had known each other for ages. Alex was chewing his trademark bubblegum, he mumbled a few words of which I couldn't understand but I nodded like I did. The other men nodded courteously at me as we shook hands, none said anything to me.

Hector said they would try to gauge how fast I was, how quick I reacted to situations and how good my ball control was. The whole thing lasted for about an hour plus. There were obstacle courses set up, simulated game play and some sprinting from one end of the field to another. All in all I thought I did well. I even saw Arsene and Alex smiling when I finished my run; I knew they were impressed with my speed.

Afterwards, each man talked to me for a few minutes. Asking me everything from my favorite player to my favorite subject in school. Hector told me they wanted to get an understanding of what type of kid I was. They had to know if I was worth the risk, and whilst this might only be a short meeting, these men were so used to this sort of thing, that they could usually tell if their teams would invest in such a player from those mini-interviews.

Surprisingly, I wasn't intimidated by any of them. I answered confidently; after all they were asking of things that I had no reason to lie.

The only question that caught me off guard was from the Newcastle scout. He wanted to know if I would give up everything to play football. It took me aback because I had never thought about that.

I loved football but not at the expense of forsaking my loved ones. After football I'd still have to live with those choices. I thought about giving him the convenient answer. To make it sound like I valued winning above all else, but Coach Manuel had always told me it's easier to recall the truth. A lie continually changes.

So I told him that I couldn't and wouldn't. I loved football but my family was there before I found it and would be there after it. They can both co-exist, I didn't intend on losing either. He never did tell me if I answered it correctly, but he smiled and called it a day after.

The coaches all left, but not without Arsene asking one of the staff on duty to give us a tour of the Emirates. I was the fat kid in the candy shop that day. I have seen plenty of stadiums in my career, but that day was unique. It showed me what my future could be and how close I was to achieving it. I left the Emirates a different person; one determined to succeed.

I was convinced I'd be receiving a call from one of those teams any day now. I thought I had done enough at the try outs to guarantee myself a contract. Little did I know my journey to success would take a couple of detours before arriving at my destination. Life sometimes makes you reevaluate those things you hold dear just to see how much you truly care. For months I waited...waited on the call from the big teams but it never came. I had turned down offers from lesser teams that were willing to pay me good money, believing I was destined for prime time. I had told Hector to call off any further try outs, thinking to myself that I had done enough with the British clubs to secure a spot on one of their teams. With each passing day, my pride took a hit. I became grumpy and lashed out at those close to me. I admit it must have been tough being friend or family during those times. They soaked up all my frustration.

It was increasingly clear to everyone but me, that the offer from those clubs would never come. They tried to convince me to seek other options but I was hell bent on proving them wrong. Subconsciously I was terrified. Scared that I'd be stuck in this little town, after getting a taste of what the world had to offer, and being prevented from taking in more. It was killing my spirits and I didn't know what else to do.

Finally, Hector gave me the bad news after getting in contact with the football clubs. They liked what they saw but they thought I still needed time. I was über raw and they wanted me to improve on the general aspects of the game. It was a blow to my confidence unlike any. These teams had all signed youth players for less, surely I wasn't the only 'raw' player they have handled. This was my first real taste at rejection and it hurt.

My career was fading away before it started and I didn't like my remaining options. To sum it up, life sucked back then. That was until I got a call from one of the top clubs in Russia. All of a sudden I had gotten a second chance, was I willing to accept it though?

Let me be honest, prior to that point, all I knew about Russia was how cold it was. My understanding of the country was minimal at best. So when this offer came, I was quite unexcited at first. I hoped and prayed that something better would come. If the worst teams in the Spanish, English and Italian leagues had offered me less, I probably would have chosen them over Russia.

My point being, I didn't think my chances of success was that great in a place I knew next to nothing about. I was also worried that I wouldn't be seeing my family as much as I thought I would. It was a tough decision to make, but with each passing day it became increasingly clear that no other offers were coming.

Hector advised me to take it up and do my best on getting there. It was only a two year contract and if I played up to my abilities, other teams were sure to notice.

Begrudgingly and after much dilly dallying, I accepted and signed a contract. The pay was good and it would be an opportunity to experience a different country, but in the back of my mind I felt like I had settled for something below my abilities. My top choices had all ignored me and now I was going for the bride that wasn't even on my radar. I'd be lying if I said I was excited about boarding that plane to my new home. I was already counting down my exit way before reaching my destination.

In retrospect I was quite immature. If I had known better, I would have embraced the opportunity, and seen it for what it was... a stepping stone onto something better. Life would definitely have been easier, but alas, I had poisoned my mind before getting there which would start things off on a rocky path.

If only I had gone into the situation with an open mind, more optimistic about what lay ahead. Perhaps I would have realized just how warm Russians were despite their deadly cold winters. Life and the city wouldn't have looked so gray if I were willing to move past my disappointment of not signing with a big team.

Sadly this was not the case as I was testy from the get go, failing to develop the proper rapport with my new teammates and organization. I must have ostracized all the people who could help me because those first few months were most likely the loneliest in my life. I stayed to myself, rarely going out. Spending my free time skyping my friends and family back home. Since I didn't do much on the social side, I was able to save a lot of money. The team provided accommodation and transport; there wasn't much I was spending my checks on.

Practices and games were pretty straightforward. I showed up, did what I had to do and left. Sounds simple right? Sadly not so much. I never went the extra length, never did more than I was supposed to. I saw it as a job, clock in and clock out. The fun was gone. It's tough to play with joy when you don't want to be there. I am not trying to justify any of what I did back then. In fact my conduct was quite unprofessional and immature.

I acted like a spoiled brat who throws up a tantrum when he doesn't get what he wants. It was unfair to the people paying my salary, I could have done better. I should have done better!

I quickly wore out my welcome with the team and the coach. Alienating myself from the people I was supposed to be close with. I missed home, my family and friends and no matter how much I tried, where I was just couldn't compare. We won our fair share of games, the team had a pretty decent squad back then but because of my attitude, my playing time was quite erratic. Today I'd play, only to be benched for the next three games. There was no rhyme or reason to the rotations but I had no choice but to play and shut up. After the season, we had done well enough to qualify for the UEFA cup. It was a pretty big deal for the team and its officials. They felt they were moving in the right direction. I tried to mend some of the bridges I had burned. Year one had started off badly, I needed to rectify that going into year two.

It sorta worked. I didn't exactly become amicable with my teammates and coach over night, but it didn't feel like there was a huge chasm of communication between us anymore. Everything changed from that point on. Suddenly the gray skies of Russia started to look bluer. The food had more taste to it and I started to find out there were people actually interested in talking to me. Of course this had always been the case, but due to my poisonous attitude when I had first arrived, none of this had presented itself.

The language issue was still a barrier but you'd be surprised at how much you can comprehend once you put in the effort. Year two was turning out to be better than expected but sadly my love for the country would only last so long. The soccer world was beginning to take notice especially with my play in the UEFA cup. I knew none of this, only focused on helping the team win and cementing my shaky relationship with my employers.

I went from not knowing if I'd play games to being a constant fixture. I wasn't setting the league on fire by any means, but the goals were coming in. Sometimes more so than others with the highlight of my season being an incredible brace against the best team in the league and by far the richest.

If they were the big trout of the waterways, then we were the small minnows. Whereas their team was loaded with top quality international players with tons of experience; I was the only foreigner on the squad and I was definitely lacking in the experience department. Bottom line, that matchup was akin to David going against Goliath.

