Futbol

Lima, Peru

I was given the opportunity to play futbol with a few of Maggie Mcconnell´s colleagues and her boyfriend. I was told it was pickup and very casual. I was bit nervous, out of shape, the only girl, not having played much soccer since the fall of ´99, etc. I decided to go anyway. When I got their, the man who rented the pitch, said, "This might be a bit dangerous, you could get hurt." When he said this I did think, oh shit, maybe this will be rough, but as the men rolled in, I knew that would not be the case. The men were like a typical men´s league crew, all shapes and sizes, and ages. I knew I had faced much tougher physical competition in the NESCAC, even though it was women. Looking at the group of men, I knew I would be fine. He also asked me how long I had played soccer for. I replyed 13 years. He said, "Wow, thats a really long time."

The pitch was a cement slab, about the size of a basketball court. The goals were small and the walls were close. So it was sort of like indoor but you could not play off the wall. I was set. My lack of fitness would not create an embarrassing situation. And as it turned out, I was a bit more fit then some of the men. Its funny, one time, Colin Aitken attempted to explain to me the difference between Latin American and European soccer, which I sort of understood. It really hit home while playing with these men. They moved the up the field with phenom individual footwork using the pass sparingly. This is not to say these men were ballhogs just that was how everyone played. Since these men were out of shape it was less beautiful and more like, a bunch of teenage boys playing basketball, fooling around, doing crazy moves that don´t work, but when they do they are sick. These men played like that. Attempting crazy moves, not working that much, and when they did it was unbelievable. These men were having a really great time (as was I) and unlike watching folks in the US play, no one ever got pissed when he messed up. This was made even more apparent by the prescense of one American guy. A recent Prinction grad. He was the only one out there that would get pissed when he messed up. Everyone else, whether they were winning or losing, scoring or being beat, maintained the same attitude. It was great to see all these men playing and enjoying it all, the good and the bad, because they love futbol.

At first they didn´t pass to me at all. Sort of played around me. I steadily proved myself, by either taking the ball from someone or recovering loose balls. The defining momment of the game was when the goalie punted me the ball (I was the only one open.) It was high. The obvious trap was the chest, although I could have done a less gracious thigh trap. I choose the chest, obvi. It was like out of sitcom about teens (Freaks and Geeks or The Wonder Years) time stopped, everyone stared at the ball and me and my chest, I sensed the importance of the moment and trapped the ball beautifully. And with that had proven myself. They started to say my name, looked to me, and even mustered a few, "Buenos." It was great. The best part was when it was all over. The end was anti-climatic, the lights were shut off, there was no high-fives, nothing. But, as I was leaving, the guy who rented out the place and question my skills and toughness invited me back to play again.