No Windmills in Basra by Diaa Jubaili

Author:Diaa Jubaili [Jubaili, Diaa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Deep Vellum Publishing

The Ball Boy

Ever since he joined the Golden Shot team, Lame Hamud had been nothing more than a miserable ball boy.

He would stand behind the goal, waiting for badly aimed shots, so he could hop after them like a crow and bring them back to the field. It was the most remote position the coach could assign him, since he saw Hamud as just a klutz, rather than a player capable of throwing himself into a game. It made Hamud feel stupid; despite his disability, he believed in his football-playing abilities and skills, and he still hoped the day would come when he could prove to everyone that he was no less capable than they were. That was his wish. He wouldn’t have objected if the coach put him in for a few minutes, during which he could show a little of the skills his teammates weren’t aware of. But all year long, that didn’t happen and he didn’t get an opportunity, even a slight one, to play.

Hamud kept begging the coach to give him a chance, until he finally promised to put Hamud in the next game, which would take place at the same time as the game his favorite player would be playing for one of the major clubs. He was delighted and nearly jumped for joy. He started his preparations early. He woke up in the morning, ran out to the football field, and practiced for hours on end. He wasn’t upset when he learned that his favorite player would be playing in the El Clasico match-up at the same time, as he preferred not to skip his own team’s game. He would be playing for the first time, so afterward he wouldn’t have to return to his position behind the goal, where he was used to standing and waiting for stray balls.

Hamud was crazily devoted to his favorite world-class player. He followed news stories about him and collected his photos. He was fanatical about watching the games he played in, which were shown on TV. He wanted to meet him one day. But in any case, he had no hope of being a ball boy for the shots this player took, because he rarely made a kick that went wide, while the rest of his shots found their way to the goal with top-notch skill. Even so, it would be a great honor for him to get that prime opportunity, which he would certainly seize, and shake hands with his favorite player, and maybe get his autograph on the jersey for the team, which he supported.

The promised day came. I wish I could have seen Hamud as he threw himself into the first game in his life. But I did the opposite of what he did: I preferred to watch the El Clasico game that his favorite world-class player was playing in.

While I was watching that game on television, I received a painful text message on my phone, saying:

“Hamud died. The ball boy died!”

The news shocked me, and I began to wonder what had happened to this young man, and how he died.

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