A Goal for Joaquin (17 page)

Nothing had changed, he thought to himself. He really is as horrible I as I remember. Burning with anger, Joaquin raced down the field. When he got in front of the goal he launched a vicious kick that sailed fifteen feet above the crossbar. He talked to himself, reminding himself to use the side of his foot, telling himself to stay calm and focused. But he was simply too pumped up to even listen to his own thoughts.
 

With five minutes left before kickoff, Coach Budzinski called all his players to the side for a quick meeting. Joaquin was the last player to join the circle. “Now remember,” Buzzy said, “this is just a game like all the rest. These guys are good, but we have beaten better. Now let's go out there and play as a team. Talk to each other and look for the open man. Let's work hard and play smart!” He clapped his hands as a signal to break. The starters ran out to their assigned positions, and the extras found a spot along the sideline.

Lakeshore won the coin toss and got first possession of the ball. Both teams played tentatively during the opening minutes, satisfied to keep the ball near the middle of the field. Joaquin, who was playing center forward, tried to be everywhere, following the ball where ever it went. Julio was lined up at right forward, and Cocoa was behind him at right midfield. Kari and Meta were lined up at sweeper and stopper in front of Monte in his wild purple tie-dyed sweatshirt. The other players were spread around the field in their respective positions.

 
The first break came when Kari intercepted a short pass and sent a quick kick toward Cocoa. The lightning fast little midfielder took control and started down field. She centered the ball to Joaquin who let the ball lead him toward the goal. Just outside the penalty box, he took control and fired a shot. In his excitement to score, he had kicked the ball straight on with the end of his foot—a toe-basher Monte called it—and the ball sailed high over the crossbar. Joaquin kicked the ground and let out a painful groan.
 

“Shake it off, ” called Julio who ran up to give his friend a reassuring pat on the back. “You got open once. You know it's going to happen again. Don't worry about it. The next one will go in.”

Joaquin didn't answer. He just walked back to his position while the Lakeshore defense set up for their goal kick. For the next twenty minutes neither team had any real chances to score. Monte still hadn't touched the ball. The teams moved up and down the field at a cautious pace.
 

Suddenly one of the Lakeshore midfielders broke loose and made a run at the goal. He dodged around Meta and angled toward the left corner of the penalty box. From there he took a left-footed shot at the goal. Monte dove toward the goal post and snatched the ball out of the air right before it crossed the goal line. In a second he was on his feet. He sent a long towering kick down the right side of the field. Cocoa moved quickly to control it. At the same time, Joaquin came charging from his center forward position. Cocoa saw him coming, and just before the collision she stuck out her right hip and elbow and caught Joaquin in mid-stride. It felt like he had been kicked by a mule. The force of the impact sent him sprawling on the grass. The ball sailed out of bounds for a Lakeshore throw-in.

Joaquin picked himself up and tried to get back his wind. He scowled at Cocoa. “What are you trying to do? We're on the same team. ”
 

Cocoa was trotting back to her position. She stopped and looked Joaquin straight in the eye. “Then try playing like we are! If you would've been in your position where you belong, I could have passed you the ball and we could've had a goal. You think you're only one out here who can play.” She turned and ran toward the ball.
 

Joaquin stood there dazed and angry. He realized that Kari wasn't kidding when she said Cocoa was tough. His body ached from collision, but she walked away like nothing happened. He heard a high-pitched voice in the stands yell, “Come on you guys, let's talk out there!” He walked back to his position, completely ignoring the play at the far end of the field.
 

“Joaquin, get your head in the game!” This time it was Buzzy calling from the sideline. “Play with your teammates not against them!”

Anger started to boil inside. Why is he yelling at me, he wondered. It was Cocoa who nearly killed me. Why not say something to her? He imagined Coach Sommers laughing on the far sideline.
 

A whistle blew and Joaquin saw Sean Kramer come trotting toward him. “You're out, Lopez. Coach wants to talk to you.” Sean slapped Joaquin's hand as he went by. “Good job,” he said without expression.