I had begun to notice that no matter the country, one thing remained constant and that was the rabid passion of fans for their favorite teams. Russia was no different and this matchup brought out the good and the bad. It was as if nothing else mattered in those days leading up to the game. I couldn't go anywhere without being told to beat 'Spartak.'

I had thought the high school championship was a big deal, but this seemed to be taking things to a new level. The media covered it non-stop, the city people talked about it like their livelihoods depended on it. As much as I tried to ignore the chatter, it seemed to find me wherever I went. I was more than relieved when game day finally arrived. I could not wait to put that behind me and move onto something else.

As our team bus made its way to the stadium, I saw fans cheering us on, decked in our team memorabilia from head to toe. I saw the excitement, even from children no older than 5. This was a very big deal to them, and if we somehow won this game, not winning the championship would be forgivable.

I suspected the other side had fans just as passionate. I expected them to be just as energized as our fans were. It's hard not to get infected by the enthusiasm surging all around you. Your pulse starts beating faster, images of how you expect the game to turn out starts rushing through your head. For me, this one image of scoring a last minute goal kept coming back. There was no escaping it. By the time that commencement whistle was blown, my excitement level was already way above normal.

I will always give credit where it's due, especially when opposition is involved. In this case though, there's not much 'good' that can be said about our opponents' tactics that day. I felt bad for the fans that paid good money expecting to see a great game and instead got something else.

It's a shame when players feel that by using intimidating tactics they can dominate the game as they choose. We'd heard that the other team used cheap shots and tricks during play, but we paid no mind to it. As far as we were concerned, with the amount of talent on their team, they could beat anyone at their best.

Boy! Were we wrong?

They fouled hard, hit you when the ref wasn't looking, baited you into getting angry and trash talked the whole game. It was stunning just how unsportsmanlike they behaved on the field of play. I lost a lot of respect for them that day and I am not sure they can ever regain it. They sullied the game I loved and it pains me to have been a part of such an ugly spectacle.

Whatever their plan was, it worked as they were able to score two goals in the first half. It seemed they were trying to get us of our game and were doing a good job of it. We were too busy complaining and falling for their tricks to implement our usual style of play. I scored in the 41st minute of play, so going into the half we were only one goal down. Unfortunately for us, they were able to score another goal in the 50th minute which pretty much sealed our fate. I managed to score a goal in the 80th minute, but it was too little too late. They scored another, five minutes later, putting the final nail to the coffin. We went home heads slumped that day. It was not a good showing and we wanted nothing more than to put it behind us.

Just as I was beginning to warm up to Russia, my new found love for the country would only be so fleeting. Offers from abroad were beginning to trickle in, and soon one so tempting would come in that I had no choice but to accept.

I never thought I'd leave Russia the way I did. My belief up until then was that I'd renew my contract with the team and play for them for a few more years. It never occurred to me that the teams that had spurned me a while back would be monitoring my process so closely. Imagine my surprise when Hector called to inform me of a bidding war going on in the transfer market for my services.

It was bittersweet, knowing these teams thought I was worth haggling over, yet I was sad realizing I was about to leave yet another family behind.

That seemed to be the one constant in my life nowadays; open up, build new relationships only to leave them to go do the same thing all over again. I made it clear to Hector, that unless the deal was mind blowing, I had no intention of leaving Russia.

We bid our time. Waiting for the offers to trickle in, looking for the right opportunity to pounce. Meanwhile I continued to enjoy my experience in my new home. Learning more about the people whilst embracing their culture. I couldn't believe just how much had changed for me now that I was more emotionally invested. Never let your fear of change prevent you from moving forward, a lesson that I will hold from now to the grave.

With only three games to go, I had scored 15 goals and was only three goals away from catching up to the league's top scorer. As proud as I was of my individual growth, I was ecstatic about the team battling its way into position for European competition.

Playing in Europe was and still remains a big deal to most teams. It provides much needed cash and it also exposes the brand to a bigger audience. One good season in Europe could change the fortunes of a team for good!

Ideally we would have loved to play in the champion's league, but the top two teams in our league were too far ahead for us to catch up to. No one expected us to do as well as we currently were, but it also didn't mean we would settle for less. Regardless, we were ending the season on the right note, and though at the back of my mind, the thought kept creeping up that this might be my last time playing for the club, I never let it dissuade me from putting forth my best. Tomorrow would take care of itself; living in the moment was what I cared about.

"You are going to Milan" an excited Hector had said. His voice still as clear as I had heard it that fateful day. The room felt like it was spinning, and I thought some sick joke was being played on me.

I yelled at whoever was trying to prank me to get off the phone and slammed it down with much annoyance. Thankfully, it really was Hector and he quickly called back to reaffirm what he had just said. All of a sudden I felt weak to my knees. You would think such news would excite me and truthfully it did, but the initial reaction was more of shock. AC Milan wasn't even on my radar; never thought they fancied me, couldn't fathom playing for them.

It was a storied football club, one well known all over the world. I didn't think they'd want anything to do with someone like me, yet here was Hector telling me I was going to play for them. He told me to sit right that he'd be in Russia by the weekend to give me the right documents to sign and also clean up some loose ends with my present club.

I tried not to get overly excited, after all nothing was set in stone yet. There was also the unfortunate issue of how to handle leaving a place I had come to like and a new-found family that had embraced me so effortlessly. I was surprised at how emotional I was becoming considering I hated my first few months here. As the count down to my departure loomed and approached at a ridiculously fast rate, I began to get nervous about starting over again in a new country.

I was going to a much bigger club with a tradition that placed it in the pantheons of soccer greats. I couldn't afford to disappoint, all eyes would be on me. Despite my excitement at my good fortune, I still had a job to finish in Russia and I tried my best to set aside the distractions till after the season.

We were in a dog fight to get into position for a European championship berth. Whilst it became clear that we would not be winning our league title, there was still hope that we could finish in the top 3 and guarantee a spot in Europe the following year. The focus on this came as a God send, allowing me to divert my attention to the task at hand.

Thankfully we were able to meet our goal. After what seemed like a grueling end to the season, we snatched the third spot on the last day of the season with an overtime win against the lowliest club in the league.

I could come out and say the win was disappointing, we exerted a lot of energy, and were frustrated times without number as every opportunity at goal seemed to be squandered. Yet we eked out the win and we got what we wanted.

I'll be excited to watch these guys in Europe; they've been able to build quite a solid team since my departure. Some of the players were purchased from the money the club recouped from my sale. I'd like to think my contributions are lasting, even without being a member of the team anymore. I am sad I won't be part of their future plans but maybe our paths will cross yet again, maybe I will don their colors once more. As of my telling this, such hasn't been the case. Regardless I will always hold that place dearly in the castle of my memories. It was a necessary stop to mold me into who I am now. For that I will always cherish the time I spent there.

The Rossoneri as they are fondly called in Milan are a passionate sometimes rabid fan base that treats their local sports team as some do religion. It's a city and a people steeped in tradition and it's only befitting that their team happens to be one of the most storied franchises in the world.

I had never received the type of reaction I did on arriving in Milan. The airport was packed with throngs of fans. Most in the famous red and black stripes of AC Milan. The shocker was how many of them had my name on the back of their jerseys. I was their priced get for that year and they made sure to let me know that. Placards and signs all over the room indicated just how much the Rossoneris treasured their new possession. I was more than overwhelmed with the outpouring of love. It felt like something out of a movie.

