The FUD shifted. Now the Warriors were the ones looking at the clock. Now they were whispering about Chipata’s “miraculous” turnaround.

That night, the bus ride home was loud. The wages were still unpaid. The sponsor was still gone. But for ninety minutes, in the red dust of Msekera Stadium, three ghosts had been exorcised.

At halftime, the score was 1-0. The players trudged off, heads down. In the dressing room, the water was lukewarm. Someone mentioned the unpaid wages again.

Fear, Uncertainty, and Doubt. The three-headed monster that lived in the Zambian Second Division.

As the team celebrated, Coach Banda picked up his clipboard. On the back, he wrote three words: Plant anyway.

“Enough,” said a quiet voice. It was not the coach. It was Lubinda, the 17-year-old left winger, the smallest man on the team.

“They say he’s a witch,” whispered the goalkeeper, Mulenga, pulling on his gloves. “He scored four goals last week and a chicken died on the pitch.”

He gathered them in a circle on the worn-out sideline, the smell of freshly cut grass and red dust filling their lungs. The stadium was half-empty, the tin roof of the main stand rattling in the afternoon heat.

“Superstition,” James muttered, but he didn’t look up from his sock.

“The only ghost on this pitch is the one we bring in our heads.”