KICKSTART: The Lucknow Underdogs

Chapter 1: The Spark in the Dust 

The sun blazed over Husainabad grounds as barefooted boys kicked around a deflated ball. Among them was Rohan Mishra, once a street prodigy, now a shadow of his past glory. After a knee injury crushed his professional dreams, he coached school kids for a living. But the fire within never died.

That evening, while sipping chai near Gomti Nagar, Rohan spotted a poster: “UP District Football Trials: Build Your Dream Team.” His heart raced.

He had an idea. A team from Lucknow. Not trained, not rich—but raw and passionate.

Over the next week, Rohan scouted local parks, schools, even traffic signals. He found Vikram Singh, a hot-headed striker with prison tattoos and magic feet; Aarav Gupta, a scrawny teen with the vision of a veteran midfielder. Along with six others, the motley crew gathered.

Their first practice at La Martiniere’s backfield was chaos—missed passes, ego clashes, and flying tempers. Yet, Rohan saw sparks.

The boys named themselves Awadh FC—a nod to their roots and rebellion.

But reality hit quick. No jerseys, no ground, no sponsors. Just dreams.

Their first match? A disaster. They were thrashed 6-0 by the “Lucknow Lions.” Vikram stormed off mid-game. Aarav cried silently.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” whispered Rohan, as he looked at his bruised players.

But the next morning, they all returned. Quiet, bruised—but present.

And that was enough.

Chapter 2: Troubled Boots

 Vikram Singh didn’t believe in second chances. Raised by the streets, abandoned by his alcoholic father, jailed at seventeen for assault. Football was his escape—and his curse.

Rohan knew talent when he saw it, but taming Vikram was like holding fire in bare hands. During practice, he fought teammates, challenged Rohan, and refused drills.

“You want discipline, go coach in a convent!” Vikram spat once.

Aarav, meanwhile, watched silently. He admired Vikram’s pace and ball control. But the rage? It scared him.

One day, a brawl broke out after Vikram punched a teammate. Rohan lost it. “You’re off the team!”

That night, Rohan found a note near his scooter. Scribbled in shaky letters: “You kick me out, you kill the only thing that keeps me sane. – V”

Rohan hesitated. Everyone deserved a shot. He called in a favor.

Enter Coach Khan—a stoic former I-League tactician, living in anonymity.

“I heard you’ve got a madhouse that kicks like Brazil and fights like Belfast,” he chuckled.

Khan’s arrival changed everything.

“Vikram stays. But he follows my rules,” Khan warned.

From the next day, it wasn’t just football. It was drills, sprints, meditation, strategy.

Vikram sulked—but followed. Slowly, grudgingly.

And then, one cloudy evening, during a scrimmage, Vikram sliced through defenders and netted a screamer.

Coach Khan nodded. “Now that… was football.”

Chapter 3: The Rise of Awadh 

Awadh FC started looking like a team. Uniforms stitched from scratch, training every morning at a borrowed ground, and tactics chalked on blackboards.

Coach Khan was ruthless. No phones, no egos. Just focus.

Aarav blossomed under his guidance. The boy had magic in his feet, threading passes with surgical precision. Vikram, though still wild, became more lethal—a striker with purpose.

The team started winning local matches. Narrowly, but consistently.

One night, after a win, a tall man in a white Safari approached Rohan. Mr. Kumar, a local businessman with fond memories of Mohun Bagan and East Bengal.

“I believe in you, coach. I’ll sponsor this madness,” he smiled.

With jerseys, kits, travel funds and protein bars finally arriving, confidence soared.

Next up: the Lucknow District League. Their first match? A rematch with the Lucknow Lions.

This time, Awadh FC didn’t flinch. Vikram scored twice. Aarav dazzled with assists. Final whistle: 3-1 to Awadh.

The city took notice.

Local newspapers called it: “Revenge Served Awadhi Style.”

And at night, Rohan quietly whispered to himself, “We’re just getting started.”

Chapter 4: Pressure Cooker 

The buzz around Awadh FC was becoming deafening. News channels covered their training. Journalists trailed their matches. Suddenly, the underdogs had fans. With fame came pressure—and cracks began to show.

Aarav’s grades dipped. His father, a stern schoolteacher, warned him, “One more failed exam, and football ends.” Vikram spiraled after an old friend overdosed. He skipped practice and was spotted brawling at a local bar. Rohan’s health deteriorated from long nights and poor sleep. Even Coach Khan became distant, wrestling demons from his coaching past.

The District League semi-final arrived like a storm. They played the elite Hazratganj Hawks. Tension was thick. Vikram missed two open chances. Aarav lost focus, distracted by his father watching from the stands. A red card and a late goal buried them 2-1.

In the locker room, silence screamed. Rohan stood up, fire in his voice. “You think this is just a game? You’re not playing for trophies. You’re playing to change your stories.”

Coach Khan finally spoke. “I’ve coached pros. None had your fight. But you need heart and head.”

The next day, Aarav apologized to his father—and promised to balance both worlds. Vikram showed up early, sober and quiet. The team regrouped.

