Imag­ine the mood and the at­mos­phere in­side the Trinidad & To­ba­go lock­er room in Dort­mund on June 10, 2006—min­utes be­fore our World Cup de­but against Swe­den.

Sha­ka His­lop had just walked back in, car­ry­ing the weight of news that had come to him on­ly 20 min­utes ear­li­er: he was start­ing. Kelvin Jack had pulled up in the pre-game warm-up, and Leo Been­hakker had turned to His­lop.

The for­mer New­cas­tle man lat­er ad­mit­ted that for every game he start­ed in his ca­reer, he al­ways went out first in warm-ups and was al­ways the first man back in the lock­er room in or­der to get some alone time. But this time he ex­pect­ed to be the third choice, a spec­ta­tor in kit, un­til Been­hakker looked him in the eye and said, “You ready for this?”

Af­ter a rushed warm-up, His­lop re­turned to the lock­er room be­fore Dwight Yorke and the oth­er se­nior play­ers. Some con­fu­sion filled the air in the Trinidad & To­ba­go camp and among fans— Was it go­ing to be Ince? Or is it Sha­ka to start in goal? That ten­sion, that un­cer­tain­ty, mixed with adren­a­line and fo­cus, is part of the sanc­ti­ty of the lock­er room. It’s not just four walls, bench­es, and show­ers. It’s the soul of the team, the one place where the out­side world can­not in­trude, where every whis­per, every word, every glance means some­thing.

I have been very for­tu­nate to be among the ones al­lowed in­side over the years. In the ear­ly days, I re­mem­ber even Been­hakker once ask­ing me to step out­side be­fore even­tu­al­ly say­ing, “Okay, fine.” That’s how care­ful­ly guard­ed the space was. Times have changed, of course. Nowa­days, de­pend­ing on the head coach’s call, cam­era­men are some­times al­lowed in for the full du­ra­tion—some­thing un­think­able back then. But even with those shifts, the lock­er room re­mains a place that de­mands re­spect.

Over the years, there have been count­less re­minders of why the lock­er room must re­main sa­cred. I re­mem­ber Pres­i­dent George Maxwell Richards, dig­ni­fied and hum­ble, wish­ing the team good luck be­fore the de­ci­sive qual­i­fi­er against Bahrain in Man­a­ma in 2005. Or Bri­an Lara —walk­ing in­to train­ing be­fore the qual­i­fi­er against Cos­ta Ri­ca in Port-of-Spain that same year, re­mind­ing the play­ers what rep­re­sent­ing Trinidad & To­ba­go meant. Not every­one is al­lowed in, and not every­one should be. There are sto­ries of past TTFA (Trinidad & To­ba­go Foot­ball As­so­ci­a­tion) em­ploy­ee Fa­ree­da Sanchez, once pre­vent­ing the mighty Jack Warn­er from en­ter­ing the lock­er room at a 1989 qual­i­fy­ing game. Even pow­er had no place there. Of course, Jack was the man in those days but it was felt that on­ly coach­es and play­ers should be in the room on that par­tic­u­lar oc­ca­sion.

The lock­er room is where moods shift, where play­ers pre­pare them­selves men­tal­ly and emo­tion­al­ly. It’s al­so where dis­rup­tions can de­rail a team. Dur­ing the Con­ca­caf Na­tions League play­off match in Port-of-Spain in 2023, the US lock­er room got a soak­ing dur­ing the first half against us when a pipe burst over­head, forc­ing sta­di­um staff to re­lo­cate team ap­par­el to an­oth­er room be­fore the half end­ed. Imag­ine if it had been our play­ers sub­ject­ed to that hor­rid con­di­tion in such a cru­cial match.

We’ve had our own sto­ries—like the Oc­to­ber 2024 game against Cu­ba in San­ti­a­go when the Trinidad & To­ba­go lock­er room was scorch­ing hot, no air con­di­tion­ing or fans with lim­it­ed ven­ti­la­tion, un­bear­able for prop­er fo­cus. Or at Hase­ly Craw­ford Sta­di­um years back, when toi­lets wouldn’t flush and play­ers had to en­dure un­speak­able con­di­tions be­fore tak­ing the field. Thank­ful for cur­rent-day im­prove­ments.

That is why com­fort mat­ters. A prop­er lock­er room is not just about avoid­ing the bad—it’s about cre­at­ing the right at­mos­phere. Ap­pro­pri­ate seat­ing where play­ers can re­lax and fo­cus, light­ing that sets the right mood, and ded­i­cat­ed spaces for staff to work all con­tribute to per­for­mance. Even the walls play a role: mu­rals that cel­e­brate his­to­ry, team mes­sages that in­spire, re­minders of iden­ti­ty and pur­pose. These de­tails turn a lock­er room in­to more than a hold­ing area—they make it a fortress of be­lief.

Some venues take it even fur­ther. For in­stance, at the leg­endary Es­ta­dio Azteca in Mex­i­co, even the vis­it­ing lock­er rooms are brand­ed with the home team’s im­agery and his­to­ry. That means as a vis­i­tor, from the mo­ment you walk in, you’re con­front­ed by re­minders of Mex­i­can tri­umphs star­ing back at you. It’s sub­tle, but pow­er­ful—a psy­cho­log­i­cal edge be­fore a ball is even kicked.

At the high­est lev­el of the game, where inch­es and mo­ments de­cide match­es, the small­est dis­rup­tion can tip the bal­ance. But be­yond the prac­ti­cal, there is some­thing deep­er: the lock­er room is a tem­ple of sorts, a place where fear, hope, de­ter­mi­na­tion, and uni­ty con­verge.

When the door clos­es, it’s just the team. Coach­es with their fi­nal words. Cap­tains with their last ral­ly­ing cry. Team­mates lean­ing on each oth­er in si­lence or in song. The sa­cred­ness of that space is what binds play­ers be­fore they step in­to the roar of the crowd. And for Trinidad & To­ba­go foot­ball, it has car­ried sto­ries of re­silience, tri­umph, and heart­break—mo­ments that will nev­er leave the walls, but live for­ev­er in the mem­o­ries of those who were there.

Sep­tem­ber is com­ing. Get Ready!

Shaun Fuentes is the head of TTFA Com­mu­ni­ca­tions. He was a FI­FA Me­dia Of­fi­cer at the 2010 FI­FA World Cup in South Africa and 2013 FI­FA U-20 World Cup in Turkey. He has trav­elled to 90 coun­tries dur­ing his jour­ney in sport. The views ex­pressed are sole­ly his and not a rep­re­sen­ta­tion of any or­gan­i­sa­tion. shaunfuentes@ya­hoo.com