Deusdedit Bugembe

“A few months after I moved to Paris, two of my friends from Diadema came to spend some time with me there. They had broken up with their wife and girlfriend and were sad, so I invited them, hoping the visit would help clear their minds. Great. “They soon met other Brazilians, who played for a team like the seventh-division amateur league in the suburbs of Paris — all immigrants without proper papers. “Every night, my two friends came home angry, complaining that they were constantly beaten up. So, I said: “I’ll go over there tomorrow to watch you play.” And I did. “I arrived wearing a ninja hat, half disguised, and watched. The opponents were all dressed up, with their uniforms, equipment, water bottles, and a coach. And my friends’ team was wearing nothing: one in white shorts, another in purple, a third in yellow. The guys were hanging from the goalposts to warm up…. It was a mess. At the end of the match, which they lost, I asked: “Do you want me to train the team?” I’ll never forget the guys’ smiles. They were so genuinely happy and excited, something I had only seen when I was a kid, when we would fly kites in Diadema. I started training the guys every Monday, from 10 to midnight. Sometimes I would train them on Monday and play a Champions League match on Tuesday. I even remember scoring a goal against Barcelona on one of those days. I started loving Mondays. I couldn’t wait to be with those guys. We talked, I listened a lot, and I got to know each one’s stories and struggles. “Some made money playing capoeira, others delivering items on motorbikes or washing dishes. All of them had a hard life, afraid because of their illegal status, with little hope that things would improve, but football brightened up and took the weight off their days. On my first holidays, I went back to Brazil and went to talk to the ultimate crazy woman, my mother: “Mum, can you make stuff for the boys there?” “Say no more! She made travel polo shirts, tracksuits, match uniforms, training uniforms, everything in sizes S, M, L, XL…. I went back to Paris with 21 suitcases. The guys’ dedication grew along with their joy. We started training twice a week, then three times. We got promoted, and at the end of the season, I had a crazy idea. Another one. “I’m going to throw a gala for the team, just like PSG does for us every year.” I rented a castle-like nightclub where Matuidi had thrown his birthday party and started producing ours. “I had already hired a guy who used to film for PSG to film our guys’ matches, too. I asked him to bring all the videos to my house so we could watch them and choose the best goals of the year, the top scorer, the goalkeeper’s best saves. Let’s show them on the big screen! Then I ordered trophies for the winners of each category. Hey, but what about the others? Plaques! We’re going to make little wooden-and-acrylic plaques with each one’s name on them. Everything was perfect. The day before, I called the guys together: “Do you have a white button-up shirt and a basic black coat for tomorrow’s party?” Nobody had one. OK, I will buy you some. I went to the store myself and got some. Then I thought about their girlfriends and wives. I called the group again and gave each one some pocket money so that their SOs could buy a dress if they wanted. The party night arrived. And if I told you it was incredible, one of the most extraordinary emotional moments of my life, as cool as winning the Champions League, would you believe me?” One of my best stories on @TPTFootball theplayerstribune.com/posts/…