It didn't stop at just the airport. Even at the hotel where I would be staying, fans lined the streets and converged on the foyer, chanting my name excitedly. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. People all over the city, reaching out to me at every chance they got. Welcoming me to their town, taking me on as one of theirs.

I immediately warmed up to Milan. Not only was it a beautiful city, but the people made me feel like I was born and raised there. I was even more awed when I walked into the San Siro, my new home and what would be the site for many a memorable moment for me.

Words cannot begin to describe the sense of awe that gripped me the very first time I walked into one of the most acclaimed stadia in the world. I had a similar feeling when I visited Arsenal's stomping ground. It's almost as if history is speaking to you through the walls, ghosts of former players and champions, acknowledging you as one of their own.

The likes of Clarence Seedorf, Ruud Gullit, Marco Van Basten and Frank Rijkaard have all made their marks here, and that's just their Dutch Contingency. Zlatan Ibrahimovic, George Weah, Robinho, Paolo Maldini, Franco Baresi, Filippo Inzaghi just to name a few are some of the other world class players to have plied their trades here. In fact when you scroll through the lists of those who have worn the jersey, it's like a who's who in football history.

Yes it humbled me. I had big shoes to fill, hoping that one day they'd mention me in the same sentence as some of those guys. Looking out into the sea of faces that had come to celebrate my arrival. Receiving the jersey with my name and number on it from the club president only helped to solidify what felt like a dream. I truly was a Milan player, something I never fathomed could happen a few years ago.

There and then I made up my mind that my name would be uttered in the same sentences as the greats and on favorable terms too. I was going to rise to the occasion and surpass whatever expectations were set for me. I had an eye on making history, nothing was going to stop me.

I got off to quite a start with my new club. In fact, in my first three games I scored six goals, including a game winner in the third game. Euphoria does not begin to describe just how elated I was about my start. I was playing for 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 in my wildest dreams would have me standing with the best in the game talk less lifting the prestigious item.

Imagine the shock when at the end of my second season with Milan, I was notified that I was one of the five Ballon D'Or finalists. To be honest my play did warrant and support my being on the podium that said night. But it all felt surreal to be in that room and on that stage with players I envied from afar. I was more of a fan, staring in awe at some of the guys I had only seen on my television. Legends from past years came up to me to introduce themselves, telling me they loved the way I play and to continue to get better. I don't think cloud nine could have contained me; the excitement surging through my body at that point was incredible. Here were players I had idolized, telling me they knew of my scoring prowess and liked what I do. I never for once thought I'd be in the same room with these men that molded our sport into what it is now. I never fathomed they would know who I was. It felt good knowing my hard work was paying off and shortly after that; I received the best news of the night when I was awarded the Ballon D'Or.

At first I didn't realize what had just happened. In my mind, one of the other guys besides me would win it, so I was prepared to shake their hands and walk off the stage as soon I could. Instead when the other guys walked up to me and started congratulating me, I was at a loss of words. That moment still has to go down as the most surreal point of my life and trust me I have had plenty of those. I could hear the crowd cheering and clapping, could see the camera flashes going off but it was still taking a while to register. Slowly I made my way to the podium where legendary Italian defender Paolo Maldini was holding the award to be handed to me.

I smiled weakly as I accepted it, looking at the sea of faces below me. I had no idea what to say. I had believed I wasn't going to win, so I had never bothered to write nor memorize a speech.

Here I was, standing in front of peers and people from every facet of the sports world; being watched by millions from around the world without a clue of what to say. Yet as I stood there, wracking my brain for what to talk about, I stumbled onto a part of my memory that I had forgotten still existed. I remembered those countless hours in front of the mirror, where I had pictured myself hoisting the Ballon D'Or. I remembered those words I had said back then and the elation that came with it. I latched onto those feelings and poured it out to the people before me. Letting them know how I dreamed of this moment but never thought it'd come this soon and certainly not the way it did. I urged young kids to dream and believe; after all I am a testament of what that can achieve. I walked off the stage to an ovation and don't think I have ever felt better in my life about an awards show. It was truly one of the best nights of my existence.

Barely 25 and I had won my first Ballon D'Or. Imagine the elation that was surging through me as I walked off the stage. Now I understood what 'walking on cloud 9' meant, a dream had come true and it felt too good to be true. The one prevalent thought on my mind that night was to return with the award back to where it had all started; back to my roots! I needed to celebrate this win with the people that had helped me start this journey.

Ever since moving to Europe, I had not gone back home. Though my family had come out to see me and watched some of my games, I had not been able to squeeze time in to visit them. I was excited and nervous about the trip. I didn't know what to expect, after all I had been gone for so long. What would they think of me? Would they embrace me like one of their own or would they look at me as a sellout that now makes a living amongst Europe's wealthy?

We had to fly into the big city and then drive down. My little love as I like to call it was a small fishing town with no airport of its own. We had two convenience stores, a church, a school and a village clinic that took care of most of our needs. Everything else involved us taking a boat or ferry into the major city that had the airport, or taking the longer route by driving.

I had made sure to cover my face at the airport, but a few fans had spotted me. The plan was to come in unannounced lest there be any type of commotion but that was already being jeopardized with the way I was mobbed. Thankfully my quick thinking manager and the driver also posing as my body guard had intercepted and herded me to the car where we quickly sped out of sight before word got out that I was in the vicinity.

Fame unfortunately has its drawbacks. As much as I try to stay in touch with all my fans, it is simply impossible to do so all the time. There are moments when I crave the anonymity of my former life before making it big.

No one would have paid me any mind walking through that airport back then. Now, without any type of disguise, the circus is always in town whenever I am around.

I remember staring out at the landscape as we drove back home. I had done the same when I was moving out to start my soccer journey. Now everything looked so alien to me. This was a road I had plied so many times but it all felt so new. Would this be the reaction I would get at home? Would my friends and family feel like strangers to me?

It didn't take long for me to find out. Apparently word had gone out that I would be arriving that day and the streets were packed with well-wishers. Crowds of fans lined the streets as the car drove by, cheering me wildly as we passed by. I was shocked to see so many people out; I didn't even know there were that many people living in the town.

The crowd got thicker as we approached my mother's house. By the time we turned into the street leading up to her place, we knew we would have to walk up. I saw all sorts of people in that crowd that day. From young men my age, to old citizens. Kids in high school to tots being carried by their parents. Most in the sea of faces had on my jersey or something from a club that I had played with. The outpouring of love was so strong that I am sure a tear or two might have rolled down my cheek that day. Not to say it was easy making it through that crowd, but it was worth it going through those people who hugged and cheered me on because I was one of their own. They were proud of my achievements and wanted the best for me. I know I keep talking about incredible moments in my life, but that one was special to me. It chokes me up every time I think about it.

By the time I got to my mother's place, I was spent. I had grabbed and embraced so many people that my hands felt like dead weight. When mama flung open those doors and gave me that smile of hers that warms even the coldest of hearts, I couldn't hold back the emotions anymore. I lurched forward and broke into tears in her arms.

The world was my oyster, as the famous saying went. For the next year or so, I could do no wrong. Everything I touched blossomed; you could say I had the Midas touch. Both on and off the field, I was celebrated for my scoring prowess. Money came pouring in from endorsements and I was the odds on favorite to win the Ballon D'Or yet again.

