Hearts on the Pitch
Written by
Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu
Dedication
To those who dare to follow their hearts, even when the world tells them not to. May your courage always find its home on the field of love and life.
Chapter One
Morning sunlight streamed through the glass walls of the Sports Desk on the fifth floor of The National Daily's ten-storey headquarters, one of the country's leading newspapers. The building housed the entire operation: marketing and advertising on the lower floors, circulation and printing coordination on the second floor, dedicated floors for archives, research, and investigative journalism on the third and fourth floors, administration and accounting on the sixth floor, human resources and staff training on the seventh floor, legal and compliance on the eighth floor, IT and technical support on the ninth floor, executive management on the tenth floor, and at the heart of it all was the bustling newsroom on the fifth floor.
This was where the paper came alive before it reached the streets. Reporters typed stories, edited photos, and prepared layouts for both print and online editions, working side by side in a modern open-plan setting designed for speed and collaboration.
Sleek white desks stretched across the wide, open newsroom floor, each cluster full of activity. Sports reporters leaned over tablets, checking match statistics, while just a few steps away, politics journalists spoke quietly on phones, following council updates. Metro reporters scribbled notes on transport delays, environment and climate reporters reviewed flood reports, and business desks glowed with stock charts and financial briefs. Entertainment and celebrity reporters typed up the latest showbiz news, from movie premieres to red carpet gossip. Health, education, lifestyle, technology, travel, and arts desks buzzed with stories of all kinds.
Low dividers marked the edges of each section, but the noise of keyboards, ringing phones, and quick conversations carried freely across the entire floor, filling the vast space. Reporters weaved between desks, swapping updates, leaning over each other's screens, and hustling to meet deadlines, their movement giving life to the expansive newsroom. Soft LED lights overhead cast a gentle glow, softening the glare of screens and calming the digital chaos. Indoor plants stood in the corners, offering small patches of calm amid the flurry of deadlines and breaking news.
Large smart screens lined the walls. One tracked live sports commentary and match statistics, another scrolled breaking political headlines and court updates, a third displayed climate news and city developments, while another streamed cultural events and entertainment updates. Yet another showed real-time reader engagement across the paper's online platforms. A small glass-walled studio sat tucked into one corner, fitted with ring lights and a camera, where a reporter quietly recorded a morning podcast update. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted in from the café station near the entrance, where baristas moved briskly between cups and pastries.
Along one side of the wide newsroom floor, glass offices housed the editors, all overlooking the bustling reporters. The Sports Editor's office belonged to Mr Ikenna, while nearby offices were occupied by the editors in charge of Politics, Metro, Environment, Business, Education, Culture, Health, and Lifestyle. Farther down the corridor, the chief editor's office sat larger and more discreet, overseeing the entire floor. One office, however, stood apart—fully furnished, tastefully styled, and unmistakably private. It belonged to Kimberly Obianuju, a sports reporter whose father was one of the board members, giving her a space all to herself.
Throughout the newsroom, reporters moved with purpose. Phones rang as interviews were conducted in low, urgent tones. A politics reporter argued softly with a source about a council meeting, while an education reporter jotted notes about a school reform initiative. Nearby, a metro reporter filed a story on public transport delays, an environment journalist scanned flood alerts, a culture reporter photographed an art exhibit, and a health reporter typed up a breaking hospital report. Keyboards clattered, notification pings chimed, and the muted voice of a podcast host drifted from the media booth.
Amid all this activity, the elevator doors slid open, and Adaeze Mark stepped out, clutching her notepad, her body still carrying the stress of the road. Moments earlier, she had been trapped inside a danfo that crawled through Lagos traffic. The bus had no air-conditioning. Heat pressed in from every side. The driver kept braking suddenly, shouting at other drivers, while horns blared endlessly. She had been squeezed between two men, one gripping a rusted handrail, the other wiping sweat from his neck. Each stop sent her swaying forward, her heart jumping as the bus jerked again. By the time she jumped down at her stop, her chest was pounding hard, her breath shallow, her blouse damp and sticking to her back.
Even now, inside the cool newsroom, her heart had not fully settled. She reached her desk, dropped her bag, and opened her tablet, quickly checking her emails. One subject line stood out sharply among the rest: National Cup Coverage – Assignment Notice. Her fingers paused on the screen. The noise of the newsroom faded for a second as she tapped it open.
The message was brief and formal, written in Mr Ikenna's usual no-nonsense tone:
'Adaeze Mark, you have been selected to cover the National Cup Tournament beginning this weekend. Today, you will attend the team's first press session at Onikan Stadium. Be professional. Keep emotions off the field.'
Her heart raced again, but this time it was no longer from traffic. A slow, disbelieving smile spread across her face. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for since journalism school.
Kamsi, her colleague and closest friend, leaned over from the next desk, her headset resting around her neck.
'Why are you smiling like someone just proposed to you?'
Adaeze turned the screen towards her. 'Look.'
Kamsi gasped. 'You? National Cup? Adaeze, this is big oh! You'd better not faint when you see those football stars.'
'I'm going there to work, not to faint,' Adaeze said, laughing.
The sliding door to the Sports Editor's office opened, and Mr Ikenna stepped out in a sharp navy suit, a cup of coffee in his hand. His voice cut through the nearby chatter of the sports section.
'Sports team, listen! I want strong headlines this weekend. And Adaeze,' he pointed at her, 'no drama, no gossip, only facts. You understand?'
'Yes, sir,' she replied, sitting straighter.
He nodded, adjusting his glasses. 'Good. Make sure your first National Cup story has fire. Lagos loves fire.'
As he walked away, Kamsi nudged her. 'Wow, look at you! Make sure you bring a power bank and extra pen. You're going to be busy all day.'
Adaeze grinned, her chest tightening with excitement. She had spent months covering secondary school tournaments and forgotten athletes. Now, finally, she would be inside one of the biggest stadiums in the country, reporting shoulder to shoulder with the best.