Dragons FC Yaoundé U17 vs Union Douala U17 part 1

10 July 2014, Stade Militaire, Ngoa Ekelé

The scorching afternoon sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the dusty and uneven pitch of the Stade Militaire in Ngoa Ekelé. It was a sweltering day, typical of Yaoundé's dry season, and the air was thick with heat as the U17 match between Dragons FC Yaoundé and Union Douala U17 was about to commence. Despite the less-than-ideal conditions, a few hundred spectators had gathered, some curious passers-by, others more dedicated to the teams. Most of them were not fervent fans of either side, but the quiet murmur of voices, coupled with sporadic applause, gave the match an underlying hum of anticipation.

The stands, sparse and worn from years of use, provided little refuge from the blazing heat. Yet, the spectators, a mixture of locals, family members, and scouts, were eager to see what the youth teams had to offer. Some shaded themselves with newspapers or hats, others waved small flags or banners, trying to keep their spirits up despite the intensity of the afternoon sun.

Inside the dressing room of Dragons FC Yaoundé, the tension was palpable. The air, thick with a mixture of sweat and nervous energy, hung heavy as the young players prepared for battle. Their coach, Emile, stood in the center, his deep voice cutting through the silence. His words were sharp, laden with the weight of their first game in the competition, and his stern gaze swept over the room like a general preparing his troops for war.

"All right, lads," Emile began, his voice calm but commanding, "this is it. Our first game of the season, and it's against Union Douala. We have to win this if we're going to make it to the quarter-finals. Make no mistake, the next matches against Académie des Brasseries du Cameroun and Canon de Yaoundé will be even tougher. But we start here."

He paused, letting his words sink in, as the players hung onto every syllable, their young faces a mixture of nerves and determination.

"We're sticking to our tactical plan. Union Douala might look like the weakest team on paper, but don't be fooled. We can't afford to be complacent," Emile continued, pacing slowly as he spoke, his eyes locking onto each player's. "We'll let them come to us. They'll grow in confidence, thinking they're controlling the game, but as soon as they leave a gap, we strike fast. Quick counter-attacks. They won't know what hit them. If we can get a goal before half-time, the second half will be much easier, especially once Marcel is on the pitch."

At the mention of Marcel, a few players glanced towards the bench where Marcel sat, his expression focused and calm. Even though he wasn't starting, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that his impact would be felt before the match was over.

"But listen to me," Emile's voice grew more intense, "we can't afford to concede. Not a single goal. Be solid at the back, stay tight, and don't let them break through. If we keep a clean sheet, we'll win this."

He stopped, looking at his players for any sign of uncertainty. Seeing none, he nodded, satisfied.

"Are we all in agreement?"

"Yes, coach!" the players responded in unison, the room filling with an echo of confidence that belied the pressure of the moment.

A few minutes later, both teams emerged from the tunnel, stepping out onto the dry, cracked pitch of the Stade Militaire. The crowd responded with scattered applause, the clapping cutting through the stillness of the afternoon air. As the Dragons FC players jogged out, Marcel, seated on the substitutes' bench, scanned the stands, his eyes searching for something to anchor him in the moment.

He didn't have to look far. There, standing near the edge of the benches, he spotted Christina, his girlfriend, waving energetically. Her smile was bright, a beacon of support amidst the uncertainty of the game.

"Come on, Marcel! Show them who's the best!" she shouted, her voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. Her enthusiasm was infectious, a spark of encouragement that lit a fire within him.

Next to her, Marcel's mother, Francine, was more composed but no less supportive. Dressed in her usual neat attire, she was a pillar of pride, her hands clasped together as she watched her son.

"Give it everything you've got, Marcel!" Francine's voice joined Christina's, confident and strong.

As the players prepared for kick-off, Francine turned to a nearby spectator, a man in his fifties who seemed more curious than invested in the match. She couldn't help but boast, her voice filled with pride.

