Golden Game

by David Starr

  ***

  “We’ll be there in thirty minutes,” said Coach T as he took a seat beside Abbas. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m trying not to think about it.”

  “Then let’s talk about soccer. Did you see the Whitecaps game last week?”

  Soccer was a good topic. That was, after all, why Abbas was going to Toronto. They were still talking about the game when the bus got close to the airport. The sound of a large jet engine came from overhead. Abbas winced. Sweat formed on his head.

  Breathe, breathe, you can do this, Abbas said to himself, fighting his nerves.

  “We’ll be at the gate in one minute,” the bus driver. “Good luck in Toronto.”

  The bus stopped outside the domestic terminal. The Eagles followed their Coach inside to the counter where they were met by an airline agent.

  “Grandview Eagles,” said a young woman with a big smile. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  “You have their tickets and IDs, Coach?”

  “Of course,” Coach T replied. He took the cards and passports out of his briefcase, along with a stack of printed tickets.

  One by one the boys took their IDs and tickets from Coach T and showed them to the WestJet agent. “Good luck, boys,” she said and smiled again when the last of them had been checked in. “I hope you do really well. Have you flown to Toronto before?”

  “I’ve never flown anywhere before!” said Michael.

  Michael was the only one. All the other boys had been on a plane before. But most of them hadn’t flown since arriving in Canada and only a handful could remember the trip.

  “Well then I hope your first flight is one you will never forget.”

  I hope this flight is one I forget about quickly, Abbas thought. He patted his jacket pocket, making sure the iPod was there. He would need all of the meditations to make it through, he was certain of it.

  The boys joined the line of people snaking its way toward the security check.

  “You’ve got this, Abbas,” said Claude. “Are you working on those strategies you talked about the other night?”

  Abbas clenched then unclenched his fist. “I’m trying to,” he said, “believe me.”

  It was Abbas’s turn to go through security. He took off his jacket, put his backpack on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector.

  “This airport is like a museum!” said Mo, looking around. Vancouver International was a beautiful airport, full of First Nations totem poles, carvings and murals.

  “Here we are, boys,” said Coach T as they got to the waiting area. “Gate Forty-three. There’s our plane.”

  It took Abbas everything he had to look out the window. There it was, the long white plane with blue and green lettering on its side.

  Breathe. You can do this, Abbas said to himself again.

  The plane didn’t seem frightening sitting on the ground. It looked like a long tube with wings and a tail. But still it was a plane. Images of the marketplace long ago in Syria started to creep into Abbas’s mind.

  He turned away from the window, put his headphones on and started a meditation. He focused on the voice and the gentle music. He stretched out his feet, feeling the muscles tighten and then relax. As long as he didn’t look at the plane through the window, Abbas was okay.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, WestJet Flight would like to start boarding Flight 702 to Toronto.”

  Abbas heard the voice above the music in his headphones. His heart thumped loudly.

  “We’d also like to welcome the Grandview Eagles Soccer team. The boys are flying to Toronto to play in the Top Flight tournament,” said the agent at the gate. “As a special treat we invite them to board first.”

  “You hear that, boys?” asked Coach T. “Get your stuff! It’s time to go!”

  13

  WestJet Flight 702

  The walk down the ramp seemed the longest distance Abbas had ever travelled.

  “You’re okay,” whispered Dylan. “One foot in front of the other.”

  They reached the front door of the plane.

  Abbas paused. “I’m not sure I can do it.”

  “Yes you can,” said Claude. “Three more steps and you’re on.”

  Abbas breathed deeply and moved forward. “One,” he said. Everyone he cared about wanted him to get on that plane. He was not about to let them down.

  “Two,” said Dylan, from behind him as Abbas took another step.

  “Three,” said Claude. With that Abbas stepped over the gap, through the door and into the plane.

  Abbas didn’t remember much at all about the flight from Turkey to Canada. So he was surprised at what he saw. From the inside the plane didn’t look much different from a long bus.

  “You boys are in row twenty-eight, seats A, B and C,” said a smiling flight attendant. “That’s toward the back on your right.”

  Abbas clenched and unclenched his fist as they walked toward their row.

  “Which seat do you want?” Claude asked Abbas. “The window?”

  The last thing Abbas wanted was to look outside. “The middle if you’re good with it.”

  They were. Claude took the window and Dylan sat in the aisle seat.

  Abbas took out his iPod and put on his headphones. A familiar calming voice and gentle music filled his ears. Abbas shut his eyes and breathed deeply. As the minutes passed he started to feel calm. But then he felt a nudge in his ribs.

  “You have to turn that off,” Dylan said. “We are about to take off.”

  Abbas took off the headphones and listened as the flight attendant talked about what to do in the “unlikely event of an emergency.”

  “This isn’t exactly helping,” Abbas muttered.

