2025-04-08, 07:23 AM - Word count:
Gibra wakes up in his penthouse apartment in Accra, the Ghanian sun burning bright in the cloudless sky. He's just recently give notice to his landlord that he'll be moving soon, to where he's not sure but it'll become a lot clearer that evening at the Season 19 draft. Being a Bosnian Swede who was brought up in Gateshead, he has family all over but he's made sure the day has been planned meticulousy to accommodate his relatives who have been following his academy season with pride.
'I don't know, we'll wait and see. I'm not concerned about what round I am picked in...if not first, then second is fine. It's about the team...I don't know...maybe Tenochtitlan? I shouldn't speak any further' Gibra dodges reporters in the lobby before getting into his hire purchase Lamborghini. The payments outweigh his current YTS deal but he is a firm believe in manifesting.
A haircut, manicure and Thai massage later and Gibra is sat suited and booted on a cramped table with parents, brothers, cousins and a few Bosnian chancers who sneaked on the flight. The first round of picks is among us, Gibra throws a thumbs up to his close friend Tonto Tut as he takes to the stage as one of the surprise early picks. 'Bless him...' Gibra whispers to his Uncle 'Perhaps they're doing the draft in the reverse order? Check the program...'. The first round finishes and Gibra's confident air has began to fade. 'well Michael Jordan wasn't even first pick in his draft' he shrugs to which his Father replies 'but he was still first round son' under his breathe. Gibra has longed for his father's love and he hoped tonight would go some way to proving his worth.
The second round passes and then the third, by the fourth Gibra is convinced his name has been left out the hat. He looks around the room nervously in case Rio Ferdinand is hiding and ready to jump out and yell 'you've been merked!' - this has to be a prank show. 'Is that Ashton Kutcher?' Gibra asks his date (the Thai masseus roped along at short notice), she speaks little English and is still waiting for payment.
12 goals, 2 assists and 3 man of the matches Gibra repeats over and over in his head. Round 5 comes to a close and the hosts begin their summary of the picks. 'Well I didn't expect to see the groundsman from Jakarta get picked up but we really are coming to the dregs of the academy'. The huge monitor in the venue shows that seven teams passed on round 5, teams were saying 'we'll take nothing' as opposed to recruiting Gibra. Even the man himself will admit his attitude wasn't always spot on but he had grown over the past season, you ask anyone from the Accra locker room, he was always bringing positivity - what he lacked in tactical nous he made up for in character.
By Round 7 he has began to drift off, the masseus woke him up with a tug on his sleeve. 'And this is one of my picks, Jibrahimovic' one of the hosts announced. His Dad looked at him and sighed, the family name butchered in front of thousands, it reverberated across the hall. Gibra forced a smile and looked up at the stage, maybe they'll mention his 12 goals, he was second top scorer in the league, maybe Dad will finally love him. 'well...we've had a few people with similar names based on Ibrahimovic so you know maybe we'll take one more and sign him'. The smile dropped, he looked towards his Dad but he was gone. 'Happy ending?' the masseuse asked? 'Not particularly, I was seventh round pick and they got my name wrong...oh...erm yes sorry, here's the money I owe you'. Gibra paid the lady and stood up from the table, he headed for the balcony.
'Hey! Gibra!' Ronflex and Cade Power approached him with a big smile, they were sharing a bottle of Moet champagne. 'Did we miss you get picked? You must have gone super early!' Ronflex said with a pat on the back. Gibra too embarassed to tell the truth just smiled 'yeah something like that'. They asked him what team had picked him up but he wasn't even sure, Catalunya rang a bell but his account now said Seoul, either way he had failed everyone - his Dad, his Accra academy chums and himself.
Gibra turned up late to a pre-arranged press event and gave a few half hearted interviews before heading back to his hotel early. He took out a business card from his pocket it read 'Chang Thai Spa' with a number below. He threw it in the bin 'I can do it myself for free he said' as he scrolled through the adult films. Just as he got comfortable he saw a piece of paper being slipped under his door, he got up and grabbed it, quickly reading the text 'Son...I'm proud of you'. He smiled and held it to his chest before quickly opening the hotel room door, 'Dad!?' but his Dad wasn't there, it was Roy Keane. 'Oh god, is this not Tonto's room!?'
