The drums of despair beat a heavy rhythm in Gambian hearts. The Scorpions, our beloved national team, lie coiled at the bottom of Group C, their venom spent, their hopes dwindling faster than the sands of time. No goals, no points, just a shadow of the team that danced with optimism before the tournament began.

Tonight, the air crackles with desperation. Fans cling to the fragile threads of hope, whispering prayers to a God who seems to have turned a deaf ear. Bright Stars, our lead cheer leaders desperately wanting hang on to the good food and beautiful atmosphere of the land of the elephants, GFF Officials, their faces etched with worry, huddle around every score sheet, frantically calculating the odds of becoming one of the “best losers” – a consolation prize no one truly desires.

Tom Saintfiet, the man entrusted with weaving magic from this band of scorpions, stands at the precipice. His magic tricks at the last AFCON already busted. Was the scorpions first stint on the big stage a flash in the pan? The sting of Guinea’s victory still fresh, he must now face the roaring lion of Cameroon, a beast wounded but far from tamed. His previous pronouncements, the sarcastic barbs aimed at critics and the dismissive caricature of Gambian football, echo hollowly in the face of this do-or-die battle.

This is no time for swagger, no room for self-congratulation. The Gambian league, once deemed unworthy by Saintfiet, now holds the echoes of dreams shattered, of potential unfulfilled. The record, once a blank slate, now bears the stark inscription of failure. It is a record that stares back at him, a mirror reflecting not the image of a saviour, but of a man adrift, clutching at straws.

But tonight, the Scorpions cannot afford introspection. They must fight, not for glory, but for pride. They must sting back, not with venom, but with the spirit of a nation that refuses to surrender. For the fans who fill the stadium, their roar will be a weapon, their chants a shield against the tide of despair.

The whistle blows. The Scorpions take the field, their eyes locked on the prize, or perhaps on the precipice. Can they weave their magic, can they defy the odds? Only time will tell. But one thing is certain, tonight, the Scorpions will dance, not to the tune of triumph, but to the rhythm of their own resilience.

This is not just a game. It is a battle cry, a desperate plea for redemption. It is the Scorpions’ song of the swan, a defiant melody that will echo long after the final whistle. Whether it be a sting of victory or a mournful dirge, the Gambia will listen, and remember.

For tonight, we are all Scorpions, and our hearts beat as one. Let the drums of despair be drowned out by the roar of our hope. Let the dance begin.