La vida del equipo de futbol...

A few months ago I was asked to be the tecnico of the school's soccer team. This question was put to me after I showed the other teachers a picture of my soccer team in Africa. In their minds I was clearly the best candidate with my international coaching experience. I said that I would be glad to help out but given my caveman Spanish it would be best if someone else was in charge. This of course was translated simply as si.

I started some practices but quickly grew frustrated because it was all new vocabulary for me. I could explain the drills but did not know the words to offer advice, tips, or how to say, "get your butts in gear and run or we'll do extra laps!" (I'm a tough coach.) I was also frustrated because I felt that the team had been dumped on me so none of the other teachers would have to deal with it.

I finally went to the staff and told them that i was not going to do it if I did not have someone helping me. There were a lot of evasive looks and head scratching at this. I let my frustration show, which consequently is when my Spanish becomes most fluid, and I acquired some reluctant volunteers.

After about a week of practice we had our first tournament. All classes were cancled of course and a large number of parents and locals came out to see the game. If there is one thing that will turn out a crowd in Boruca it's soccer. Even ten year-olds playing soccer.

The way soccer works in Costa Rica is that each school that wants to participate has a team for the entire school. They then play in a tournament against schools in their immediate area. The winners of those tournaments meet in a larger tournament. This continues for about five or six rounds until there is a national championship in San Jose. We hosted our first tournment in Boruca and we won in desisive fashion. This was a rather big deal because only a few times in the school's history had they ever made it out of their first tourney. The kids celebrated by diving into the stream that runs by the plaza.

Our second tournament was off the mountain in Paso Real. We woke early and packed the kids into a cattle truck. I was rather nervous about this tournament as we would be facing the other indigenous school, Rey Curre, who has a good reputation in the Zona Sur futbol circuit. Luckily for us the Curre team's executive staff was disorganized and a third of their team was unable to play do to lack of proper age identification documents. They were eliminated in the first round and we battled our way too victory.

This was an exceptionally big deal for the town as our victory represented the farthest our team had ever gone in tournament play. On our drive back our kids climbed to the top of the cattle truck and chanted the entire hour up the mountain. My favorite chant was, "¡Ticher!¡Ticher!" (Every once in a while one needs their ego shamelessly stroked.) As we pulled into town the kids chanted ga-na-mos (we won) and the locals clapped and punched the air as we rolled through town.

Our next tournament was not for a month in Buenos Aires. At this point the teachers that had been initially reluctant to help me at all were very excited and taking over. While North Americans tend to enjoy rooting for the underdog Ticos are just the opposite and only want to support a winner. Nevertheless, I viewed the coaching staff's growing enthusiasm as a personal success. I feel like a volunteer succeds when they can start something in a town, have locals take over, and then make themselves obsolete.

Our practice schedule became more rigorous. I took on more of the role of physical trainer while the other teachers worked more on strategy. Of course, taking the kids for long distance runs around town certainly dropped me on their favorite people list.

Practice of course came with its own frustrations. Organized sports is not really part of the culture in Costa Rica and starting things on time, consistant attendance, and self-discipline were a constant struggle. For example, a value instilled in athletic training in the States is learning to dig deep and try harder when your tired or the situation is difficult. In Costa Rica fatigue means you should sit down and make whistles out of grass. Despite my frustrations in practice the kids did get serious when it came to game day.

The night before the big B.A. tournament we gathered all the kids together for dinner at the school. The other teachers had prepared a motivational seminar including a video featuring a classical guitar player who had no arms but played with his toes. I thought it a bit odd but I suppose the message was good. From this the slogan for the night was "¡se puede!" which basically means "You can do it!" The kids camped out together in the computer lab and it was good to see the team really bonding.

This tournament we had found the money for a tourist bus and were going to the tournament in relative fashion. (Though I actually prefer the cattle truck.) We were set to play first in an elimination round and then, if we won, play in a round robin tournament with two other teams. One of the teams was given a buy to enter which I thought was rather unfair but knew arguing would be futile. We won our first game 3-1 and we quickly found ourselves as the team to beat.

Our second game we played the team that had received the bye and our kids were not quite as fresh as they had been earlier in the morning. Despite the fatigue we came out with a 1-1 tie. Then things started to go downhill.

We were suddenly informed that we had about ten minutes to rest before we would play again in the 90 degree heat. I informed the tournament staff that this was ridiculoso because what it basically meant was that the team that received the bye would not have to play any back to back games while we and the other team would after playing extra games in the morning. I tried to have the schedule changed but could not help feeling that no one really wanted to cut the kids "from the reservation" any slack. Heaven forbid a bunch of "indians" would represent Zona Sur. While the staff agreed that it was not all that fair it was explained to me repeatedly that their had been a "meeting" with a representative from Boruca and this was the schedule that had been decided. I explained that their decision was a poor one based on the reality of the current situation. They replied, "yes, but, you see, there was a meeting" and for those of you unfamiliar with Costa Rican culture decisions made in a meeting are set in harder stone than the Ten Commandments. (Even if it is obvious that the decision was a poor one.) "...si, pero, tuvimos un reunion..."

After 15 minutes of this I flipped out. I dropped the Spanish and went on an extended and extremely colorful rant in English which displayed a wide variety of vulgar expressions from several regions of North America and the British Isles. To top things off I dropped kicked a ball into a nearby river. Had their been a video camera it probably could have made Sports Center and had I been an NBA a coach I would have sold my Ferrari to pay the leauge fine.

My frustration was not purely based on the stubborness of the tournament staff but that I could see three and a half months of hard work unraveling for what appeared to me, racist motives. At least the kids know I tried to make things fairer for them and I inspired a healthy amount of fear into the Zona Sur soccer community.

The kids took the field and looked completely exhausted. For some of them I worried about their health and we emptied our bench of reserves. Despite giving up a demoralizing goal early on we fought back and tied things up with a few minutes left. This reinvigorated the team and we had a few good chances to take the win. However, the whistle blew and our fate was left in the next game. If the final game was a 0-0 draw we would win the tourney on goals for. A 1-1 tie would send everyone to penalties. Anything else and we were out. When the team from Buenos Aires scored their second goal we started packing up our things.

Despite the disappointing finish I was very proud of the kids for exhibiting an incredible amount of heart and not giving up in the face of a difficult situation. Maybe a little bit of the work effort I had tried to inspire in practice rubbed off. I was also happy to see that the teachers I was working with become really invested in the kids. I was also happy that no one there understands English.

Anyway, there is no more season for us but we still finished with a respectable tournament record of 8 wins- 0 losses- 2 ties and a goal differential of +12.

¡Viva Boruca!

Labels: Boruca, Futbol, Paso Real, Soccer, Tournament

posted by k meadows @ 9:46 AM