Lawndale Soccer Clubvs. the Wild Soccer Bunch

The game was over. I felt the wind as the locker room door opened quickly and then slammed shut. WHAM! Just like that we were cut off from the outside world. In an instant, it was gloomy and quiet like we had just dived into a dark pit.

The reason for all this was our coach. He had squeezed his massive six-foot frame into our tiny locker room, flaunting his oversized body. His beefy neck blocked the window the way a cork plugs a bottle, snuffing out the October sun that poured in.

I stared at my feet. I always did this whenever I sensed danger. I could trust my feet. They were like a new set of tires. They always took me where I wanted to go, and today I wanted to go straight to the goal of the Wild Soccer Bunch. It was game four of the Division 8 games. As expected, my goals won the

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first three games for my team, the Lawndale Soccer Club, and we were on our way to winning the Winter championship. We were expected to win today’s game, and I already had five golden opportunities to rip the Wild Soccer Bunch’s net.

Five times, I fought my way to the net of the black shirts with the orange shin guards. The first time I found myself in front of their goal, I was all by myself. I didn’t pass the ball, because there was no one to pass it to. Believe me. I couldn’t see anybody. Or could I? Just like that I was surrounded on all four sides. Yeah, you heard me right—On. All. Four. Sides. You probably would think there were four defenders shutting me off. Well, I’m embarrassed to say this, but it was only one player—their number 8. Julian. They called him Julian Fort Knox, the all-in-one defender.

I tried every trick in the book. I dribbled and turned until I was dizzy. The grass came up to meet me and I plopped on my butt. The ball was gone. On the sidelines, Coach Buckman yelled, steaming like a volcano about to blow.

“I don’t believe it!” Coach Buckman tore the ring of hair around his red bald spot. “Max! You selfish ball hog! Why don’t you pass the ball for once?”

I stared in his direction.

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Pass the ball? Really? Did Coach Buckman all of a sudden develop a sense of humor? I was alone at the six-yard box. Was I supposed to play double-pass with myself? I got up and almost bumped into our other striker, Lukas.

“Watch where you’re going!” he screamed.It was obvious he hated me. He always complained

that I never passed the ball to him. He was my number one enemy on the team. Maybe it was because I told him he looked like a fat tub of goo. He was totally out of shape. Truth is, most of the guys were my enemies, including Coach Buckman.

My second attack on goal worked much better. A 20-yard turbo run got me to the 6-yard box again. This time I didn’t hesitate. I kicked the ball low and hard with my right foot and the ball zoomed towards the near corner. Unstoppable, I thought, but the keeper had other plans. He made himself big and wide and cleared the ball off the line with his left foot.

Wow! I heard the Wild Soccer Bunch cheer their goalkeeper.

Everyone on that team seemed to have a nickname. They called the goalie Kyle the Invincible and the name seemed to fit him perfectly.

Our coach felt differently.

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“Max!” he spat onto the field. “Max! I…!”He could barely talk. Kyle sent the ball to Number 10 of

the Wild Bunch. His name was Tyler, and he plucked the ball from the air as if it was glued to his toes. He made a quick turn left and smoked his approaching opponent, then heeled the ball back intuitively without even looking at the upper-right corner of the pitch.

The ball was about to go into a whole bunch of nothingness. At least that’s what we thought. Even our coach thought so.

“No! Don’t! Let it go! It’ll be out!” Coach Buckman roared, his purple training suit bouncing up and down. But then he froze as he watched with the rest of us how the unreachable pass found its master.

Wild Number 4 caught up with the ball. That guy was so fast the ball seemed to roll backwards. Then their right-winger put the pedal to the metal. All we could do was read the name on the back of his jersey: Danny, who his teammates nicknamed the World’s Fastest Right-Winger. He passed the ball into the penalty box to their forward, Number 13, who made a crazy run all the way from the middle of the pitch.

Three of our defenders closed in on him. But Kevin, their star striker, wasn’t even thinking of a strike. He just chested the ball onto his right foot, where it landed

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on the tip of his shoe. In one swift move he touched it gently and lifted it into the air as if it was a free kick. He smiled confidently knowing that the ball would find its target.

