Scouring the Country's Orphanages in Search of the World's Next Superstar

"You could not be more heartless!" snarled Pauline, the 'Waste Not, Want Not' orphanage manager, as she stared me down from behind her old, oversized mahogany desk with all the intensity of Mike Tyson before a fight. She had a vibe about her that reminded me a lot of my old, witch-like high school principal, Ms Marsh, who used to wear a cloak, darken doorways like Dracula and intimidate the hell out of me all those years ago. "These children are all unique and perfect in their own special way! You'd be lucky to have any of them on your crappy little team!"

She had no idea.

She had no idea what it took to be the best. The qualities required to become a success in this game or the hidden traits a person must possess to exceed all expectations. And she certainly had no idea just how heartless and ruthless I was prepared to be on my quest to find and create the world's next soccer superstar idol. Ronaldo should be quaking in his boots.

"Listen, Paula."

"It's Pauline!" she glared.

"Right. Pauline." I said, slowly leaning back in my chair, stroking my 5-o'clock stubble and gazing into the middle distance like some prolific old philosopher who's about to drop a couple of mind-blowing wisdom bombs on the audience.

"I'm looking for something different. A kid who stands out from the crowd. Who has that 'X-factor'. A Lil pizazz. I need someone I can work with, train and mould into the best damn player the world has ever seen! And to do that they have to have a particular set of qualities. I can't just take some average, run-of-the-mill youngster off of the 'Waste Not, Want Not' books. If you know what I mean?"

"AVERAGE!? RUN-OF-THE-MILL!?"

Pauline leapt from her seat in a rage propelling it backwards like a Scud missile into the venison blinds behind her and rattling the single pane window within its rotten old timber frame.

"I'LL GIVE YOU RUN-OF-THE-MILL!" she yelled, slamming a thick leather-bound book on the desk with enough vigour to cause dust off the light shade above to sprinkle down on me as if I'd been blessed by a magical pixie from Neverland.

"What about Jorge? Or Sophie?" she suggested, flicking through the pages and tapping her finger on what she thought were potential 'candidates' for the role.

"Jorge is too fat, but could make for a good darts player and I'm not in the market for a girl" I blurted out without thinking - sometimes my big mouth kicks into gear before my brain has time to assess the wording.

"IN THE MARKET!? WELL, YOU'RE A REAL PIECE OF…" Pauline erupted once again, luckily though, I was able to zone out and protect myself somewhat from the onslaught of verbal abuse being hurled my way; a skill I picked up whilst working in the customer service and complaints department for Wish.com.

As Pauline let loose, flailing her arms around, pointing, shouting, spitting - though I think that was unintentional (I hope) - and going hell for leather, I busied myself by flicking through the open book of faces which lay upon her table.

Each page was filled with profiles of children looking for a place to call home. There must have been around two hundred pages within the book and I noticed more resting on a bookshelf to my left. Each profile contained a photograph of the kid, a brief description of their background and a personal statement in which the child told a little about themselves; what they were hoping for, their dreams, goals, interests and hobbies.

Page after page of smiling, optimistic faces stared back at me as I flicked through the pages. So many little personalities, so many innocent lives all just looking for one thing; for someone to give them a chance. It almost brought a tear to my eye. Maybe Pauline was right? Perhaps I was being too heartless? Maybe, instead of trying to find the world's next big superstar, I should be looking to help more of these disadvantaged kids.

Looking up from the book I could see that Pauline was still going off. The lungs on this woman, I swear. I've never seen someone rant and rave for so long without stopping for a breath. Maybe I should sign her up for the team, she'd make a great winger with cardio like that.

Not wanting to interrupt her out of fear, I continued to thumb through the book as I waited for the barrage to ease. Page after page I scanned. Profile after profile. Then, on the turn of page eighty-six, it happened. I found my potential superstar. Oliver, or Olly as he referred to himself in the bio. He was taller than most of the other kids, had an athletic frame and even mentioned in his statement that he liked to stay active and had a keen interest in most sports. Perfect.

"STOP! Pauline, stop. I get your point." I hadn't been listening, but I wasn't going to tell her that.

"I think I've found the one. Olly? He has all the traits I've been searching for and I think maybe, just maybe, he could be something special. Can we arrange a meeting, please?

Pauline stared back at me, red-faced, heavy breathing, trying to recover from an impressive fit of fury.

"Olly, you say? He's been on our books for a while now and yes, he is something special."

She paused for a moment and I could almost see the cogs in her brain cranking as she thought it through.

"Ok. I'll schedule an appointment between the two of you and be in touch. However, one wrong move from you, boyo, one wrong word uttered to upset Oliver or make him feel uncomfortable and I'll end you. GOT IT!"

"Got it, Pauline. Loud and clear. Let's do this."

Damn, she is an intense human being.

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Thanks for reading 😊 .

(Originally published on Medium)