There is a particular honesty to watching a player who runs for something bigger than the scoreboard. Claudio Ofosu is that kind of player. Off the pitch, he is deliberate: a life arranged around a single, non-negotiable centre. “I’m a child of God,” he says without procession. “I’m somebody that is deeply in love with Jesus. Jesus is my everything.”

Those words are not a soundbite. They are the lens through which he reads the world, the compass that has guided him through a career where every club has been a classroom and every experience, a lesson.

The turning point of his story came through grief and a prayer. It is not the predictable “find yourself through the game” narrative. It is raw. In 2018, after losing one of his closest friends, Claudio stood at a crossroads where talent could have been an escape or an idol. He chose something different. “I remember when my friend passed on,” he says. “I asked Jesus questions: if I’m a Christian, why would someone so close to me die? I prayed that prayer — I said to Him that if He gives me peace, I’ll live completely for Him. From that day I gave my life to Jesus, and I haven’t looked back.”

That peace did not smooth the road ahead. Instead, the questions changed shape. Instead of chasing every open door, Claudio began asking: does this align with what God wants? Football pushes players toward choices that glitter ,  money, attention etc , but sometimes the safer and harder answer is to step back. “Sometimes what seems like a blessing is a distraction,” he tells me. “God wants you to learn in a season.”

The Classroom of Clubs

Non-league football is brutal. Pitches run from immaculate to muddy; contracts are thin, loyalty thinner. Claudio’s earliest years were spent learning to navigate that grey.

“It was never just about contracts,” he says. “Every club was a classroom. Every moment taught me patience, leadership, and how to carry myself as a footballer and as a man.” These classrooms taught more than tactics. They taught how to wake at dawn, travel on buses soaked in sweat, speak clearly to coaches, and hold your temper when a substitution slams the door on a season you wanted to define you. Claudio kept the lessons. He carried them when Spennymoor called and later when Hartlepool offered a stage that tested him all over again.

Ballers in God: Mentorship, Accountability, Brotherhood

Claudio did not discover his faith in isolation. He grew up in a Christian household – “My mom and dad were very heavily invested in ministry, church, etc. My siblings also are very rooted in Christ,” he says — but personal conviction came later. A deeper, intentional relationship with Jesus emerged after a painful season in 2018–2019, following the death of one of his closest friends.

He joined Ballers in God, a ministry founded in 2015 by his mentor John Bostock. “Ballers in God is basically where footballers’ faith meets their football. It’s almost like a bridge between their career and being a Christian,” Claudio explains. He joined around 2019 and eventually became a leader, mentoring and guiding other players.

Being part of Ballers in God helps him stay accountable. “As a football player, there are so many things that come with this calling — money, fame, girls, distractions, temptations. BIG helps me stay accountable because I’m accountable to my mentors and other leaders. That allows me to stay rooted in Jesus Christ. I’m not perfect, but it definitely helps me along my journey,” he says.

Claudio’s Identity

Claudio’s identity is rooted in faith, not the world’s checklist of achievements or appearances. “I am who Jesus says I am,” he says, and in that sentence lies a philosophy. He defines himself not by trophies, contracts, or status, but by reflection of God’s image, integrity, and the way he carries himself. “It’s about being someone who mirrors Christ, not someone who mirrors society’s expectations,” he explains. Everything he does,  football, mentorship, interviews, daily life, flows from that understanding of who he is.

The Discipline of Discernment

Claudio’s account of missed moves and almost-deals reads like a primer in discernment: careers are a series of complex, overlapping decisions, and in each one there is always the question — is this mine? Sometimes the right answer is to press. Sometimes it is to pause.

“I’ve been close to signing contracts, moved near a new club, and then God directed me otherwise,” he says. “Sometimes God says ‘no’ because He loves you.” That theological frame is not an escape; it is discipline. It forces patience in an industry where youth is currency and immediacy masquerades as wisdom.

He does not romanticize mistakes. “There are decisions I made — agents, loans, moments I thought were right but weren’t , that I look back on and wish I did differently,” he admits. Yet regret lives alongside gratitude, both under a larger providence: “God works all things together for our good.”

Balance? No — Fullness

The old talk about balancing faith and profession is dismissed with a practiced smile. “There is no such thing as balance for me,” he says. “If I tried to balance my relationship with Jesus and my football, Jesus becomes equal to my work. I don’t want to give 10% to my faith. I want to give 100% to Jesus and 100% to football.”

It’s devotion and discipline. He trains like a professional, prays like a disciple. Faith is not a ritual added to a day; it is the organizing principle.

Legacy in Practice

Legacy, for Claudio, is concrete. It is mentorship programmes, consistent example, and a trail of players who learn to live between pressure and purpose. “Legacy for me is not about my name,” he explains. “I want to leave something that continues even when I’m gone, a legacy that points to Christ.” He imagines players whose careers do not devour their souls, coaches who understand stewardship, and locker rooms where character is as rehearsed as corner routines. This is his quiet revolution.

Hunger and the Next Chapter

Claudio is currently between contracts. Hungry, he seeks not redemption but direction: a place that lets his game sing and his faith resonate. “I want to step into a place where I can showcase the gifts God has given me, help the club win titles, and bring the Gospel to the pitch,” he says.

He also speaks to his younger self: “ I wish i had found Jesus earlier,” he says plainly. “It would have helped me make better decisions in football and life. But I’m also at a place of assurance — I found Jesus when He wanted me to find Him.”

Running to Something, Not From It

Claudio Ofosu’s story refuses the binary of athlete or believer. He is both ,and more. He runs toward a faster cross-field pass, a better season, a locker room with fewer temptations and more truth. He runs toward a legacy anchored not in applause but in influence.

“Whatever I do, whether I eat or drink, I do it to the glory of God,” he says — a simple, biblical sentence that turns his daily grind into liturgy. It is the secret tilt behind his steps. Football will keep giving him fixtures, contracts, and tests. But if you watch Claudio long enough, you see the thing that outlasts them all: the steadiness of a life aligned, the discipline of a man who has chosen to play his season under one light. It is a rare thing in professional sport: a player who measures himself by his Maker more than his market. That is the story and the offering  of Claudio Ofosu.