They say a good player rarely shows up with new boots. It stayed with me. Not because of how clever it sounded, but because over time, it proved itself true. Not just in football, but in life.

A good player rarely walks into the room trying too hard to shine. They don’t speak the loudest. They don’t wear their importance on their sleeve. They don’t rush to be seen. They don’t cry to be picked. They don’t bring new boots for the sake of appearance. They just show up, with something real.

Because when someone has truly prepared, when they’ve put in the hours, when they’ve trained alone, failed quietly, healed slowly, when they’ve played the unseen matches and waited their turn… they don’t need to shout. You will know them when the ball finds their feet.

I’ve seen this too many times, especially in the early days of school life, when new beginnings open the door for new teams, new groups, new selection moments. Everyone tries to show what they have, and sometimes, what they don’t. There’s always pressure to choose quickly. To go with what shines. To put trust in the loudest voice or the most polished boots.

That very first meeting. Maybe under a mango tree. Maybe at the back of a classroom after lessons. No one really knows each other yet, but everyone wants to play. And that meeting? It’s something else.

Everyone is a striker. Everyone is a dribbler. There’s always someone who declares themselves captain before the team even exists. A few try to be coach. Some just want to be seen. You can’t really tell who’s who.

It’s after a few games that things start to reveal themselves. The team that started is never the team that finishes. The formations change themselves. The crowd becomes quiet. Roles shift. That one boy who was benched from the start finally gets a chance. And when the ball touches his feet, you just know. There’s a footballer there.

But here’s the lesson I came to learn:
Shiny things are not always strong.
And the strongest things are rarely in a hurry.

Some of the best players, the most grounded minds, the most reliable people, will stand with the rest, quietly. They know there will be more than one game. They know it’s not about the first match or the first pick. They know the team matters. Timing matters. Chemistry matters. They observe. They wait. They understand.

That is what we call experience. And experience walks differently. It doesn’t beg. It doesn’t decorate itself. It waits for the moment to serve, not the moment to shine. You’ll know it when it steps forward.

You might have overlooked them in the first game. Maybe they didn’t speak up. Maybe they even agreed to sit on the side. But wait till the ball goes to touch the line and they chase it down. Wait till they stop something that looked unstoppable. Wait till they pass differently, move differently, think differently.

You’ll feel it. And you’ll know:
This is not someone who just came to play. This is someone who has played before.

Now, of course, there are people who come in with new boots and still know the game. But it’s rare. Very rare. Because the ones who’ve been in the field long enough, don’t depend on shine to be seen. They trust that their time will come. They know how long the season is. And maybe that’s what we all need to remember.

When you meet someone who insists too much to be chosen, who polishes everything for your attention, who speaks too much of their own greatness, pause.

Because it’s not always the noisiest that carries the value.
And it’s not always the newest that holds the strength.

The good ones? They let the work speak.
And when their time comes, they don’t announce it.
They just play.