'I don't know, we'll wait and see. I'm not concerned about what round I am picked in...if not first, then second is fine. It's about the team...I don't know...maybe Tenochtitlan? I shouldn't speak any further' Gibra dodges reporters in the lobby before getting into his hire purchase Lamborghini. The payments outweigh his current YTS deal but he is a firm believe in manifesting.
A haircut, manicure and Thai massage later and Gibra is sat suited and booted on a cramped table with parents, brothers, cousins and a few Bosnian chancers who sneaked on the flight. The first round of picks is among us, Gibra throws a thumbs up to his close friend Tonto Tut as he takes to the stage as one of the surprise early picks. 'Bless him...' Gibra whispers to his Uncle 'Perhaps they're doing the draft in the reverse order? Check the program...'. The first round finishes and Gibra's confident air has began to fade. 'well Michael Jordan wasn't even first pick in his draft' he shrugs to which his Father replies 'but he was still first round son' under his breathe. Gibra has longed for his father's love and he hoped tonight would go some way to proving his worth.
The second round passes and then the third, by the fourth Gibra is convinced his name has been left out the hat. He looks around the room nervously in case Rio Ferdinand is hiding and ready to jump out and yell 'you've been merked!' - this has to be a prank show. 'Is that Ashton Kutcher?' Gibra asks his date (the Thai masseus roped along at short notice), she speaks little English and is still waiting for payment.
12 goals, 2 assists and 3 man of the matches Gibra repeats over and over in his head. Round 5 comes to a close and the hosts begin their summary of the picks. 'Well I didn't expect to see the groundsman from Jakarta get picked up but we really are coming to the dregs of the academy'. The huge monitor in the venue shows that seven teams passed on round 5, teams were saying 'we'll take nothing' as opposed to recruiting Gibra. Even the man himself will admit his attitude wasn't always spot on but he had grown over the past season, you ask anyone from the Accra locker room, he was always bringing positivity - what he lacked in tactical nous he made up for in character.
By Round 7 he has began to drift off, the masseus woke him up with a tug on his sleeve. 'And this is one of my picks, Jibrahimovic' one of the hosts announced. His Dad looked at him and sighed, the family name butchered in front of thousands, it reverberated across the hall. Gibra forced a smile and looked up at the stage, maybe they'll mention his 12 goals, he was second top scorer in the league, maybe Dad will finally love him. 'well...we've had a few people with similar names based on Ibrahimovic so you know maybe we'll take one more and sign him'. The smile dropped, he looked towards his Dad but he was gone. 'Happy ending?' the masseuse asked? 'Not particularly, I was seventh round pick and they got my name wrong...oh...erm yes sorry, here's the money I owe you'. Gibra paid the lady and stood up from the table, he headed for the balcony.
'Hey! Gibra!' Ronflex and Cade Power approached him with a big smile, they were sharing a bottle of Moet champagne. 'Did we miss you get picked? You must have gone super early!' Ronflex said with a pat on the back. Gibra too embarassed to tell the truth just smiled 'yeah something like that'. They asked him what team had picked him up but he wasn't even sure, Catalunya rang a bell but his account now said Seoul, either way he had failed everyone - his Dad, his Accra academy chums and himself.
Gibra turned up late to a pre-arranged press event and gave a few half hearted interviews before heading back to his hotel early. He took out a business card from his pocket it read 'Chang Thai Spa' with a number below. He threw it in the bin 'I can do it myself for free he said' as he scrolled through the adult films. Just as he got comfortable he saw a piece of paper being slipped under his door, he got up and grabbed it, quickly reading the text 'Son...I'm proud of you'. He smiled and held it to his chest before quickly opening the hotel room door, 'Dad!?' but his Dad wasn't there, it was Roy Keane. 'Oh god, is this not Tonto's room!?'