Stumped, our players—and our coach—swirled around, looked up into the sky, and followed the flight path of the ball. I swear it was like slow motion—right into the six-yard box, where another wild guy with black hair came running in. With one flawless move, he dived in and headed the ball with all his might into the net. The keeper and everyone else gasped with amazement.

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He made a victory lap and added a somersault to rub it in and we all saw his back—Number 19. His name was Fabio, nicknamed “The Wizard.” He was the son of Giacomo Ribaldo, the Brazilian soccer god playing for the Furies.

Their number 7, Diego the Tornado, scored the second goal with a brilliant volley from 20 yards. And when he couldn’t run anymore because his asthma was bursting his lungs, their Number 12 came in for him: Joey the Magician.

In his worn out sneakers, Joey played a double-pass Tiki-Taka with Kevin and made our defense look like potted plants. When he had only one opponent left to deal with, he played the ball back right to the feet of their Number 11—Alex the cannon Alexander. A moment later, it was crystal clear what that meant.

I ran directly at him as fast as I could. I promised myself that I wouldn’t give him a chance to kick the ball! I planned to slide tackle him and drive the ball to the sidelines. But Alex sidestepped. Fast and effortlessly, he turned to his right. All I saw was the famously silent grin on his face as he took off.

BAM!The ball shot towards the goal like a bullet. The keeper

balled his fists and threw himself against the shot.

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BAM! The ball pulled our goalie into the net.Three zero! That silenced even our coach. Coach

Buckman’s ring of hair stood straight up, and his bald head glowed like bright red lava. I had to do something! Or else the lava would erupt and swallow us all. So I started running, picked the ball from the net, sprinted to the kick-off point, and yelled across the field at the Wild Soccer Bunch.

“Get your butts onto y-your half of the field! The game’s not over and I’m not done! You hear me?!”

The Wild Bunch was in position. It was my teammates who took their sweet time. They trotted across the field, heads down low, their feet glued to the ground like they were stuck in cement. But I didn’t say a word. I didn’t want to make things worse. So I just waited. It seemed like forever. Finally, our right midfielder stood next to me. And that’s when I hissed, “Now it’s our turn. Got that?”

He looked at me as if he didn’t understand a word, and when the referee whistled, he didn’t move.

“Touch the b-ball, w-will you!” I yelled, and when he finally did, I ran away with it. Eyes fixed on my feet, I pressed forward as if on tracks. Straight ahead, no detours, onward to the goal of the black shirts.

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In the corner of my eye, I saw shadows zoom past me. Kevin, the star striker; their Number 10, Tyler; and Julian Fort Knox all tried to tackle me one after the other as I sprinted over and passed them like the wind. They slipped and straddled, but with no success. I took off like a rocket and when I was clear, I hit the ball hard with the outside right of my cleat. No matter how far their keeper, Kyle the invincible, stretched, the ball kept turning right, touched the inside cross bar, and curled into the net.

It was more like a dong-thump than Alex’s BAM, but the result was the same. The goal was mine.

“I don’t believe it. Am I seeing things?” Buckman nagged and turned in disbelief to the kids on the bench.

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“Did you see that? He actually scored!”This was high praise. Our coach didn’t believe in

encouraging his players. At least not in my case. But as much as he hated me, I must have caught him off guard. And it really raised my level of self-esteem. I’m being sarcastic here. In case you didn’t notice, I don’t lack in self-confidence. Anyway, two minutes later, I had the ball again. I stormed along the right sidelines, left Alex, Joey, and Fabio in the dust to my left, and took aim. All fueled by anger. I was 25 yards from the goal and decided to shoot at it again, even though I knew my chances were almost zero, especially with a goalie like Kyle. But my anger was red hot and I realized it would be hard to run through their defense this time around. So I hit the ball with the top of my toes as if I was a five-year-old playing his first game. I didn’t care what it looked like. The ball soared towards the goal barely above the grass and sank into the net in the lower-left corner. Kyle the Invincible dove bravely, but he was too late and couldn’t stop it. I took him by surprise. He couldn’t believe I was aiming at his goal.