"Look closely at number 17. That's my son, Marcel," she said with a wide smile, "and he's going to help his team win today."

The man glanced at the pitch, then back at her with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

"But he's on the bench," the man replied bluntly. "How is he going to help if he doesn't even get on the field? He might not even play."

Francine, unfazed, simply smiled wider, her eyes never leaving her son.

"Trust me," she said softly, her voice brimming with belief, "even if he's starting on the bench, when he gets his chance, he'll change the game. You'll see."

Her words hung in the air, filled with a quiet certainty that only a mother could possess. And as the referee's whistle blew to signal the start of the match, Marcel clenched his fists, feeling the weight of expectation from the stands. His time would come, and when it did, he was determined to seize it.

The match kicked off, Union Douala pushing forward cautiously, while Dragons FC stuck to Emile's plan, sitting deep and absorbing the pressure. The first half would be a test of endurance, but Marcel knew that his moment to shine was just around the corner.

...

...

The referee's whistle echoed across the modest stadium, signaling the start of the match. Union Douala U17 immediately seized the initiative, sending the ball from the center circle to their central midfielder. The player, showing composure, quickly assessed his options before threading a neat pass to the right midfielder, aiming to establish an early rhythm. The Union Douala coach had set his team up in a classic 4-4-2 formation, a well-balanced approach designed to offer defensive stability while allowing for attacking transitions. For the opening minutes, the Douala team controlled possession with calm precision, passing the ball around midfield, content to probe for weaknesses in the Dragons FC Yaoundé U17 defense.

Dragons FC, meanwhile, opted for a conservative approach, declining to press high and preferring to sit deep in their own half, like a coiled spring waiting to strike. Their number 9 occasionally pressed the ball carrier, but without real urgency, a tactic designed to give Union Douala a false sense of security. The Dragons' coach, Emile, had drilled this patient, tactical setup into his players all week, knowing the key to their success lay in frustrating their opponents and waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

The first ten minutes of play unfolded like a chess match, each team testing the other with cautious exchanges. The small crowd in the Stade Militaire in Ngoa Ekélé observed with keen interest, their eyes tracking every pass and movement on the pitch. The tension was palpable, but the game had yet to spark into life.

Sensing the lack of pressure from Dragons FC, the Union Douala coach barked new orders from the touchline. He demanded his players shift gears and take more risks in the attacking third. The players responded almost immediately. By the 18th minute, their renewed attacking intent began to show.

Union Douala's number 15, the linchpin of their midfield, received the ball in acres of space. He took a touch, scanning the field before launching a perfectly weighted diagonal pass toward his left midfielder, who had darted forward into the attacking third. The Dragons' right-back was slow to react, and the Union Douala winger took full advantage, collecting the ball in stride. Sensing an opportunity, he threaded a clever through ball down the left flank, releasing the overlapping left-back.

The Union Douala left-back surged forward with blistering pace, using the overlap to penetrate Dragons' defense. He reached the byline and, with a single, fluid movement, whipped in a venomous low cross toward the penalty area. It was a dangerous ball, sent in with speed and precision, aimed at the towering Union Douala center-forward who was already making his move inside the box.

Rising like a colossus, the center-forward prepared to meet the cross with a powerful header, but before he could connect, Jean-Pierre, Dragons FC's center-back, intervened. With impeccable timing, Jean-Pierre threw himself into the air, meeting the ball with a thunderous header that cleared the danger with authority. His header sent the ball rocketing down the left flank, where Dragons' left-back was waiting in position.

Without hesitation, the Dragons left-back controlled the ball smoothly and immediately set off down the touchline, his speed and agility allowing him to bypass an approaching defender with a deft feint. His eyes lifted, surveying the field for an opening. Spotting his central midfielder making a run, he sent a sharp, well-placed pass to his feet.

The Dragons central midfielder took a touch, then, recognizing an opportunity, unleashed a brilliant long through ball over the Union Douala backline. The ball hung in the air for a moment before dropping into the path of the Dragons center-forward. A fierce contest ensued, as the center-forward battled with two Union Douala defenders, both desperate to muscle him off the ball.