  The flight attendant took his seat as the pilot came on the intercom. “Welcome to WestJet Flight 702 to Toronto,” she said as the plane lurched backward. Abbas’s heart lurched along with it. “We’ll be taking off in just a few minutes. Estimated flight time to Pearson International Airport is four and a half hours.”

  Abbas groaned. “That’s like forever.”

  Claude patted him on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

  The plane’s engines roared to life as it started to move forward.

  “We’ll be arriving at approximately 5:45 in the after­noon, Toronto time,” the pilot continued. “Please feel free to use any personal devices you have, as long as they are switched to airplane mode. We’ll be in the air soon. So sit back, relax and enjoy your flight.”

  Abbas put the headphones back on. Soon, the gentle sound of waves and a calming voice filled his ears. At that point he couldn’t have cared less if the rest of the team heard it. He shut his eyes and started his muscle-relaxing exercises again.

  Through the guided mediation he heard the engines grow as loud as thunder. He felt his body pressed back into the seat as the plane shot down the runway, gaining speed for takeoff.

  Dylan and Claude each put a hand on Abbas’s arm closest to them. Abbas was terrified. But knowing his two best friends were on either side of him made it better. Abbas’s stomach seemed lift as the plane took off. As it gained altitude he felt his ears pop. Breathe, breathe. You can do this.

  A few minutes later Abbas opened his eyes. Dylan and Claude gave him a thumbs up. He had done it! He was in the air. Now all he had to do was survive four hours and twenty minutes until he was back on the ground.

  “Wow, is that a great view!” said Claude. “You should look.”

  “I’m fine,” Abbas said.

  “Come on, it is really cool. It can’t hurt you.”

  Abbas hesitantly looked out the window. Claude was right. It was a great view. Vancouver spread our below them. To the north were the mountains. To the west was the Strait of Georgia and Vancouver Island.

  “There’s Stanley Park,” said Cl
aude. “And BC Place.”

  Abbas looked until the plane flew through clouds and the view disappeared. Then he shut his eyes again and listened to the music.

  Abbas yawned. He had barely slept the night before. He was exhausted. There’s no way I can sleep, he thought. But five minutes later he drifted off and fell deeply asleep. Abbas didn’t wake up until four hours later when the plane began its descent.

  ***

  “Abbas! You have to see this!” said Claude.

  Abbas opened his eyes. “See what?” he asked.

  “Toronto,” Claude replied. “We’re here.”

  Abbas couldn’t believe it. The last thing he remembered was Vancouver far below him. Now it was Toronto he was looking at.

  “Wow!” said Dylan. He leaned over Abbas to look out the window himself. “This place is huge!”

  Vancouver was a big city but nothing compared to what they saw below. Buildings, roads and houses spread out from the shores of Lake Ontario, a lake that seemed almost as large as the Pacific Ocean.

  “There’s the CN Tower!” said Claude.

  “And BMO Field!” said Abbas. “Where Toronto FC plays.”

  The pilot came onto the intercom. “We’ll be on the ground shortly,” she said as the plane banked to the left. “Thank you for flying WestJet.”

  Abbas breathed deeply as the plane descended. The buildings got larger and the airport closer and closer. Then he felt a bump as the wheels of the plane touched down. The engines roared, slowing down the plane. A few seconds later they were taxiing slowly toward the gate. Flight over.

  He had done it!

  “Okay, boys,” said Coach T. “We’re here!”

  14

  The Eagles Have Landed

  “Welcome to Toronto,” said a man as the team entered the arrivals area. “My name is Mathew Yang. I’m the organizer of Top Flight and a friend of Jon Lutz.”

  “Thank you for inviting us,” Coach T said.

  “It’s my pleasure. I’m glad you can join us. There’s a bus waiting for you outside. You’re staying at the Chestnut Residence downtown. Chestnut used to be a hotel, but the University of Toronto uses it for student housing these days. After classes end for the summer they rent it out to tourists or anyone visiting the city.”

  “This is better than a school bus,” Junior said. The bus the team boarded was a luxury coach.

  “You’re our guests and we want you to feel at home,” Mathew said. “The driver will take you to Chestnut once he drops me off at my car. You’ll be there in forty-five minutes or so. Traffic is a little heavy this time of day. I’ve organized pizza for dinner. There is a cafeteria in the residence and you guys will eat there most of the time. But it will be closed by the time you arrive tonight.”

  “Pizza is fine by us!” said Claude. “Thank you very much.”

  “Mathew, how do you know Jon Lutz?” Coach T asked.

  “We’re connected through business . . . and friendship,” Mathew answered. “I’m the owner and president of Electro Video Games. Have you heard of our stores? We sell a lot of EA games.”

  “Electro is my favourite store in the universe,” said Dylan.