There was quiet all over the pitch. Our opponents and my teammates were so shocked that for a moment, they

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looked like one big team. The score was three two and the game was wide open again. I did a victory lap past our coach, sliding on the grass and waving my hands toward the bleachers.

“Hi, Coach!” I yelled and grinned at him. ”What do you think?

For the first time since the score was three zero, my coach came to life. “It ain’t over yet, Max!” he screamed. “Get into the half! Now! In case you haven’t noticed —we’re BEHIND!”

Some guys see the glass as half full and others see it as half empty. Coach is a “half empty” kind of guy.

Of course, I knew that, and I also knew that it wouldn’t hurt for me to change that. Or else we’d be living out a horror movie after the game. I couldn’t wait for the referee’s whistle to get us started again. We only had one minute until the game was over.

Predictably, the Wild Soccer Bunch took their time. Kevin was replaced by a player with long, red hair. The player stood before me, grinned, took the ball from Tyler, passed by me easily and stormed off, dribbling downfield.

I watched the new player, trying to figure out what to do next. It was their Number 5, and her name was Zoe, nicknamed The Fearless.

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Holy Goalie! I just got outplayed by a girl. I was crushed!

And so, as if it was a matter of life and death, I ran after her. I caught up with her just before the penalty area. But somehow, Zoe knew I was coming. It was like she had eyes in the back of her head. She waited until I was very close then released the ball to Danny, who sent it right back to her. She effortlessly passed it to the left to another Wild guy who appeared out of nowhere, kicking the ball with his left foot while running. His mouth was wide open, his eyes were hidden behind thick eyeglasses, and his red locks circled his head like a ring of fire. The number 99 was emblazoned on his back and made him look cool. Cool or not, Roger plopped down on his butt as the shot went way up above the goal.

“Dang it!” he swore. “Guess I bent that one a bit! Wasn’t easy. Had to take it with my left. My weaker foot!!”

But the Wild Soccer Bunch just trotted back. Not even their coach, who stood on the sidelines wearing a pinstripe suit, said a word. Zoe jogged towards Roger who was still on his butt, and gave him a hand.

“Forget about it!” she simply said. Our goalkeeper played the ball to me, and signaled that

he wanted it back so he could switch it to the left side. But I didn’t even think of that. I took off straight across

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the field. Once again, I didn’t see anyone. The fog moved in and drowned the field in milky white. At least that’s what it looked like to me. It always does and I was used to it. It was only me and the ball and the opponent’s goal that was getting closer and clearer with each passing second. I could see it looming ahead as it slowly appeared out of the fog. But that’s when I saw Julian Fort Knox. He was lurking to my right, and I anticipated it so I changed direction to the center and moved again to the right. He couldn’t stop me and my path seemed clear all the way to the goal. Only Kyle the invincible goalkeeper was in my way. He had left his goal and made himself wide by stretching his arms and I hesitated, wondering if I should try to bypass him and roll the ball into the goal or chip it above his head.

Suddenly I heard one of my teammates yell: “Watch out! Behind you! Number 8!” That was Julian Fort Knox. I should have known he would never give up. He made the run and I could almost feel his breath on the back of my neck.

Our coach yelled and screamed: “Pass the ball! Now!” Where was I supposed to pass it? To whom? I didn’t

have any time to try and chip it because the invincible Kyle was throwing himself at the ball and on me. In the next second Julian, the all-in-one defender, was about to

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slide tackle me. So I gently pushed the ball with my right to the left around Kyle as he was diving at me.

Slowly the ball rolled towards the far corner of the goal. Julian jumped over me, stretched himself out, straddled to reach the ball, but he couldn’t. He barely touched the ball with his fingertips and the ball egged on, reached the goal line, and was about to cross it.

Our coach jumped into the air, yelling, “Max, you did it!!”

But in mid-air, he changed his mind and instead, yelled in frustration, “Oh NOOOO!

