THE BEAUTIFUL BRAWNY GAME

THE BEAUTIFUL BRAWNY GAME

I thank God that soccer is the world’s most popular sport. The last month had been “soccer-less” and I had given up on ever getting a chance to play. For two weeks I had been unfit and inactive so on the way home from work I was decided to go for a run or a jog before dinner.

My prayers were answered as I saw a game of soccer being played two blocks from the house. I will take a soccer game over a jog or run any day. I changed quickly into my soccer shoes and walked briskly back to the field. O.K. calling it a field is an overstatement. The ground was three-quarters of the size of a normal soccer field. It was covered with sand, stones and a few hundred blades of grass scattered around the semi-desert patch of ground. On one side the field was adjacent to a road and on the other side it bordered a stone and cement wall separating it from three mansions.

I was told to join one team as Eric (the other man who was also waiting on the sidelines) joined the other team. A handful of passes later I discovered, or rather re-discovered how physical football is in Africa. An opposing defender stopped my run along the right sideline with a spectacularly illegal tackle. The move was a combination of a slide tackle and a hip-push that made me fly from the sideline into the wall. My teammates screamed for a foul as the referee blew his whistle. The opposing team’s captain asked if I was alright or if I was hurt. I said everything was fine. I lied to avoid getting out of the game. My hip was grazed. My left arm was bruised and bumped and my left wrist was sprained. My knees were scraped by sand and gravel and my thigh had a ‘sand-burn’ (compare to turf or grass burn)

The game continued at a fast and physical pace. The referee did not blow for a stoppage unless the victim rolled, somersaulted or stayed writhing on the ground for more than twenty seconds. The tackles were hard and violent but there were no fights. Apparently, some of the most malicious defending I had ever seen or experienced in my life was all part of the game. I whine. I know.

The two hours went by fast and everyone was playing with zest. I did not execute any tackle, but cringed every time I saw the rough contact being made by some of the players. One or both players always ended on the ground with in pain, crying to the referee to do something about the fouls. When no whistle was heard, the players involved stood up patted each other and ran to wherever the ball had landed.

The game ended with only two hard-fought goals. They were both scored against us and one was my fault. Our goalkeeper had run towards the middle and I was the last line of defense. Two people invited me to the Saturday morning game that starts at half past six in the morning. A vibrant way to start the weekend.
For seven years, I had played on turf and well watered grass in Portland and Philadelphia. The fields of Madina are now going to give me two months of very exhausting preparation for the summer outdoor soccer season. God-willing I will be playing with all my limbs intact.

Next time I’m not coming with shin guards, I’ll bring a chain of mail and a knight’s armor. Here the beautiful game emphasizes more brawn than I am accustomed to using. Strength trumps any skill or speed a player will ever have.