Outcasts United by Warren St. John

Author:Warren St. John
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Autobiography
ISBN: 9780385529594
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2009-04-01T10:00:00+00:00

THE 17S WERE not just older and more mature than the 15s; they were much more talented. They were led by a talkative and selfconfident Iraqi refugee named Peshawa Hamad and a quiet, graceful Sudanese player named Shamsoun Dikori, whose younger brothers Idwar and Robin played on the Under 13s. Luma had no doubt who would win the scrimmage, but she wanted to see how the 15s would react to the challenge of a superior team—to see if they would crumble and lose their composure or if they would keep fighting. She handed out red mesh pullover jerseys to the 15s; the 17s wore white. The YMCA still had not delivered soccer goals, so Luma designated the two chain-link baseball backstops on the field as goals instead.

Luma blew the whistle, and soon a white cloud of dust began to rise from the scuffling feet of the two sides.

The field at Indian Creek was more chaotic than usual. There was a pickup game of older boys at one end of the field, and children wandered from the jungle gym into the Fugees’ playing area. In the parking lot beside the field, teenagers drank beer from cans in paper bags. Luma tried to focus on the scrimmage while simultaneously keeping an eye out for trouble.

From the outset, the 15s displayed a new energy and determination, and took control of the ball. On an early run, Mandela set up Muamer, the new, mustachioed Bosnian forward, with a touch pass off the back of his foot, but Muamer missed the shot.

“Man!” Mandela shouted in frustration.

Moments later Peshawa slithered through the 15s’ defenses and fired a shot that clanged into the chain-link fence of the backstop. The 17s were up 1–0.

The 15s didn’t give up. Soon Mandela dribbled through a seam in the 17s’ defense, got a clear view of the goal, and fired a perfect shot: clang! The 15s had tied it 1–1. Luma blew the whistle for halftime. She left the 17s to strategize on their own, and summoned the 15s.

“You’re outhustling them—keep it up,” she told the 15s at the break.

On the 17s’ side of the field, Peshawa had grown angry, and embarrassed: he had no intention of getting shown up by the younger team.

“Wake up!” he said to his teammates. “They only have Mandela. Shut that down and they don’t have anything. Control the middle. These players—they’re nothing. Let’s finish it off!”

In the second half, the 17s took advantage of their size and experience. Their passes were crisp, and they chipped their way downfield methodically, using their elbows to control the movements of the younger, smaller team. Again Peshawa juked around the 15s’ midfielders and a toddler who had wandered onto the field, then tapped the ball around Hamdu Muganga, one of the two Somali Bantu brothers who had joined the 15s on defense. Peshawa scored; 2–1, the 17s now led.

A few minutes later, Kanue was dribbling downfield and had just passed the ball when one of the older players took him out with a vicious tackle.

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