But the Dragons center-forward was undeterred. Using his strength and balance, he forced his way between the defenders, outmuscling them with impressive physicality. The ball dropped out of the air, and without letting it touch the ground, he struck it with a venomous volley. The connection was perfect. The ball rocketed off his foot, cutting through the air like a missile, heading straight for the top right corner.

The Union Douala goalkeeper stood rooted to the spot, his eyes wide, as he watched the ball's deadly trajectory. Time seemed to slow as the ball slammed into the crossbar with a deafening crack, then ricocheted downward into the back of the net. For a split second, there was silence—then the stadium erupted.

Dragons FC's players swarmed their center-forward, their joy palpable. Even Coach Emile, usually a picture of calm on the sidelines, was on his feet, applauding the brilliant strike with a wide grin on his face.

1-0!

Dragons FC Yaoundé had drawn first blood, and in stunning fashion. It was a goal born of discipline, precision, and a lethal counter-attack, a statement to Union Douala that this match would be a fierce battle.

...

The game resumed with a renewed intensity as Union Douala U17, now trailing, sought to claw their way back into the match. Their intent was clear—they pressed higher up the pitch, launching wave after wave of attacks. Their players surged forward, desperate to level the score, but Jean-Pierre, Dragons FC Yaoundé's defensive rock, stood like a fortress. Every cross, whether lofted from the left or drilled in from the right, was met with his unwavering presence. He read the game with precision, intercepting passes, heading balls clear with authority, and throwing his body on the line to block shots. His timing was impeccable, and he dominated the aerial duels, leaving Union Douala frustrated at every turn. It was as if Jean-Pierre had grown into a one-man wall, the keystone of Dragons FC's backline.

But while their defense held strong, Dragons FC struggled to maintain any control in the midfield. Every time they won the ball, they seemed hurried and nervous, unable to keep possession for more than a few seconds before being dispossessed. This lack of composure in the middle of the park prevented Dragons from transitioning into attack. Their midfielders were overrun, often forced to play hopeful long balls that Union Douala easily reclaimed, thus dictating the tempo of the game. The Douala side smartly switched play between the wings and central channels, searching for any gap in the Dragons' defense. Although the Dragons' center-backs continued to clear cross after cross, the constant pressure was beginning to take its toll.

In the 38th minute, Union Douala finally executed the move they'd been building toward. Their central midfielder, ever alert and constantly involved, seized the moment. Spotting the Dragons FC right-back slightly out of position, he immediately looked to exploit the space. His left winger, bursting into full stride, was already in motion, anticipating the pass. The Union Douala midfielder released a perfectly weighted through ball, threading it between the right-back and the Dragons' central defender. The defenders hesitated, caught off guard by the precision and timing of the pass, and before they could react, the left winger had darted into the space and controlled the ball inside the penalty area.

However, his first touch betrayed him. The ball rolled slightly ahead, giving the Dragons FC goalkeeper just enough of a window to react. Seeing the opportunity, the goalkeeper charged off his line, determined to smother the ball before the winger could recover. But the Union Douala winger, sensing the danger, accelerated with everything he had and beat the goalkeeper to the ball by a fraction of a second. With the keeper diving at his feet, the winger skillfully nudged the ball past him with a clever touch, leaving the goal wide open.

As the winger lined up his shot, it seemed a certain equalizer was imminent. The crowd collectively held its breath, sensing the inevitable.

But just as the winger pulled back to shoot, a blur of red darted into view—Jean-Pierre. From nowhere, the Dragons FC center-back threw himself into a desperate, lunging block. Fully extended, he stretched his leg in a last-ditch attempt to deny the winger.

Bang!!!

The sound of Jean-Pierre's boot connecting with the ball echoed through the stadium as the winger's shot was deflected wide, narrowly missing the post. The ball ricocheted out of the penalty area, offering Dragons FC a brief moment of respite, but the danger was far from over.