Out of nowhere, a mini-human being appeared. Barely six years old, he kicked the ball off the line.

“I got it, Julian! I got it!” he yelled as he jumped and hugged his older brother and fell to the ground right in front of me. I stared at the X on the back of his jersey. Then the little punk lifted his head.

“Hey, Max!” he grinned. “I’m Josh. But you can call me The Superhero!”

The referee whistled the end of the game and I knew very well what was coming. I got up and stormed across the field past the Wild Soccer Bunch. Then I stormed past our other striker who stood at the penalty spot; past one of our midfielders who stood at the edge of the box to

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my right trying to breathe after making the run with me, hoping to get the final pass and score.

I knew it was my fault. I could have passed to one of them. They would have scored, and we would have won the game.

Instead, I sat in a locker room, feeling dark and dreary, with our coach’s hot breath in my face. All of his six-foot frame stood right in front of me. He and the whole team were steaming hot and ready to pile a load of muck on my head.

“It was three two and we were an inch closer to a tie! I’m not talking about a win. I knew you were too lazy to fight for a win. All I asked for was a tie! Was that too much to ask? No! It was not. We were almost there! We could have had a draw and took a point! But that didn’t happen. I can’t believe it! They are a year younger than you! We were supposed to humiliate them! Not the other way around!”

“But Co-a-ach!” I dared to speak. “They’ve never lost. They played three games, two wins and only one tie. They are really good.”

“Excuse me?” Our coach turned on his heels. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

I stared at my feet. I knew he wasn’t done and that the worst was yet to come.

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“So you think, because they are really good, that we have an excuse for this disaster? Is that what you are saying?” he hissed.

“N-no sir,” I replied.He pointed at me. “Max! The ball hog. You screwed it

all up! Your big ego destroyed us today. Why didn’t you pass the ball to Joe or Brendan? They were in a position to score. They were dying to get the ball from you. But you decided to do it the hard way. You were only thinking of yourself and that hat trick you were trying to get. Am I right?”

What was I supposed to say? I had scored two goals. And the third try didn’t work out. All I could do was dumbly nod my head. I felt terrible.

He turned to the team. They knew he was going to lash out at me, which would take most of the blame off them, so they were relieved. “Because of Max here, we aren’t going to the championship. Because of him the Wild Soccer Bunch is!” he yelled. “A team that no one in this league has even heard of.“ He turned again to me, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

I obeyed. I lifted my head slowly, but I could barely see him in the steaming room. That’s why I blinked.

“You have anything to say?”“But C-c-c-oach!” I whispered. “The red-h-haired boy

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with the thick glasses, he m-missed, too.”“D-did he, really, Max?” Coach Buckman said, mocking

me. “You d-don’t say. Then why don’t you g-go play with h-him?!”

Everyone laughed. Sure, I stutter when I’m nervous and people always make fun of me. I don’t care. I’m used to it. I just looked at him. I didn’t get it. I scored two goals. And we won the last three games where I scored a goal in each game. How good do you have to be to get appreciated around here? “Are you deaf?” he yelled, and his lava-colored, bald head looked like it was about to explode.

So I got up, took my soccer bag—the most valuable thing I owned except for my oversized biker jacket—and stomped out of the locker room. By practice on Monday, Coach Buckman would calm down, and everything would be back to normal again. As normal as it could be. I knew him pretty well. He was predictable.

“Oh, and before you leave, one more thing, Max. Don’t bother showing up for practice on Monday if you can’t stand this coach,” he said, jamming his fat thumb into his chest. Then he just smiled at me. But there was nothing good in that smile. It was a wicked smile, one that could chase you into your nightmares.

I lost it.

“You don’t have to worry, coach. I’m leaving the team. You won’t see me on Monday,” I said loud and clear. I wasn’t sure why I said those words and the minute they came out of my mouth I totally regretted saying them.

I looked at him one last time, then over at my teammates, one by one. It was then I realized none of them cared. None of them would defend me or stop me. So I turned away from them all and walked out the door.