It felt like a dream, but one I had no intentions of waking up from. Milan was the team to beat in Europe, rampaging through any and all competitions. I wasn't solely responsible for this of course, but since I was the one who scored the most goals, it was attributed to me.

Alas with life, nothing lasts forever. Just because something is a certain way today, doesn't mean it will be that way. I have come to accept and perhaps begrudgingly understand the temporal nature of things. I should have known my team and I could not stay on top of our respective positions forever. It never works that way, especially with sports. Some team sick of losing would figure out a way to compete with us. Some unheard of player, hungry for success would come and dethrone the current best. It was as good a law as any, "what goes up, must definitely come down."

I liken European club soccer to an arms race for lack of a better term. The storied teams pile up talent usually at the detriment of smaller ones.

Smaller ones trying to stay competitive scour the world searching for cheap talent they can use to stay afloat and lure big teams into paying more than they were initially got for. It's the way the game has evolved; money finds a way to taint everything it touches, soccer not being an exemption. Of course not every team works like this, Barcelona is well known for its youth academy, where most of their future stars are cultivated. It's cheap and efficient but not many teams have the time or the resources to compete like that. It's a dog eat dog world for the most part. Big dog sees juicy bone it likes, big does goes after it with all its might. I know this because I wouldn't have ended up in Milan if this had not happened.

The Italian Serie A is made up of many teams that have at one point or the other dominated European soccer. Producing some of the world's finest players, continually churning out talent to best their opponents. It was only natural that with my success at Milan, other teams would look for ways to nullify the talent disparity or even do better than us. This was by no means solely restricted to Italian teams, other major European players were shoring up their teams after we had won the champions league in other to keep up.

Competition was going to be stiff, but we were quiet confident in our chances. Perhaps a bit too confident. The glory unfortunately had gotten to us and it showed with our play. Not that we weren't dominating, but some of the hunger we had the previous season was no longer there. I was still scoring at a record pace, but I didn't feel like I had anything to prove to anyone. As long as I was scoring and the team was winning, it would be difficult for anyone else to win the Ballon D'Or over me.

Little did I know a storm was brewing, in the guise of an 18 year old wunderkind from Japan. World soccer was about to be rocked to its core and I had no idea the bulls-eye was right on my back.

Shinji Kanewa stands no more than 5'6 and that's being generous because on first seeing him, he looks much smaller than advertised. A quiet kid with a diminutive frame, there's nothing about him that screams superstar, but because of his deceptive appearance, many an opponent has dismissed him, only to rue doing so.

This unassuming character hailing from Japan that normally wouldn't get a second look in most busy cities is somewhat of an enigma. Till date I still find it incredible how the guy who looks like he is a member of the high school band can be blessed with so much talent on the field of play.

A transformation seemingly happens when he steps on the field, going from church mouse to a beast of epic proportion. Unable to be contained by defenses, rampaging through any and all constructs set up to stop him. Simply calling him a freak of nature might be a disservice, because to move the way he does, gliding around the field, scoring and distributing the ball with such ease is really remarkable. In all of my days of playing, I don't think I have ever seen a player move that fast with the ball. He turns like his legs are made of some gelatinous type of product. I consider myself fast which by no means am I trying to toot my own horn. I have left countless defenders in my wake; once I start bearing down full speed, it's almost impossible to stop, but even I know when I am bested and this kid Kanewa is undoubtedly faster than me.

I didn't know much about him, until he single-highhandedly lead his national team to the Olympics gold. Then he was just a scrawny kid with talent, but in retrospect no one who had watched him back then, could have accurately predicted that he would have the type of impact he has had on the game so far.

I mentioned earlier how on first seeing him, one does not think 'world class athlete' talk less one of the greats of the modern game.

It's a wonder how the ones we are quick to dismiss are sometimes the ones we should be paying the most attention to. Whilst he was breaking onto the world stage via the Olympics, our fellow Italian rivals Juventus were keeping close tabs on him, monitoring his progress and scheming ways to bring him into the fold. Of course they weren't the only European team interested, but they were easily the most persistent.

Luckily for them or maybe by some weird twist of fate, Juventus was Kanewa's favorite team, giving them a leg up amongst his other suitors. It was a match made in sports heaven, one that was about to cause problems for the rest of the football world.

He moved to Italy the season I won my second Ballon D'Or. I remember his signing was such a big deal back then, after all he was the first Asian player to be signed to Juventus and for a record fee. There was some controversy as to why an unproven player would warrant so much money, but after what he had done at the Olympics; those critics were mostly in the minority.

I didn't pay much attention to the move personally, I was on top of the world at that point in time, and the last thing I would be worried about was some new comer I had never heard of. With my second Ballon D'Or under the belt, I was somewhat confident that I could win it again the following year. It was arrogant and of course presumptuous to think no one could challenge and beat me for the trophy. In analyzing my likely completion for the award, I had completely ignored Kanewa, thinking he would not have that much of an impact that season.

Boy was I wrong!

We faced Juventus three times that year. Twice during the domestic season and at the finals of the Copa Italia. They beat us twice, including a thrilling win at the Copa, taking back the trophy we had always won since I arrived. In all three matches, they dominated us. In fact, if not for a last gasp goal, of which some would say I was off sides, we probably wouldn't have beaten them the one time we did.

It is weird how one player can come to a team and change their fortunes instantly. Juventus have always been a good team; a storied franchise with a lot of accolades to hang their hat on. For the past couple of years, they had fell on hard times. Scandal after scandal rocked the team, at one point even relegating them to a lower division. They had just gotten back on track, trying to put together a competitive squad to compete both domestically and internationally.

We had beaten them silly the last two years; I probably scored more goals against them than any other Serie A outfit. Now, they looked different. They were hungry and played with so much passion, spear headed of course by their new dynamo, Kanewa! It felt like we were playing a completely different team. That first match was a wakeup call, not only to us but the rest of the world.

They had arrived and wanted us to know they wouldn't be bullied anymore. They thrashed us 3-1 in our home. Kanewa scored all three goals; we should have known at that point that he was going to be a thorn in our sides for years to come.

It was tough accepting that there was not only another team to rival us in the Serie A, but also another player to shake things up on the world stage. We won the Serie A and the champions' league that year but I believe it was because we had a more experienced team and our chemistry was more proven, having already played a few seasons together.

Without this, Kanewa and Juventus would have won at least one of those trophies. In every competition we played that year, they were there breathing down our necks, giving us a run for our money. We had to go through them to get what we wanted and I remain proud of my teammates and what we accomplished.

The Italian Serie A competition came down to the wire. Unlike previous years where we had run away with it from the onset, Juventus was neck and neck with us till the bitter end. You could say the gods of soccer were smiling at us because they drew their last game whilst we won ours outright. In the end, the title was ours by a two goal difference. We never fathomed at the start of the season that things would be that tight, neither did we expect Kanewa to impact Juve as it is fondly called, the way he did.

I won a third Ballon D'Or but already the ground work for my rivalry with Kanewa had been laid. He came second in the voting and till date some still believe he should have won over me. New blood had been pumped into the game and sides were being taken.

I took it all in stride but I won't lie, it bothered me. The media started playing up the rivalry like we were two sides to a coin. I played for Milan, he for Juventus. I was tall for my position; he was short with an incredible center of gravity. I signed with Nike, he signed with Adidas. I had the model good looks; he looked like a school boy, ready to rush home to catch the latest showing of Naruto.