The deflected ball landed at the feet of Union Douala's right winger, who was lurking just outside the box, waiting for a second chance. He wasted no time, striking a crisp low volley aimed for the bottom right corner. The shot was fierce and precise, arrowing toward goal at an angle that seemed impossible to stop.

Dragons FC's goalkeeper, however, wasn't done yet. Reacting with lightning-fast reflexes, he threw himself to his right, stretching out in a full-length dive. His gloved fingers brushed the ball, but just as he seemed to have made the crucial save, disaster struck.

In a frantic attempt to redeem himself for being beaten earlier, the Dragons FC right-back rushed in, trying to clear the ball away. But in his haste, he failed to notice that the goalkeeper already had the situation under control. His boot met the ball just as the keeper's hands did, causing the ball to spin awkwardly off his foot. The change in direction caught everyone off guard, and the ball looped agonizingly into the back of the net.

1-1! Union Douala had equalized in the most dramatic fashion imaginable.

A stunned silence fell over the stadium for a split second before the Union Douala supporters erupted into cheers. Their players gathered in celebration, relief and joy etched across their faces. On the other side, Dragons FC's defense was in disarray. Jean-Pierre, who had thrown his body on the line just moments earlier to save his team, lay on the ground, fists clenched in frustration. He slowly rose to his feet, shaking his head in disbelief, knowing that all his efforts had been undone by a cruel twist of fate.

...

Marcel sat on the bench, his eyes fixed on the pitch, observing every move his teammates made with laser-like focus. Despite Dragons FC's defensive solidity throughout the first half, the unfortunate goal had shifted the momentum. Up until that point, Jean-Pierre had been nothing short of heroic—his commanding presence in the backline had thwarted every Union Douala attack. His pivotal block on the left winger, who had performed a slick roulette to evade the defense and goalkeeper, should have been the highlight of a rock-solid defensive performance.

But football is often unforgiving. The right-back, in a desperate attempt to assist, had accidentally deflected a long-range shot that took a wicked spin and found its way into the net, handing Union Douala an unexpected equalizer. It was a cruel twist of fate, one that dampened the Dragons' spirits just before the break.

Yet Marcel remained calm, undeterred by the setback. Deep within, he harbored a quiet confidence. He knew his abilities—he believed that no matter how dire the situation became, even if his team conceded another goal or two, he would be the one to turn the tide. His determination was a fire that burned steadily, unshaken by external events. Marcel had been waiting for this moment, and he was more than ready to step up and make the difference when called upon.

Across the touchline, Coach Emile's frustration was evident. His side had executed the game plan well, defending with discipline and composure under immense pressure. Had it not been for the unfortunate own goal, the second half would have been much more manageable. But now, with Union Douala rejuvenated by their equalizer, Emile knew they would return from the break even more aggressive, with renewed belief that victory was within their grasp.

He needed a plan, something to break Union Douala's newfound momentum. Emile had considered waiting until the 70th minute to unleash Marcel, reasoning that a 14-year-old might struggle with the intensity and physical demands of such a high-stakes match for a full half. But circumstances had changed. Union Douala's equalizer had tipped the balance, and Emile had to act decisively if Dragons FC were to regain control of the match.

His eyes fell on Marcel, sitting on the bench, radiating quiet confidence.

"Marcel," the coach called out, his voice firm. "Start warming up. You'll be going in as soon as the second half starts."

Marcel's heart leapt with excitement. This was it. The moment he had been preparing for. His eyes lit up with determination, and he wasted no time.

"Yes, coach!" he responded enthusiastically, springing to his feet. The surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins was unmistakable, but it wasn't nerves—Marcel was ready. Every fiber of his being felt primed for the challenge ahead. As he jogged along the sidelines, stretching and warming up, he could feel the weight of the moment settling on him, but it only sharpened his focus. He knew that this was more than just a chance to impress; this was the moment that could define his path as a footballer.

