Aardip Basnet
Football is a game that has existed for generations, long before floodlights and television turned it into a global spectacle. Today, it is the most popular sport in the world, with nearly three billion people watching or playing it. In Nepal too, football holds a special place in people’s hearts. Our country has produced many talented players over the years. The Nepali men’s team has even reached the finals of the South Asian Football Federation Cup held in Goa, India, bravely losing only to the host nation.
Yet, in recent years, the game in Nepal has begun to decline.
Players struggle without basic facilities—there are no proper gyms, nutrition is poor, conditioning camps are rare, and at times, even qualified coaches are missing. Qualification for major tournaments like the Asia Cup or the World Cup feels like a distant dream. Talented players shine for their school houses and local clubs, only to fade away due to lack of support. This situation must change.
I know this because I have lived it.
I study in Grade 9 at Imperial World School, and football has been part of my life since I was very young. On my fourth birthday, my father gives me a football. From that day on, it never leaves my side. I kick it around the house, juggle it in the garden, and chase it across every open space I can find. Many times, my parents have to pull me away from the ball just to get me to eat.
By the time I am thirteen, I become the best player in my school. One afternoon, my sports teacher watches me train and says confidently, “We’ll send him for the U-15 trials.”
My dream is simple—to play for my country.
I train relentlessly. I run every morning before sunrise, work on my stamina, and ask my coach to pass the ball harder and faster as I practice control. Talent alone is not enough; discipline turns it into something stronger. Soon, I join the Hattigauda Football Club, which competes in the B Division. That year, I win the Best Player award, surpassing seasoned footballers who have played for years.
Local media begin sharing videos of my performances. One post goes viral. It catches the attention of the Football Association.
The news of my selection for the national team comes unexpectedly. One morning, I follow my usual routine—I go for a run and reach the ground early to practice alone before the rest of the team arrives. As I juggle the ball, the ground guard walks up to me with an envelope.
“This came for you,” he says.
When I read the letter, my hands tremble. I feel like I am floating on cloud nine.
When the rest of the team arrives and the news spreads, there is excitement everywhere.
“I knew he’d make it,” my coach says proudly
They call me the Little Gem. I am fast, physically strong, and technically sound. More importantly, everyone knows I never rely on talent alone—I work hard every day to improve. Some even say I will become their future captain.
Wearing the national jersey and playing alongside the best players in the country on national television fills my entire community with pride. The match is played at Dasharath Rangasala against a strong Japanese side. Although Japan sends their B team, they are expected to defeat Nepal comfortably. One of their players, Honda, is a household name who has played in the World Cup in South Africa.
The air is heavy with moisture, and soon rain pours relentlessly. Water floods the pitch. Players slip, fall, and slide across the mud. The match looks more like a rice-planting festival than a football game, with players from both teams covered in mud. Later, the Japanese team complains about the conditions, but ironically, the weather neutralises their technical superiority. By halftime, they are only one goal ahead.
The Nepali head coach makes a bold decision. He substitutes a midfielder and calls me onto the field.
This is my moment.
As I step onto the pitch, I feel ready to write my name into tomorrow’s headlines. But fate is unkind. In the muddy chaos, as I strike the ball, my foot sinks into the soaked ground. My knee twists sharply. I collapse, unable to stand.
The medical team rushes onto the field and carries me off in the pouring rain. I am replaced. My game is over.
I never fully recover from the injury. My football career ends before it truly begins.
The news spreads quickly across the country. Social media fills with messages:
“So unfair—our Little Gem deserved better.”
“This is what happens when players are forced to play without proper facilities.”
“Nepali football failed him.”
I am down, but I am not defeated.
My life enters a crisis, but it also gives me a purpose. I work so that no other “Little Gem” has to suffer the same fate. Today, with support from the Ministry of Sports, I am involved in improving football facilities across the country
I may no longer play the game,but I continue to fight for its future.