Whilst I had gotten used to the attention that came with being a major soccer star, he absolutely abhorred it. Not much was known about him, a man of very few words. He spoke through his feet, and when he did, no one could ignore it.

I had to get better; there was no two ways to it. A challenger had presented himself and he would not rest till he was crowned the best.

In as less as a blink of an eye, all you have worked hard for can come crashing down around you. I have learned life is so temporal, and so many can go from front page news to being buried in tiny italics in the least read section of the paper.

Kanewa won the next Ballon D'Or...actually he won the next two to be exact but I will get to that in due time. Like I said, it doesn't take long for life to come in and usurp you from your comfortable throne. Complacency is an athlete's greatest foe, that and time ironically. I had underestimated my competition and was paying badly for it. Not that it was entirely my fault, sometimes these things are really out of one's hand.

The media that had once adored me and proclaimed me the next best thing in the world of sports was quick to turn on me in favor of the new prodigy. All of a sudden I was the arrogant playboy who spent more time chasing starlets than on the field of play.

The criticisms stung, but the only way I could fight back was winning on the field. Unfortunately for me, that was also proving tough because as many times as we won, Juventus was doing even better. The tides of change had rolled in and it was firmly on their side.

The media continually talked up their style of play, Kanewa's rise to greatness and how our team was embroiled in chaos. It felt like the castle I had worked so hard to build was being razed. Vandals had made it into my fort and were hell bent on torching everything. My mind state was troubled, some might even say chaotic. I felt like I was being attacked and the only way to defend myself was to go on the offensive.

Winning heals all wounds but the same is just as true for the opposite. The more you lose, the more rifts begin to open up in the squad. Phantom arguments pop up, 'unnamed sources' start running to the media, tattling about all that's wrong with the team. Confidence begins to dip and chaos gains a bigger foothold. Not that we were falling to pieces, but merely being second best to Juventus was not good enough especially with the way we had dominated Europe in previous years. The wolves had been let loose, and the scent of blood had them on our trail.

It is very hard for people who have tasted success at the highest level to relinquish it. This is why so many stars struggle to keep up with reality once they are out of the spotlight; from being on top of your respective line of work, to barely being acknowledged. Fame, wealth and all its by products are addictions. The lifestyle that comes with it draws you in and before long you forget who you are, succumbing to the allure of success.

Whilst my circumstances were not that dire, I could sense things were changing. The bright lights that used to be solely focused on me were growing dimmer, whilst my Juventus counterpart' was growing brighter.

I had tasted success, liked it and thought that it would be that way for a long time. Foolishly I forgot how fleeting these things are. Kanewa had changed all that and now I was finding it difficult to adjust to being second best. Before I knew what was happening, he had won two straight Ballon D'Ors over me including all competitions that our respective teams vied for during that period. It was surreal the way things had changed and so quickly, really all I could do was try to catch up to him.

By now the media was firmly on his side. Fans had also taken sides. I had my loyal fan base, he had his. Arguments were intense between both sides as to who was the better player, sometimes getting quite ugly. The media and our respective shoe companies pounced on this and turned our rivalry into a global thing. It was me on one side, the former three times Ballon D'Or winner against the new blood from Japan who currently held all significant trophies and awards in the game.

I was only 26, Kanewa 3 years younger yet they played it up like I was some old athlete trying to find a grip on the ever changing landscape of football. I won't lie it infuriated me to see how things were going. Mad that people thought I was done.

In private, I disliked Kanewa but I tried to play it cool whenever we met in public. I suspect he felt the same way about me, as we never said but a few words to each other, despite meeting on numerous occasions.

My dislike for him wasn't born out of jealousy; I will be one of the first to tell you he is incredibly talented. It is rare to see someone who possesses such a gift with the ball, even rarer to see someone at that height dominate the ball so easily. Color me impressed, he is definitely someone who has my respect on the field of play. Yet I can't shake this feeling of annoyance whenever his name is brought up. It was almost like I disliked Kanewa the media creation more than Shinji Kanewa the actual man.

Demoted to the back seat in a car I had driven for the past few years. I felt like an outcast in the game I loved. But here's one thing about me that some might not know, I am not a quitter and I hate losing. For some, challenges pop up and cripple their aspirations, for others challenges bolster their resolve and motivate them to do better. If it meant spending more time in the gym, developing my body to get better, then so be it. If it meant sitting my ass in the video room for hours, studying opponents and the greats of the game, then so be it. If it meant distancing myself from the outside world to get better, then so be it. I was sick and tired of being the second best. I had my sights on Kanewa, with the intent of taking back all that had been lost in the past two years.

I had been in his shadow for too long, watching him dominate the scene, questioning my skills, doubting my abilities. It was time to set things right and take back what was mine.

Our respective clubs were considered the top two teams in world soccer. Our players dominated football awards and rankings. Our coaches were viewed as the top two in the game. Our rivalry became so intense, media networks and the Italian football association started scheduling our games on days more likely to get the highest viewership...and they did!

Match days between both sides literally shut the country down and maybe some parts of the world. To miss a Juventus - Milan match was similar to missing a life altering event, or so I was told. In Italy, very few things can replace the passion for sports and we just happened to be on top of the sports pecking order back then.

I was going into the season angry. I was frustrated with all the attention my rival was garnering. I thought I had been snubbed when I had not won a single individual award the previous year, despite having pretty good individual stats. Granted he led me in pretty much every category, but still the fact that he was not European born made me more likely to win the European player of the year. Sadly, disappointment struck again, as they gave the award to a teammate's of Kanewa.

I remember standing on that podium, thinking of grabbing the trophy from said teammate and walking off the stage with what was rightfully mine. Reality dictated otherwise, as I had to stand there and force a fake smile, pretending to be a good sportsman when in fact I wanted to knock out all the people on stage.

I went home that day realizing the odds had been stacked against me. I am a competitor above all things and I wanted to win. I didn't play the game to be second best, not when I knew I was capable of being the best. I knew I had an attitude problem that was working against me. It is funny how some think just because you have good looks, fame and all the things that come with it (mostly beautiful women) that you are automatically some arrogant prick.

I have my flaws no doubt, but being arrogant isn't one of them. Yes I admit I love women and have been linked with quite a few gorgeous ones, but still it doesn't give anyone the right to lump me into some category I am not deserving of. I felt that a portion of the media used this against me and whilst they didn't come out saying this, it was always implied when Kanewa's simplicity and humility was constantly stressed to counter my supposed Casanova lifestyle.

I had to change the way I was being viewed. Maybe I was putting too much stock into winning over some new converts but I was so sick of losing out to Kanewa that I had to try all options available. This included toning down my social activities and focusing on more beneficial ones. Charities, getting involved on social media and being more accessible to the fans were all now in play. Operation rejuvenate my image was now in motion.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't paying attention to the match schedules of our respective teams. Especially if Kanewa's team played before ours, then I'd use it to gauge just how well I had to perform. Some might call it tactless, maybe even selfish but I saw it as motivation. If he scored a goal, then I knew had to score two. If he scored two, then I had to try and put in one better. Granted it wasn't always this way, but this was how contentious our rivalry had become. I suspect he did the same because when the script was flipped and my team played first, Kanewa's individual performances always seemed to be a notch better than mine.