With each step, Marcel's mind played out the scenarios that could unfold when he entered the game. His heart beat faster, but there was no room for doubt—he was ready to seize this opportunity and turn the game in Dragons FC's favor.

Back on the pitch, the first half wound down with a sense of urgency. Union Douala, buoyed by their equalizer, kept up the pressure, trying to force another goal before the interval. Dragons FC, meanwhile, dug deep to maintain their composure, determined not to concede again before the break. The ball moved back and forth between the two teams, with both sides exchanging possession without truly threatening the goalkeepers.

As the clock ticked toward the 45-minute mark, Union Douala pushed forward one last time, hoping to capitalize on their momentum. But Dragons FC held firm, ensuring that the half ended without further drama.

The referee's whistle blew, signaling the end of the first half. The players from both teams slowly made their way off the field, their bodies weary from the high intensity of the match, their minds already racing with thoughts of how to approach the second half. Union Douala, energized by their late equalizer, headed to the dressing room with renewed optimism. Dragons FC, though frustrated by the unfortunate turn of events, still had resolve etched on their faces as they walked off.

Marcel, now fully warmed up and prepared for battle, stood at the edge of the pitch, staring out across the field. His heart beat with anticipation, but his mind was clear. He knew what he had to do. The second half was his stage, and he was ready to prove to his coach, his teammates, and himself that he could be the difference-maker in this crucial match.

...

...

The atmosphere in the Dragons FC Yaoundé dressing room at half-time was thick with tension. The players, still reeling from the late equalizer, sat in silence, their heads bowed, frustration etched across their young faces. The once confident energy had drained from the room, replaced by the quiet sound of boots scuffing the floor and the heavy breathing of players trying to catch their breath. No one spoke. The weight of conceding on the stroke of half-time, after playing such a solid first half, pressed heavily on their shoulders.

The door swung open abruptly, and Coach Emile entered the room, his sharp gaze immediately cutting through the silence. He scanned the room, taking in the scene of his dejected players. The tension in the air was palpable, but Emile knew exactly what was needed to turn things around. He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, knowing that his next few sentences could change the outcome of the match.

"Alright, boys, listen up," Emile began, his voice steady but carrying authority. "You played a very good first half. That goal at the end—yeah, I know it stung. No one liked it. But it's not a disaster. And honestly, it wasn't unexpected."

His tone, calm and measured at first, began to rise in intensity, igniting a flicker of life in his players. He knew they needed to feel the fire again, to regain the belief that had carried them through the first 45 minutes.

"I get it—we all wanted to go into the break with that one-goal lead," Emile continued, his voice growing more assertive. "But we're not behind, are we? It's 1-1. We're still in this! Look at the scoreboard—it's level, and that's not a bad situation at all. So cheer up!"

Gradually, heads began to lift. Eyes that had been focused on the floor started meeting the coach's intense gaze. The players could feel the energy in the room shifting.

"This game is far from over," Emile pressed on, his voice commanding the full attention of every player in the room. "It's only a draw right now, but you've got everything you need to take control in the second half. The cards are in your hands. So go out there and show me what you can do. Show them what you're made of."

The players responded with quiet nods, the determination returning to their faces. Emile's words had reignited the spark within them. They could feel the shift—the belief that they could still walk away with the victory was growing.

Then, Emile's gaze turned sharply toward Marcel, who sat with a mixture of anticipation and intense focus. His young face betrayed both excitement and an unshakable determination. Marcel had been waiting for this moment, and it was clear he was ready.

"Marcel!" Emile's voice boomed through the dressing room, drawing all eyes to the young player. "You're going in at the start of the second half. You'll replace the left winger."

Marcel's heart raced, but he showed no signs of hesitation. Despite his age, his confidence was unwavering. He listened intently as the coach gave him his instructions.

