It was just another day at school. It was a mathematics class, but every guy was excited—not because of math, but after this it was sports time. Ten minutes before any sports session, you could sense the excitement in the air. As soon as the bell rang, the entire class raced to the ground in seconds. But fate had other plans that day. The cricket bats and balls weren't available, so we had to settle for football instead.
Back then, I was a die-hard cricket fan (I've yet to meet a bigger cricket enthusiast than my younger self). Like a billion other people, I was obsessed with cricket. I thought cricket, walked cricket, studied cricket, talked cricket—my entire world revolved around it.
And I hated football. I used to call it "a game where 22 players run around like headless chickens." So when we divided into teams that day, I was less than thrilled. The best player in our class—probably the best in our entire school—was on my team, while I was likely the worst player in class. I ended up as goalkeeper while "The Best Player" stayed on defense, and we started chatting.
I asked him, "Why do you like this game?" He replied, "You'll understand only if you play it." I joked, "I am playing and I still don't get it." He added, "It takes time." I countered, "I don't think I can start a new sport now—I'll never become good enough." He then told me about his brother (coincidentally also named Vikas) who started playing football in late 10th grade, became skilled in 11th, competed regionally in 12th, joined his college team in his first year, began playing club football, and became college captain by his second year.
This story wasn't immediately impactful, but years later I realized the important lesson it contained: It's never too late to start anything new. While we were having this conversation, the opposing team scored a goal. They had all the good players except for "The Best Player" on our side—that's how exceptional he was!
The bell rang signaling the end of Games Time, but our match continued into what felt like injury time. Moments after the bell, my friend received the ball at midfield, dribbled past two defenders, and launched a shot from the half-circle—GOAL! The other team, confident with their skilled players, quickly restarted play. (Games typically continued after the bell until our PE instructor arrived to stop us, and he was nowhere in sight yet.)
The opposing team pushed toward our goal, but their dribbler was stopped by none other than "The Best Player." After making the tackle, he dribbled upfield and, upon reaching the midline, took another shot. This time the goalkeeper saved it, deflecting it out for a corner. We spotted our PE instructor approaching, and my friend rushed to take the corner kick.
Our entire team except me crowded into the opponent's penalty area while I stood at the half-line. My friend curved the ball perfectly from the corner. It soared through the air as everyone jumped to reach it, but the ball evaded all players and buried itself directly into the far corner of the net. He had scored directly from the corner kick! Just as the ball hit the net, our PE teacher blew his whistle to end the game.
I stood there awestruck, completely mesmerized and filled with joy. While this moment didn't instantly convert me into a football lover—that would take much longer—this was undoubtedly where my journey with the beautiful game began.