Our very own version of follow the leader was taking us all over the world. From one major competition to another, with each of us trying to will our teams to victory whilst trying to outdo the other. The fans will testify to how competitive things got and nary will you find one who didn't appreciate it. We had turned up the heat on the soccer world and there was nothing that would stop us. I had come into that season prepared to fight all the way to the end. I don't think I had ever exerted myself as much as I had on the field of play. If there were any levels I had previously not reached ability wise, this was the season I did so. Despite all this, I was either on par with Kanewa or slightly a step behind. Whatever I did, he was right there doing similar. Some games I had the upper hand, in others he did. Our one and only encounter that year was such a big deal, the media had been talking about it two months in advance. These things were typically the talk of the town, but certainly not like this. Because we were neck and neck in the title race, neither team could afford to stumble. I knew if I had any chance of proving to the sports world that I was deserving of the Ballon D'Or, that matchup would be a good start. Come game day, I was all nerves. The pressure of the ordeal at hand was weighing down heavily on my mind. The butterflies were not only present; they were causing a ruckus in my stomach. With that said, I am a professional athlete. No matter how nervous one gets, as soon as I step out on to the field, my body returns to normalcy.

The first half of the game lacked any type of excitement. Both teams were cautious, feeling each other out, not trying to make any moves the other might capitalize on. It was a boring affair and the fans were getting antsy.

What had been billed as the match of the year had been such a bore fest. If the same repeated itself in the second half, there would be a lot of pissed off people in the stands. Luckily for them, both sides upped the ante and all were treated to a game that will go down in Italian soccer lore as one of the best matches of all time. Kanewa broke the deadlock 5 minutes into the second half and appropriately broke the floodgates for the goals to follow.

Ten minutes later, I was the recipient of a gorgeous header from my teammate that sailed deftly into the top corner of the goal. If you have never scored a goal with 50 or so thousand people cheering or jeering you on, then it might be tough for you to relate to the type of elation that swells in you on delivering for your team. All I remember from TV replays was running wildly to the corner and diving as if in a swimming pool. Seven minutes after that goal, I had latched on to an errant pass from the opposition and was sprinting down the field in full force. All that was left between me and the goal was a defender and the goal keeper. I used a few leg overs and feinted left, sensing my defender had committed to that angle I moved right. I had beat him and was getting ready to strike at the keeper when said defender clattered me from behind, leading immediately to a penalty.

As usual whenever a foul of such nature is committed, the culprit acts like he is wronged, yet the evidence was clear to see, he had brought me down to prevent me from getting a shot off. I calmly placed the ball on the spot, preparing to take the penalty. Most people think penalties are easy. I know so because time after time I have heard people comment on how they are the luckiest shots in the game. " _An aberration to the free flowing sport of football....It's one man versus another with a goal post as wide as the side of a barn. How could anyone miss_?" But miss they do and quite often too. Penalty taking involves skill, technique and precision and at this level of play, whoever is behind the post is usually pretty damn good. It's all about timing, trying to destabilize the goalie, getting him to commit to your bluff. I have seen all types of penalty takers ever since I started watching football. Some are cheeky, some are ruthless. Frank Lampard of Chelsea for instance plays the ball only to one side, but his shot is so powerful, most keepers have no hope of catching it. But then there are keepers who are simply so large and their wingspan pretty much covers the length of the goal post or at least most of it. Beating such guys is complex; a lot of calculation goes into trying to place the ball where it negates their strength.

My heart was beating fast as I went through a dozen scenarios on what I wanted to do with the ball. Finally I settled on steering my shot towards the far right corner. If the keeper were to try, he'd have to get his whole length to parry my shot away. It had become customary for me to take a deep breath and exhale before converting penalty kicks. Something about the routine calmed my frayed nerves. I am able to block out all the distractions and solely focus on the task at hand. I moved, I shot and thankfully the ball did as commanded. 2-1, I had put my team up one and couldn't have felt any better then and there. I immediately streaked to the far corner; shouting out God knows what, pumped beyond belief. If the game had ended that way, I'd probably have been the happiest man in Milan that night. Unfortunately with a game that big, nothing is ever guaranteed.

There were about twenty minutes left. We were up one. A lot of teams would revert to cautionary tactics at this point. Juventus was simply an outfit far too dangerous in the attack to keep playing free flowing football with. But we were not other teams, neither were we scared of them. We prided ourselves on playing entertaining football, winning whilst having fun at it.

To retreat and simply wait on our opponents barrage otherwise known as 'parking the bus' in defense would be viewed as cowardly by our fans. So we continued, dashing forward when the need presented itself and trying our best to keep Juventus from venturing into our goal area.

Sometimes despite one's very best effort, it just isn't good enough. We kept Milan at bay, but only for so long. They pressed and pressed, and kept throwing all they had at us. I give my teammates a lot of credit for they defended valiantly that day. Unfortunately it wasn't enough. Kanewa was the recipient of a through ball, beating two defenders to calmly place the ball in the net with 15 minutes to go. Their fans erupted in a deafening roar. Ours could only stare on in shock, their silence just as profound as the reaction of their counterparts. We felt like we had just watched our magnificently built sand castle just get washed away by a surging wave.

Our mojo as some would call it, immediately went out the door. It's hard to get your spirits up after you've played so hard, only to concede a goal by a momentary lapse of judgment. But yet, our woes were about to be compounded. Approximately 5 minutes after their equalizer, we were called for a hand ball foul in our penalty area and Juventus was awarded a penalty.

Despite our furious protests, the referee refused to budge. The decision had been made and the penalty was to be taken. I couldn't even look at Kanewa as he walked up to the spot. From the crowd's reaction, I knew he had scored.

Words cannot begin to describe the emotions that were spreading through my body, and from the looks on my teammates faces, it wasn't alien to just me. We had been up for most of the match, only to see our fortunes change hands in the span of five minutes. With such short time left, it would be a Herculean task scoring again or at least ending this game on a respectable note. Despite the obvious lack of enthusiasm, we were professionals and we knew what was at stake. In football one never gives up until the final minute and the ref blows his whistle for stoppage. I have seen some miraculous last gasp efforts that would put even the staunchest of pessimists to shame. Miracles occur often in this wonderful game that I call a job, and maybe Milan was due for one I thought to myself.

And so we set upon the unenviable task of trying to score on Juventus whilst doing our best to keep them at bay. Not exactly the position we had envisioned ourselves to be at this stage of the game but such were the circumstances we had found ourselves in. They had really good defenders but that wasn't what made them so tough to score on. It was the fact that they were simply too good at holding on to the ball, passing and spreading it amongst themselves, dominating possession and preventing the other team from getting chances. They were so methodical in the way they played, quick precise passes, moving together in one hypnotic rhythm, like a wave slowly but surely advancing on all fronts till it reached the shore.

These guys could pass the ball for hours with the other team barely getting a chance. I had never seen anything like it in all my years of playing and I must admit, whilst mesmerizing from afar, up close it was nauseating. To run around chasing the ball, unsure of getting it, but nonetheless committing yourself to retrieving it because it's all you can do to launch one last salvo.

I have stated in the past that football can be quite unpredictable; you can never truly plan the outcome of a game. Such an occurrence was about to gift us with an outcome that many on Juventus' side would be bitter about till today.