"I want you to make as many runs as possible. You've got full freedom to attack. This is your chance to do what you do best—take risks, break their defense apart, and keep attacking. But remember, play smart. When the ball's at your feet, it's your decision. Trust your instincts. I know you can do it."

Marcel's chest swelled with pride. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for—a golden chance to prove himself in a critical match. The coach wasn't just offering him a role; he was entrusting Marcel with the responsibility to change the game. It was a task the young prodigy was more than ready to take on.

"Okay, coach," Marcel replied confidently, his voice steady and sure.

As the rest of the team began to prepare to head back out onto the pitch, Marcel stood up, quickly stretching and loosening up. The anticipation in his chest was building, but his mind was sharp and focused. He was about to get his chance to show what he could do, and he had no intention of wasting it.

The Dragons players readied themselves to return to the pitch, each one focused on the battle ahead. Marcel, standing at the edge of the group, stared out at the field, knowing his time was coming.

...

The second half kicked off in an electric atmosphere, with a renewed intensity buzzing in the air. Dragons FC, eager to regain control, wasted no time as they quickly shifted the ball toward midfield. However, Union Douala came out with a clear intention—they pressed high from the first whistle, their determination evident in every movement. The tempo skyrocketed. The Dragons' central midfielder found himself under immediate pressure, but he kept his composure, eyes scanning the field.

Then he saw it—Marcel, making a clever, diagonal run down the left wing, exploiting the space behind Union Douala's defense. Without a moment's hesitation, the midfielder launched a long ball deep into enemy territory, taking full advantage of Marcel's blistering speed.

Marcel sprinted into action, his movements fluid as he controlled the ball with precision, killing its momentum before accelerating down the flank. The Union Douala right-back reacted, chasing after him with everything he had, but Marcel was already pulling away. The crowd, though sparse, collectively held its breath as the young winger surged forward, dangerously approaching the penalty area.

As he neared the edge of the box, Marcel lifted his foot slightly, feigning a cross into the box. His pursuer, desperate to block the incoming cross, committed himself to a sliding tackle. But Marcel had anticipated the move perfectly. With a sudden flick, he rolled the ball backward, leaving the full-back on the ground, completely out of the play.

Now facing Union Douala's central defender, Marcel slowed his pace just enough to size up his next challenge. He danced over the ball with a series of quick touches, his legs a blur of motion as he toyed with the defender's anticipation. Left, right, then back to the left—his body feints were mesmerizing, drawing the defender into hesitation. The crowd was spellbound, their eyes locked on every twist and turn Marcel made.

But the situation quickly became more complicated. The Union Douala central defender, recognizing the danger, was soon joined by a retreating teammate. The two defenders closed in, attempting to smother Marcel's attack by cutting off his angles and denying him space.

Yet Marcel remained calm. With two defenders bearing down, he feigned a powerful shot with his right foot, the motion convincing enough to send both defenders lunging forward to block what they thought would be a fierce strike. But Marcel had no intention of shooting just yet. With a quick flick of his foot, he nudged the ball past the two scrambling defenders, leaving them sprawled on the ground.

Now, with only the goalkeeper left to beat, Marcel took his moment. The two defenders had momentarily blocked the keeper's view, and that fraction of a second was all Marcel needed. He struck the ball cleanly, sending it soaring into the top right-hand corner of the net with pinpoint accuracy. The goalkeeper, reacting too late, could only watch as the ball sailed past him.

Goal! 2-1! Marcel had done it—a dazzling solo effort just minutes into the second half.

The crowd exploded in celebration, their cheers echoing across the stadium as Marcel's teammates rushed to embrace him. His stunning goal was nothing short of a masterpiece, a perfect blend of intelligence, composure, and technique. Marcel stood with his arms raised, soaking in the adulation, savoring the moment of glory he had just created.

At just 14 years old, Marcel had changed the entire complexion of the game, turning the momentum firmly in Dragons FC's favor. His impact was immediate and undeniable, a reminder that even at his age, he was a prodigy capable of altering the course of any match.