Futbol

After a solid two days of being sick I’m almost completely back to normal. I guess it wouldn’t be a true experience abroad without some type of stomach bug or virus that causes you to wake up in the middle of the night with fever and accompanying vomiting. I’m not quit sure what was the culprit but Mariah seemed to have a similar experience the day before. My guess would be that our trip to the San Pedro Mercado gave us something we didn’t intend to bring back with us. Normally, arroz y huevos, lomos saltados and fresh fruit smoothies wouldn’t give me alarm but seeing as though Mariah and I both ate them and became sick….

            I’ve been going a little stir crazy since the day I got a here, watching the locals play soccer in the concrete field only a stones throw away from the clinic. Many days I’ll go to the rooftop to practice juggling and my touch and more often than not I look out and see people on the court playing the sport their country loves most.  Today I finally had enough of watching from the rooftop. The crowd didn’t seem too big at the court so it was somewhat less intimidating to approach them about playing. I knew that I could rely on the little Spanish I’ve learned so far to get me on a team but getting them to actually let me play could be a different story.

            As I nervously made it to the court I sat on the bleachers, catching a good number of “what the hell are you doing” looks from the twenty or so locals who were watching. I didn’t initially approach anyone about playing, I was kind of hoping they would just need someone to play and ask me. Of course, it wasn’t that easy. After about ten minutes of watching I got up enough courage to mutter “amigo, puedo jugar?”.  The young guy looked at me and pointed to the other side of the bleachers, meaning I could play with the other guys. I think he just didn’t want me on his team. I sat there for another fifteen minutes watching before asking again if I could play. This time it was a similar response to the other side of the bleachers. I felt like a fat kid getting the last pick of the kickball team in fourth grade or Smalls from The Sandlot! Finally I decided to ask one of the older guys (call him Benny the Jet Rodriguez) who looked like he had a little bit of street cred and wouldn’t be embarrassed to have the gringo on his team. After catching some grief from one of the young guys for taking his spot, I was put on the six-man team.

            The game had some interesting rules that I picked up quickly but for the most part if was your regular game of first to two goals wins. Winner stays on. I knew I had to prove myself as soon as possible so I took up marking what looked like one of the other teams best players. My goal was to not let him juke my socks off the first time he got the ball. I didn’t have a chance to defend against him first because I was passed the ball immediately. I made quick work and passed as soon as possible. It was surprising to me how different everyone played than I expected. It was a much more controlled game than the flashy Central American soccer that I had predicted and watched on T.V. We won our first game 2-1 and I came away with an assist on the winning goal. Boom. As nice as it was to win, I was dead tired. I hadn’t sprinted like that since I’ve been here and fresh off of being sick didn’t help much either. It was frustrating seeing the locals, some who were even playing in jeans, run constantly without getting tired. As soon as the second game began I started to taste blood, as they say, and also felt the burning of my lungs brought on by the altitude. I kind of hoped we would lose so I could take a break. I managed to score a goal to support my cause for them letting me play but they called a tie in the end because too much time had passed. I said “Cao” to my new amigos and thanked them for letting me play, with a promise that I would be back tomorrow whether they liked it or not…