Juventus had the ball, with about a minute to go. They decided they would go on one last offensive. Why they thought this was a good idea is beyond me? I suppose when you are quite confident in your offensive prowess you don't need to worry about being cautious. They were on the edge of our box when Kanewa was brought down by my teammate.  
I thought it was a fair tackle, he did go after the ball, but because of the position and how Kanewa fell, it looked like it should have been a foul. His teammates were temporarily stunned, hoping the referee would call it in their favor but instead play was allowed to continue. Whilst they were trying to argue what had just happened, we launched a quick counter attack. I raced down the field as another teammate of mine sped down the flanks with the ball. I knew he was going to cross it to the middle; I just didn't want to mistime it. There were only a few seconds left and we would never get a chance like this again.

Most of Milan's players were still behind, by now realizing they weren't getting the call, sprinting back to try and prevent our attack. There was only one guy trying to cover me, my eyes lit up seeing my advantage.

It was too little too late for Juventus, my teammate swiftly launched the ball with a perfect cross, guiding it onto my head which in turn directed it onto the net.

GOAL!

Mass hysteria enveloped the arena at the unbelievable sequence that just took place. I can't begin to sum up what was going through my mind but I do recall taking off my jersey and streaking into the stands, mobbed by a sea of adoring fans. That was one of the most important goals I had ever scored in my career. It kept us firmly in the title race with Juventus, but more importantly we didn't lose the psychological battle.

We had been second fiddle to them for a while now; it was beginning to take its toll on our psyche. This result proved we could play with them and despite the dubious non-call at the end; we had played them well that day. Our season and title aspirations would come down to our next game against them...the 'decider'. Whichever team won that game most likely would win the league. I suspected our next encounter would be a fierce battle, the stakes would be high and everyone on that pitch would be putting their best on the line. I loved it! Quite frankly I didn't want it any other way.

When it came to the Ballon D'or, Kanewa and I were neck and neck. It could go either way, depending on how our individual seasons turned out. Come mid-season he was leading me by five goals in domestic competition but I had a higher tally in European and international competition.

Most likely the prestigious award would go to the one whose team won more trophies that year. As much as the footballer of the year was an individual award, it was still the height most players aimed for and I was hungry to reach it again.

No one really knows what the voters use to select the Ballon D'Or winner, but it is widely rumored that candidates and their respective teams have to excel in their domestic leagues and competitions. Considering we were tied with Juventus in Italy and also alive in European competition, I knew the award would boil down to whoever had more accolades at the end of the season.

I ate, slept and breathe football that year. My obsession for perfection was scary. I channeled everything I had into being the best I could be on the field of play. I cut down all my distractions, devoting most of my time to the game and if not for contractual obligations I probably would have done without attending any social events that season. My PR crew was worried I would piss off my sponsors, but I could care less what they thought. My sights were set on winning and proving to the world I was no second fiddle to Kanewa. My mother was worried at how much I was alienating myself from others, but even she couldn't understand just how focused I was on the task at hand.

The results paid off as I excelled that year and in turn, so did Milan. Yet despite it being my best year on the field of play, Kanewa was right there breathing down my neck. Whenever I tried to shrug him off, he only came back stronger, and soon the doubts started creeping in.

What if we couldn't beat Juventus (and by this point of the season, we were going to have to face them in all competitions we were in to reach our goal)? What if Kanewa won the Ballon D'Or again? Would that effectively doom my chances of ever winning it again? I was giving my all, yet he seemed to have no trouble keeping up, and the scary part, was that he was getting better. As the seeds of doubt were growing within me, it began to affect my play. Decisions I normally took without second guessing myself now began to bother me. I was not as effective as I normally would and my play began to falter.

As I saw my play dwindle and my chances of winning it all slip out of my grasp, I and the sports world would be dealt a blow that would change the outcome of every major soccer event that year.

Like I said previously, the doubts had slipped in, and were trying to stake out territory in my mind. Fortunately for me and unfortunate for my insecurities, I am a professional first and foremost, I might slip up but I never remain down for long.

Thankfully by the time I was able to dispel most of my worries, Milan had not suffered for it. My teammates had stepped up in my absence and we were still challenging Juventus on all fronts. Sadly the same could not be said for my rivalry with Kanewa. In the short span of me being off my game, he had capitalized and was now leading me by as much as 7 goals in the Serie A and 10 goals in all competitions. I had no one to blame but myself.

There were still a lot of games to be played but even I knew to knock Kanewa off his perch, my team would have to win more trophies than his. Little did I know that exactly one week from then, Kanewa would be taken out of the picture, leaving the path to the Ballon D'Or wide open for me.

Said event was supposed to be just another game for Juventus. In fact at the time of the occurrence, they were up three goals with about fifteen minutes to go. Many in the media would question why the coach left his star player in the game after such a comfortable lead.

Many fans would ask for him to be fired thinking he jeopardized their season. I seem to think cooler heads should have prevailed as no one could have predicted what would happen during that game.

Juventus were with the ball and were quickly advancing up the field; they had the numbers and were sprinting down the field as quickly as possible. The ball was swiftly passed to Kanewa who was the fastest player on the pitch. The crowd cheered as they sensed another goal was coming; there was only one defender in front of him and the goalie. All Kanewa had to do was sidestep him and he'd be clean through. What he wasn't expecting was the defender to lunge, Kanewa tried to jump to avoid the tackle but he was too slow, boots connected with his upper ankle, the force carrying the defender being too strong. The rest is too ghastly to properly describe. Imagine trying to bend a tooth pick and after futile resistance it snaps back. That is all I will say about the injury. I wasn't even in the game and I cried when I saw the TV replays. It was truly one of the saddest scenes I have ever seen in my life.

We were all reeling from Shinji's injury. I imagine there was no one who called themselves a soccer fan that had not heard or seen what happened to him. It sent shock waves through the sports world, especially when it was reported that he had broken his leg in two places. He would be out for at least a year, effectively wrapping up his current season and perhaps the next.

Alas, one man's tragedy is another's redemption. Where one journey ends, another begins. I had been in a slump up to that point, but his injury seemed to have propelled me to quell my doubts. I felt somewhere in my mind that I had to step up now that Kanewa was out. The game needed someone to step into the vacuum created by Shinji's absence and I was the only one who could rightfully do so. Sure there were other great players in our sport, but Kanewa and I were rightfully seen as 1a and 1b. If there was anyone that could do a good job of coming close to his type of production, it would most likely be me.

At first I must admit, his absence spurred me out of whatever slump I was in and my production spiked; churning out goals and doing my best to help my team advance in all competitions we were in. I was the clear cut choice for Ballon D'Or now, but a segment of fans and the media were not so subtle in their assertion that I could not have won it without Kanewa going down. I tried to ignore it, but the seeds of doubt don't have to germinate immediately, give it time and watch as they come into full bloom.

The season progressed, Juventus our counterparts though a strong team without Kanewa simply could not keep up with us. We beat them in our remaining match ups and established our dominance in Italy once again, but interestingly enough, whereas I should have been elated with our prospects, those wins felt hollow to me. Those seeds I had mentioned earlier were finally growing.

Winning should quell all doubts, but instead, mine seemed to persist. An annoying, nagging feeling that I was only succeeding because my rival was out. As much as I tried to convince myself that I had been doing well long before Kanewa had popped up on the scene, it did nothing to put away these thoughts. I had returned to being soccer's golden boy, yet it felt so vacuous.

These people had begrudgingly let me into their hearts once more, mostly because the guy that had filled that role was recuperating in some hospital.

