Jabari.
I walkin behind Coach O’Shea, and heads turn.
Happens everywhere I go.Six foot seven and built like I should be playing a different sport, so people notice. The gym smells like fresh sweat, not that old funk from secondary school gyms that never aired out.
Nah. People are actually working here.
He stops at the center of the room and claps his hands. “Alright, team. This is Jabari McKingsley. Striker. Transfer from Gombe.”
There’s the sound of boots squeaking and a few balls bouncing, then nothing.
Before I can reply, someone steps forward.
A bigger guy—though he’s not bigger than me—solid frame, steady gaze. He moves with a slow, grounded confidence of someone who doesn’t need to shout to command a room.
I like that.
Coach nods toward him. “This is Amin, team captain. If you need anything, he’s your guy.”
Amin offers his hand, it’s firm but not crushing mine. Respectful. “Welcome, bruv. We didn’t expect to get a new transfers this late in the season, especially dealing with this relegation but we’re glad to have you.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, gripping back, “I’m not here to sit pretty.”
“That so?” One of the guys mutters under his breath. I catch it.
“That’s exactly so,” I answer to let him know I heard.
He chuckles. “Well, sitting pretty is all you’re gonna do till we see what you got.”
I grin.
Coach gives him a look. “Dial it back, Moore. This isn’t a damn circus. McKingsley’s here because he earns his place. You’ll see soon enough.”
I appreciate that, though I don’t need defending.
He gestures for me to step up. “Say something, son.”
I nod, tucking my hands into my shorts. “Uh—yeah. Appreciate the welcome. Back home, I played for Coach K. Some of you might’ve heard of him.”
A few heads bob. Some smirks. The same Moore guy says, “We heard he runs a tight ship.”
“Tight?” I huff out a short laugh. “Man, Coach K would’ve made half of you cry by now.”
That gets a few laughs, even from Coach O’Shea. “We’re not too far off, son. We play disciplined ball here. Everyone runs the same drills. Nobody’s above the system.”
“Even me?” I tease, just enough to see what kind of reaction I’ll get.
O’Shea smirks. “Especially you.”
Yeah.
He’s different from Coach K’s old-school, military approach, but still sharp.
The rest of the team gathers closer, introducing themselves with names I already half forget. Too many handshakes, too many fake smiles. I’m polite, but detached. I didn’t come here to make friends.
The truth? I came here to get noticed.
Nigeria gave me the grit and determination. This place will give me exposure. And exposure’s the only thing standing between me and the kind of contract that changes lives.