Joaquin trudged toward the sideline. Buzzy was waiting with a bottle of water and a towel. “Here, cool off a minute. Then I want to talk to you.” Joaquin followed his coach's orders without saying a word. After a minute or two, Buzzy was beside him again. The coach put his hand on his player's shoulder. “You know if Cocoa wouldn't have flattened you out there, I was thinking about running out and doing myself. She was giving you a wake-up call, you know.” His voice was perfectly calm, and his eyes were still glued to the play on the field. “You know we can beat these guys, and I know how much that means to you. But you have to get your head in the game. Right now you're playing like bronco-rider a who's more concerned with hurting the horse than he is with winning the rodeo. You're so bent on getting revenge against your old coach that you're letting the game get away from you. You don't play soccer because you want to prove something. You play because you want to see your team put the ball in the goal, and you want your defense to keep the other team from scoring. It's a simple game, Joaquin. Now you stand there, and when you think you understood what I said, you tell me and I'll put you back in the game.” Buzzy walked away leaving Joaquin alone to consider the crafty old coach's words.

Joaquin walked over to the bench and sat down. He put his head between his knees and tuned out the rest of the world. Everything was falling apart. His teammates were out there playing their hearts out without him. His family and Jessica and Brian were in the stands waiting for him to do something. Everybody, in one way or other was into the game, but there he sat sulking and feeling sorry for himself. Maybe he was afraid to play his best because maybe he knew he wasn't good enough. Maybe he wanted an excuse to sit on the bench so that he'd have an excuse for not doing anything to beat his old team. Maybe Coach Sommers was right all along. Maybe Joaquin was a big loser. All these doubts spiraled through his brain as he sat there. Then he thought about Cocoa. Why did she go out of her way to knock him down? What was she trying to prove? He'd never seen Cocoa doing anything to hurt anybody. Why him? Then he remembered what Buzzy said. It was a wake-up call. Of course, he really was out of position on that play. Did he think he had to do everything? He knew Cocoa wasn't mad because he had tried to cut into her territory. She was mad because his play had hurt the team's chances of scoring a goal. He understood now. He was ready to give it another try.

“Coach,” he said humbly, “I think I'm ready to go back in now.”

“Good, it's almost half-time. You stand here and cheer for your teammates until the half ends. Then you'll get back in there after the intermission.” He patted Joaquin on the shoulder again. “Don't worry about it, kid. You're not the first player to ever lose sight of what a game is all about. You'll do fine.”

During his half-time speech, Buzzy never mentioned what happened with Joaquin. Instead he pointed out the good things that his team had done the first half. He praised the defense, especially Monte and Kari for their aggressive play. He concluded by saying he wanted everybody to play as hard as Cocoa did the first half.
 

Before play started again, Joaquin walked over to Cocoa who was sitting on the ground adjusting her shin guards. He noticed how pretty she looked even though her face was streaked with sweat and mud, and she had a nasty scrape on her forearm. “Sorry about what happened out there,” he said in a quiet voice. “I had no business trying to play that ball. It was your ball all the way. I was out of position.” He started to walk away.

“It's okay,” she said, “and I didn't mean to hit you so hard. I get a little pumped up out there myself.” She was smiling now as she spoke.
 

“I noticed,” Joaquin returned the smile. He rubbed his ribcage. “I know I'm going to be sore in the morning.” He reached out his hand to help her up. “Let's go play soccer,” he said. She got slowly to her feet, and they trotted together toward their positions.

 

Chapter 20

 

The second half was like a different game. Willowdale came out playing much more aggressively. Less than three minutes into the half, Lakeshore lobbed a shot toward the goal. Kari headed it out of the box to the fullback who sent a long pass down the right side of the field. Cocoa took control and started toward the goal. She centered the ball to Joaquin who dribbled around one defender, then faked out the sweeper and sent the ball toward the net. The goalkeeper got a hand on the ball but wasn't able to stop it. The ball rolled in for a goal. Pandemonium broke out on the field. Joaquin ran toward the corner, did a flying somersault and danced over to receive high-fives from his teammates. In all the commotion, no one noticed the referee waiving off the goal. When order was restored, the ref put both hands on his hips and pointed toward the right corner of the field. In his excitement to be ready to back up Joaquin's shot attempt, Julio had run by his defender and passed the ball. He was called for offsides and the goal was nullified. The official set the ball in front of the goal and offered a free kick to Lakeshore.
 