I was the inconvenient place holder, only on the throne because the current king was absent. I hated the feeling of second guessing every achievement. Questioning every accolade, wondering if I was truly deserving or not.

I started to hate Kanewa. Not the person, but the media construct. He was the cause of a lot of my mental woes. Even when he was recuperating in a hospital God knows where, this little terror was having a field day with my thoughts.

It wasn't until a meeting with my old coach Manuel that I was able to drop all the baggage I was lugging around in my mind.

I did win the Ballon D'Or that year. Surprisingly enough it was pretty close as Kanewa still got a sizable amount of votes despite his injury. It only goes to show how much respect he had in soccer circles.

I realize I will always be second guessed about winning that award, but I will not let that stain my achievements. Milan won both the European cup and our domestic league; it was not like we didn't prove ourselves on the big stage.

It was beginning to dawn on me that I was firmly in Kanewa's shadow. The more I tried to break away, the more it seemed to envelope me. The sad part was I had also imposed some of this on myself. The Kanewa boogeyman construct was doing a good job on my mind.

One event that will be firmly seared in my memory was what has been dubbed as 'the meltdown'. I am not proud of that moment but looking back, it was what was needed for Manuel to intervene.

We had just finished a match which we had lost. As usual, players were presented to the media to answer questions. It was a game I felt we should have won, especially since it was rife with dubious officiating. I was already peeved by the outcome of the game and wasn't in any mood to be answering questions but since it was customary we do so after every game, I couldn't avoid it.

The usual sets of questions ensued, basically trying to get us to admit we played poorly and could have done better. One particular guy though kept badgering, and it was becoming increasingly clear he had an agenda. Eventually I lost my cool when he implied that I was coasting because Kanewa was no longer in the picture and had no competition for the top individual awards. I had never been that livid before, but anyone in that room will testify to just how enraged I was. I yelled back at him, berating him and anyone in the media questioning my desire. This whole thing transpired in the span of a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Soon it was all over sports media and the Internet. Memes and gifs of that breakdown would flood message boards and social networks. My one moment of madness had been immortalized by technology.

Ironically, that slip up of mine seemed to gain me more fans. In that period of my losing it, they saw a guy who was passionate about winning and it galvanized them to support me.

All of a sudden, the guys who thought I was taking advantage of Kanewa's absence started seeing me in a new light; and whilst it's impossible to convince everyone out there that I cared deeply about the sport, I was able to peel off some of my skeptics onto my side.

The other positive was my high school coach taking time out to come see me. Those few days he spent with me were as valuable as gold. My former coach/teacher /mentor/father figure was precisely what I needed at that point in my life. He was able to see through all the defenses I had put up around myself; get me to open up, and start the process of healing.

I began to realize Kanewa wasn't the one I feared nor hated, in fact there was a lot of admiration for him when I delved further into my psyche.

He had conquered what I had found difficult to do. Whereas I was still struggling with success and the fame that came with it, Kanewa had no such problem. He had stayed pretty much the same guy, so he never had to compromise much. He avoided publicity despite being one of the most marketable names in the world. He remained humble despite all the accolades pouring in, and never sought to steal the spot light for himself. It shamed me to think that I had let some of my success get to my head.

I had let the spot light shape me, becoming something I was not. Of course when these same folks that had propped me up found someone new to ogle at, it bothered me deeply, hence the resentment. If there's anything I know now, it's the fact that life is ever changing. Just because something is one way today, doesn't mean it will be like that tomorrow.

I am at peace now. I finally understand what my role is. Football has blessed me more than I could ever fathom. I have lived my dreams, and feel so blessed because many never get the chance or the opportunity to do so. I realize just how important Shinji Kanewa has been to my life and my success. Before he came along I might have taken certain things for granted. I got complacent and was swayed by all the success that rushed at me. I forgot just how fleeting these things are and if your grip isn't strong enough, someone with a stronger hold and a more voracious appetite will climb past you. That person happened to be Kanewa. I had been spoiled by all I had achieved prior to his arrival, and when he came, I was caught unawares. Yes I panicked and faltered...but failure is meant to strengthen us.

It's now a year and a half since he's been gone. I heard he had some complications the first time he tried to come back. Something about the initial surgery not going the way it should have. I was told he was rushed back too soon and in the end both he and his team have suffered for it. It saddens me that the world of football has gone so long without one of its major stars, trust me when I say this, Shinji has been sorely missed!

Yet I am positive that he will get better and return to top form. I can't wait to continue where we left off for I think I am a better man now. I don't dwell in the shadow of his reputation anymore, I don't fear it. I know we can coexist on the world stage without trying to rip each other's throat out. I recognize just how much of a blessing we are to the game. Two outstanding players coming into their own, elevating their games and showcasing just how great our sport is. It's such a shame that I failed to notice this until he was out. We owe it to the world to push ourselves, to bring out the best, not just in each other, but also our teammates and opposition.

We have inspired many through our play, just like others before us have done the same. I can't believe I am saying this, but there's more to life than rivalries, it only cheapens the game when we focus on petty things.

Competition is great; enmity is not and as much as I love playing, I know I can only do it for so long. Something or should I say someone else shares my love now and I am beyond ecstatic just thinking about it.

I met Ailea a few months after Kanewa went down. Interestingly enough, she happens to be a Juventus fan. She was interviewing me for one of the sports magazines she works for, and I couldn't help but fall for her. She's everything I yearn for in a woman. Why I need to mention this I am not sure. But it adds to the fact that I am at peace with myself. My fragmented soul, torn between so many things, looks and feels more whole than it has ever been. Ailea being a major reason for that.

She's thought me how to love, and how to enjoy the things I truly care about. There was a period in time when I felt I was playing catch-up to Kanewa. I didn't like him one bit and I kept getting frustrated at how well he was doing. Through her, I saw the folly of my ways, along with my ever supportive family, agent and coaches. The darkness that could have gripped my soul is no more, banished to the distant reaches of my psyche never to be culled forth again.

Ailea deserves her own story and I won't cheapen it by dedicating just a few lines to her here. She came in my life at a time I did not feel like I needed saving. Little did I know I was wrong. I was marooned on an island created by my own insecurities and doubts, too proud to ask for help. Of what use is winning accolades when you still see bogeymen at every junction. Even with Kanewa sidelined by injuries, I never could fully accept the fact I was winning awards based on my merit. Ailea changed all that, and I will forever be grateful to her.

I must thank my old Coach Manuel, my loyal agent Hector and of course my mother and siblings. Without them none of this would be possible. They have all played an integral part in my life and my story would never be complete without including them.

I feel like I have exhausted all I can say about this. Sometimes brevity is my foe. What started off as a mere journal chronicling my achievements has evolved into a time machine, one I hadn't realized I needed. In these moments of reflection, I have learned a lot about the ties that bind us, how I got to this point and what's ahead. For this I am grateful. What I aimed to gain from this was comprehension of which I can vouch I have finally attained.

I have tried to reach out to Kanewa, even tried visiting him in hospital. But I also know the media will turn it into some circus. The last thing both of us want is trying to blow this out of proportion. I was told by mutual friends that Kanewa is thankful for my well wishes and looks forward to us meeting on the soccer field again.

I will be eagerly waiting his return...I expect him to be nothing less than 100%, rest assured, I will be ready. Rearing to take him on, to set the world of sports on fire again. This time I will do so as an equal, not from his shadows, not struggling to catch up.
