Yomi Akinyemi

Almost. That word describes my being, my existence. Like the time I had the chance to be the hero during my first soccer game. I remember it clearly. I was 5, I was all alone with the ball facing an utterly terrified goalkeeper and then I struck it, it hit the goal post. I never got the chance to redeem myself as I was recalled to the bench and sat out the rest of the game. It was the same in secondary school when I mustered up the courage to ask Liz out to senior dance. Once again I was a step behind as she informed me some exchange student, Benoit, already beat me to it. Ah, French guy I retorted, much to her amusement. It would be the same in University. My studies were going quite splendid and for the first time in my life I felt rather important but as lady luck would have it, the bottom came falling out. May 22nd, 2008, that day compounded misery to my life. With my Chelsea scarf around my neck and a pint of Guinness in my right hand, Chelsea FC captain John Terry slipped. My right hand let loose. His penalty shot went wide; my beer went tumbling onto the concrete floor. That was it! 10 years of waiting, praying, hoping my beloved Blues would one day hoist the European trophy had vanished. My life had become a sham and there was no going back. I left University, got fat, became single and jobless - not in that order.