Now it was Joaquin's turn to offer reassurance to his teammate. He rushed over and slapped Julio on the back. “No problem, man,” he said. “We'll get them next time. You showed them they can't stay with you.” Julio nodded his agreement, but his head hung low as he moved back into position.

The ball moved quickly up and down the field for the next several minutes. Lakeshore was not giving up. They worked the ball back and forth between players. It wasn't like the previous season when all action was focused on one player. Now they were working as a team. But Willowdale played tough defense. The fullbacks and midfielders were marking their men and sticking with them. The two teams were evenly matched.

Half way through the period Cocoa intercepted a pass and headed down the field. She was quicker than her defender so she pushed the ball swiftly up the sideline. When she was thirty-five yards from the goal, she looked to the center of the field to see who was open. Joaquin was guarded by two players. She looked ahead to Julio, but he was tightly defended too. Suddenly with a lightning quick spurt, Cocoa dribbled directly at Julio just the way they had practiced. She faked to the inside of the field, and her defender went for the fake and ran into Julio. Julio's defender was slow in switching coverage, and Cocoa got a two step advantage. That was all she needed. She flashed toward the goal and launched a rocket of a shot toward the goalie. Purely by instinct the surprised keeper threw both hands in the air and knocked away the shot. Out of nowhere Joaquin came flying toward the net. He leaped into the air and took the ball squarely on his forehead. With a snap of his neck he redirected the ball back toward the right goal post. The keeper didn't have a chance. The ball sailed into the net untouched. Chaos exploded again. This time the referee signaled for a goal.
 

Joaquin was swarmed by teammates. Players were rolling on the ground. Joaquin was jumping up and down. The voice on the loudspeaker shouted, “Goal by Lopez. Assist by Mareno. The goal comes at the seventy-five minute mark in the game.” From the Willowdale side of the field Joaquin could hear the fans cheering. He felt redeemed for his poor playing the first half. He ran over and draped his arm around Cocoa's shoulder. “Just fifteen minutes left. We have to hold him,” he shouted.

From the sidelines Coach Budzinski bellowed out orders. “Now we have to hold them out there. Don't let up. Make sure you mark your man and then stick with him. No mistakes.”

The teams lined up for Lakeshore's kickoff. The forward rolled the ball back to his center midfielder. The big center mid sent a long line-drive down the center of the field. His teammates rushed to take control. There was pushing and shoving by both teams to get control of the ball. Kari took control and passed ahead to Meta who kicked the ball upfield. A Lakeshore player intercepted and fired the ball toward Monte. Instead of grabbing the ball with his hands, Monte decided to make a kick save. He booted the ball out of the box, but he didn't kick it squarely. The ball trickled off to his left foot. Like a big cat, a Lakeshore player lunged at the ball. He took two quick dribbles to get the line he wanted and then drilled it into the goal. Monte was out of position and stared hopelessly as the ball flew by. The score was tied with less than ten minutes to play.

During the final ten minutes the intensity picked up. The ball went back and forth with neither team ever threatening to score. The physical contact increased too. Several tripping and pushing fouls were called, and one player from each team received yellow warning cards for rough play. Joaquin's mouth was dry and pasty. He needed a break, but there was no way he wanted to come out of the game. He had played for nearly forty-five minutes straight without stopping to catch his breath. In all that time he had not thought once about Coach Sommers or about what had happened the previous season. He was playing now just for the sake of playing. He was in a zone where he was able to tune out all distractions. He got the ball with just a few seconds remaining. He raced down the field. He knew time was running out. He set himself to shoot, but before he could put his foot into the ball, he heard three shrill blasts on the referee's whistle. Time had run out.