In the third-place game, they dominated. Aarav assisted, Vikram scored twice. Awadh FC sealed their ticket to the UP State Qualifiers.

From the ashes, they rose again.

Chapter 5: Fire in the Belly

 The UP State Qualifiers in Kanpur weren’t just tough—they were war. Awadh FC faced teams with years of academy training and big-name coaches.

In the opener, they faced Kanpur Kings, favorites to win. The match began with brute tackles and mind games. Aarav stayed calm, and in the 25th minute, curled a free-kick into the top corner. Vikram struck twice in the second half. 3-1 victory.

Back at their lodge, a man in a blazer waited. “I’m from Mumbai City FC,” he told Rohan. “Your striker—he’s something else.”

Vikram grinned but Khan cautioned, “Stay grounded. One game doesn’t make a career.”

The quarters were a rain-drenched slog. Muddy pitch, soaked boots, raw determination. Aarav fell, scraped his knee, got up, and chipped the ball to Vikram, who smashed in the winner. 1-0. Grit over glamour.

In the semis, they outplayed Agra United. Aarav controlled the midfield like a maestro. Coach Khan called it “poetry in studs.”

The final went into penalties. Nerves rattled. Rohan walked up to Vikram, “Whatever happens, you’ve already changed your story.”

Vikram nodded. He took the final kick. Goal. Top corner.

Awadh FC: UP State Champions.

Lucknow erupted. Their dream lived on.

Chapter 6: Eyes on the League 

The ISL qualification tournament was the last frontier. Two victories away from the big league.

They landed in Pune for the zonal playoffs. New sponsor-funded kits, cameras following their journey. Pressure soared.

First match: Vasco Vultures. Former Goan champions. First half, Vasco scored from a corner. 0-1.

At halftime, Khan’s speech was short. “You’ve trained too hard to go out like this.”

Second half, Aarav slipped through midfield and scored from 25 yards. Level.

In the 85th minute, Vikram ran through three defenders, chipped the keeper. 2-1.

Victory.

That night, Aarav got a call. “You’re selected for India U-20 camp.” He couldn’t speak. Rohan hugged him, eyes moist.

Next: Mumbai Mavericks, the ISL gatekeepers.

Chapter 7: City of Dreams

 Under the lights of Andheri Sports Complex, Awadh FC stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Mumbai Mavericks.

The Mavericks had ex-ISL stars. Their warm-up alone looked like a pro clinic.

Awadh FC? Nervous, but burning.

Kickoff. Mumbai scored in 12 minutes.

Rohan shouted, “We’ve faced worse!”

Aarav stepped up. He beat two defenders, found space, and shot. The ball kissed the bar, then net.

1-1.

Second half. A defensive lapse. Mumbai made it 2-1.

88th minute: Aarav intercepted a pass, lobbed it to Vikram. He juggled past the last man, crossed back. Aarav volleyed. Net rippled. 2-2.

Extra time came and went. Penalties.

Chapter 8: The Penalty Crossroad 

The crowd held its breath. Penalty time.

Both teams converted four each. Final kick: Vikram.

He walked to the spot. Crowd jeered. He blocked it out. He saw his old alley, his dead friend’s photo tattooed on his forearm, Rohan’s hand on his shoulder.

He struck.

Silence. Then eruption.

Goal. Awadh FC had done the unthinkable.

From Husainabad to ISL.

Tears flowed. Rohan knelt, overwhelmed. Coach Khan looked skyward.

Awadh FC was going pro.

Chapter 9: Big League Debut 

ISL debut: Awadh FC vs ATK Mohun Bagan. National anthem played. Rohan looked at his boys. From streetlights to spotlights.

They lost 3-0. But learned.

In the next match, they stunned Bengaluru FC with a 1-1 draw. Aarav bossed the midfield. Vikram, now eyed by scouts, netted their equalizer.

Mid-season, Mumbai City FC offered Vikram a contract. He left with a tearful goodbye. Aarav was named in India’s U-20 squad to play Brazil.

Awadh FC ended 7th. Not bad. Not perfect.

But enough to inspire.

Chapter 10: Coach and Legacy

 Rohan hung up his boots. Full-time coach now. Mr. Kumar funded five academies in UP. Coach Khan trained new coaches.

Vikram sent boots and kits to his old slum.

Awadh FC wasn't just a club. It was a movement.

Rohan visited schools. “The next Messi could be from Malihabad,” he’d say.

The legend was growing.

Chapter 11: Football Revolution

 Lucknow hosted its first international friendly: India vs Bahrain. Stadium packed. Flags waved. Rohan watched from the VIP box.

His academy produced a girl prodigy—Nazia, age 16, called up for India U-17.

New academies sprung up in Kanpur, Allahabad, Gorakhpur.

Football had taken root. Real roots.

Chapter 12: Rohan's Reflection

 One foggy morning, Rohan stood on his balcony. He watched young boys chase a ball near the old Husainabad ground. His phone buzzed.

Vikram: “Coach, I made the national team bench. You believed before I did.”

Aarav: “Starting against Argentina next week. Thank you for everything.”

Rohan smiled.

He whispered, “The beautiful game gave me everything. Now, I give it back.”

Fade to black.