Eberechi Eze: From Academy Rejection to Arsenal's Number 10

By Regina Braiden

Late summer at the Emirates Stadium—a flurry of anticipation, expectation, and red and white dreams. The 27-year-old Eberechi Eze, a boyhood Gunners fan once released from the very academy he felt connected to, was about to walk onto the pitch not just as any signing, but as a living, breathing story of resilience. This chapter of his life wasn't just another page—it was a redemption arc written in sweat, skill, and unwavering belief.

Eze Eberechi...Once a Gunner, Always a Gunner !

• Language: English
• Publisher: Regina Braiden
• Release date: Aug 29, 2025
• ISBN: 9798230085300

Book preview

Why this book matters

This is not just a football story. This is a human story of persistence, belief, and humility. Eberechi Eze embodies the lesson that talent alone is never enough—you need courage when doors close, focus when critics doubt you, and joy even in struggle.

For young players everywhere who feel overlooked, Eze’s path shows that rejection is not the end—it’s a test. For Arsenal fans, his arrival signals not just a new signing, but a reminder of what the club stands for: class, ambition, and the courage to dream. For neutrals, it’s proof that football still writes fairytales.

What lies ahead

In the chapters that follow, this book will take you deeper:

•  Into the tight-knit streets of Greenwich, where a shy boy learned to play with a fearless heart.

•  Into the academy halls where rejection letters became stepping stones.

•  Into the changing rooms of Wycombe, QPR, and Palace, where Eze learned to grow as a man as well as a footballer.

•  Into the tactical mind of Mikel Arteta, who believes Eze’s creativity can unlock Arsenal’s next level.

•  And into the voices of legends—players like Thierry Henry and Ian Wright who see in Eze a reflection of their own hunger and love for the game.

This is the story of how one young man, told no too many times to count, kept saying yes to himself. How he learned to see failure not as final, but as fuel. How he went from South London cages to the Emirates Stadium lights.

This is the story of Eberechi Eze: fearless, joyful, unbroken.

Welcome to his journey.

PART 1

His Beginning

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Eberechi Oluchi Eze was born on June 29, 1998, in Greenwich, South London, to Nigerian parents Lewis and Ada Eze. His first world was small and unassuming — a modest flat tucked in among terraced houses, where space was tight and dreams were even bigger than the walls could contain. In this corner of South London, the game of football wasn’t just a weekend hobby. It was a second language spoken fluently on pavements, in concrete cages, and on cramped schoolyards. Every spare moment was a kickabout. Every railing could be a goalpost. And in the middle of it all was a boy who always seemed to have a ball at his feet.

As the youngest of three brothers, with Ikechi and Chima constantly ahead of him, Eberechi grew up knowing that nothing in life would be handed down gently. In the living room, the boys would clear space by pushing furniture to the walls, rolling up socks into makeshift balls, and playing until Ada called from the kitchen to keep the noise down. Eberechi learned early to fend for himself, to protect the ball from bigger, stronger challengers. He didn’t just survive these games; he shone. His touch was soft but decisive, his feet moved as if he had been dribbling since birth, and even at eight or nine, there was a grace about the way he glided past opponents that made friends stop and watch.

The Ezes’ household was warm and disciplined in equal measure. Lewis worked long shifts in security; Ada in care. Theirs was a life built on persistence and faith. Sundays were reserved for church, no excuses. What is yours will not pass you by, Ada would remind her sons whenever life felt unfair. Eberechi absorbed those words, even if he didn’t always understand them at first. To him, football wasn’t just something he was good at — it was something he loved so deeply that he would play whether or not anyone was watching. When he was finally spotted by Arsenal scouts and offered a place at the club’s famous Hale End academy at eight years old, it felt like a dream made real.

For a boy who idolized Thierry Henry, pulling on an Arsenal kit was almost sacred. Hale End was a palace compared to the concrete cages of Greenwich — manicured pitches, structured training, gleaming facilities. Eberechi spent nights sleeping in his Arsenal gear, practicing Henry’s celebration in front of a mirror, imagining the roar of the Emirates crowd. His parents were proud but cautious, reminding him to stay humble and work hard. Even at such a young age, he understood that being at Arsenal didn’t guarantee anything. The academy was full of talent, every boy dreaming the same dream.

As he approached his teenage years, coaches began to question whether Eze had the physicality to make it at the very highest level. His skill was obvious — his balance, vision, and dribbling made him stand out — but there were concerns about whether he could cope with the pace and intensity of elite football as he grew older. Around the age of thirteen, Arsenal made their decision. They let him go. The news landed like a punch to the stomach. For a child who had wrapped his whole identity in the dream of playing for Arsenal, the rejection was devastating. He went home, locked himself in his room, and cried quietly into his pillow, convinced that the dream had ended before it had really begun.

But the heartbreak didn’t stop there. Eze tried his luck at Fulham, Reading, Millwall, and other clubs around London. Each time the answer was the same: too small, too lightweight, too risky. By sixteen, many of his peers were signing scholarships and stepping confidently toward professional contracts, while Eberechi was training alone in local parks, wondering if his time had passed before it even started. There were moments of doubt, moments when the thought of giving up crept in like an unwelcome guest. But Lewis and Ada refused to let him lose hope. His older brothers dragged him to the cages to keep his skills sharp. And every night, Ada would remind him that rejection was not failure — that God’s timing was different from human timing.

With the professional academies closed to him, Eze joined Kinetic Academy, a South London programme for unsigned players who refused to quit. Unlike the polished, controlled environment of elite clubs, Kinetic was raw and unforgiving. Training sessions were intense, games were fast and physical, and players fought for every chance to impress. But it was here, away from the high-pressure glare of scouts, that Eberechi rediscovered his joy. He played with freedom again, not afraid to try tricks, not worried about making mistakes. Harry Hudson, one of his coaches at Kinetic, recalls a teenager who had been humbled but not broken. Most kids who get released lose confidence, Hudson said. But Eberechi came every day ready to learn. No sulking, no excuses — just a love for the game.

The streets of South London toughened him in ways no academy drill could. Small-sided cage football, with its relentless pace and tight spaces, sharpened his footwork and balance. Playing against older, stronger opponents in parks and schoolyards made him fearless. Slowly but surely, the rejection that once stung so badly became fuel. By eighteen, Eze had transformed himself. He wasn’t just a skilful kid with good technique — he was a resilient, battle-hardened footballer with a quiet determination burning inside him.

The breakthrough finally came when Queens Park Rangers invited him for a trial. Loftus Road might not have had the glamour of the Emirates, but to Eberechi it felt like salvation. In training, his ability was impossible to ignore. The ball stuck to his feet like it belonged there. His movement was elegant and unhurried, his decision-making mature beyond his years. QPR’s coaches didn’t just see talent; they saw character. They saw a young man who had tasted rejection, who had learned to fight without losing his smile, and who treated every chance as if it might be his last. They gave him a youth contract, and for Eze, it was more than just a piece of paper. It was proof that someone believed in him again.

Looking back, those years of rejection and struggle were a blessing in disguise. They forced him to grow up fast, to understand that talent alone is never enough, and to build the kind of inner strength that can’t be coached. He learned to work when no one was watching. He learned to stay humble when praise eventually came. And he learned that setbacks are not the end — they are the preparation. Even as he moved through QPR’s youth ranks toward the senior squad, Eze carried the scars of his early disappointments, not as wounds but as reminders of what he had already