The last time I was in Guwahati, I sat on the steps of a ground-floor chai stall near the old stadium, watching a bunch of young boys from Nagaland and Mizoram dribble a ball that had lost half its leather. No referee, no fancy kit, just pure hunger on the tar. That’s your pipeline—not the academies with their laminated charts, but these dusty galis where a boy’s first proper football might be a government-school donation. I trust that boy’s footwork more than any panel’s projection sheet, because I’ve seen what happens when chhote-town talent gets a real evening under the floodlights.
#team#northeast
Jump in to reply — no account needed.
