Thomas Broening: February 2009

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

A Soccer Story

I played indoor soccer today with my regular group of Mexican dishwashers. They are all in their 20s and all seemed to have been born with soccer balls in their mouths. They are always super welcoming and tolerent of my "style" of play. While they make crisp passes and always know where the ball should go I tend to be more of a bruiser. My wife has watched me play and she finds it odd that I am the only one who seems to be in perpetual motion and tend to be the only one who runs full speed at people when on defense.

Today I was guarding a guy half my age as he shouldered me into the boards on the way to scoring. The next time he crossed in front of the goal I dug an elbow into his kidneys and drove him to the ground. He smiled as I gave him a hand up. He had on a matching blue jersey and shorts from a Mexican pro team and seemed like the guy in high school who always had his pick of girls while I always actually had to talk to them if I hoped to get anywhere.

A few minutes later play stopped suddenly. The head dishwasher came on the field in street clothes and was yelling an inch away from my blue jersyeed friend. They started referring to each other and their friends as the N word. It was not meant as an insult and I was the only one who thought it was strange half guys on the field were lighter skinned than I.

I wanted to make a comment about the healing effect our new president had on the nation. Or maybe a random ,"Can't we all just get along" but thought better of it. Apparently the head dishwasher was accusing my buddy of stealing a cell phone at an earlier game .

Eventually the two moved off to the side and seemed to make up in the end. Back on the field, play resumed and I tried not to get too wide open so it wasn't so obvious that they wouldn't pass to me. The universe was put back into harmony and all was well once more.