  The feeling was shared by the other boys on the team. “Jon inspired me to start a Canada Scores Chapter here in Toronto. When he told me about your team I just knew we had to have you play in our tournament. There are sixteen boys teams and sixteen girls teams. They make up East and West Divisions of eight teams each for both boys and girls. We put you in the boys West Division. You’re the most western team we’ve ever had!”

  “When do we play?” Junior asked.

  “Your first game tomorrow is at noon against the Brampton Selects,” Mathew said before he stepped off the bus. “The opening ceremony is ten o’clock tomorrow. That’s seven in the morning Vancouver time. So I suggest you go to bed early. Good luck!”

  The door shut and the bus pulled away. “You heard him,” said Coach T. “We’ll check in, have dinner and then it’s back to your rooms for nine o’clock.”

  “Nine?” Mo groaned. “That’s six o’clock our time. My sister doesn’t even have to go to bed that early. And she’s in grade one!”

  “Your sister isn’t playing the Brampton Selects tomorrow. I don’t think you want to come all this way to lose your first game because you’re tired.”

  ***

  The bus travelled along the busiest road Abbas had ever seen. “Welcome to Highway 427, boys,” said the driver, as the bus inched along.

  The Eagles didn’t mind the traffic. They were too busy taking in the sights.

  “We’re almost at Chestnut Residences,” said the driver as the bus turned onto Chestnut Street. “Nathan Phillips Square and City Hall are to the south, as is the CN Tower and the waterfront. The University and Varsity Stadium are to the north. You are right in the centre of everything.”

  The boys thanked the driver. They unloaded their cases, walked up to a tall, square building and entered through the large glass doors.

  “Welcome,” said a young man at the front desk. “We have seven rooms for you on the twenty-second floor.”

  Coach T had his own room while the players doubled up. “Steven and Carlos are in 2201,” said Coach T as they reached their floor. “Alvin and Jun are next door and Junior and Mo are across the hall.”

  Abbas and Claude were roommates in 2209.

  “What a great view!” said Claude, pulling back the curtains. Their room faced Lake Ontario, and they could see City Hall and the CN Tower.

  “There is a common room down the hall,” Coach T said from the hallway. “Pizza will be here in twenty minutes. Unpack and then come and get some food.”

  “Great! I’m starving,” said Claude.

  “Give me just a minute,” Abbas said. Abbas didn’t have a phone. But his iPod was loaded with a ton of social media apps.

  Abbas logged into the Chestnut Wi-Fi and sent a quick message to his mom, letting her know he’d made it okay. Then he texted Victor.

  In Toronto.

  It didn’t take Victor long to answer.

  Where u staying?

  Some place called Chestnut. U?

  Home. We R driving in TAM for opening ceremony

  CUITM Gotta eat pizza. Starving!

  LOL. CU

  “You ready?” Claude asked Abbas. “If we don’t hurry Mo will eat everything.”

  Abbas put away his iPod. “I was just saying hello to my friend Victor.”

  The boys gathered in the common room. Their mouths watered at the smell and sight of the pizza waiting for them on the table. And they wasted no time digging in.

  “This is really tasty,” said Junior. He was working on his third piece of cheese pizza.

  “Don’t go too crazy,” Coach T said. “I don’t want you having tummy aches tomorrow morning for the game.”

  “Don’t you worry about us,” Steven laughed. “We can handle our pizza.”

  Coach T looked at his watch. “You can handle going to bed as well. It’s 8:45 right now. Fifteen minutes from now I want you in your rooms. Watch TV, talk for a bit if you want, but I want you all asleep by ten.”

  “Ten p.m. here is like lunchtime back in Vancouver, Coach,” William said. Then, despite himself, he yawned.

  “Maybe, but Claude’s not the only one who gets feelings,” said Coach T. “I have a feeling most of you will be fast asleep within half an hour.”

  The boys were tired. Abbas had spent most of the flight asleep, but he could hardly keep his eyes open.

  “Good night, Claude,” Abbas said. He climbed into his bed. “Thanks for your help. I don’t think I would have been able to fly here without you and the guys.”

  “You’re welcome,” Claude replied. “I have a feeling it will be worth it. Tomorrow is going to be a great day, I just know it.”

&n
bsp; 15

  Top Flight Begins

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the Brampton Selects!”

  Abbas and the rest of the Eagles could hear the crowd cheer loudly. They were standing anxiously in the tunnels under the stands of Varsity Stadium.

  The tunnel ahead and behind them was stuffed with soccer players. They all were waiting their turn to march onto the field in alphabetical order, just like the teams in the Olympic opening ceremony.

  A young girl and boy, both about ten years old, stood in front of Abbas. They carried a large green and gold banner that read Grandview Eagles.

  “The Etobicoke Strikers will be called next,” said a tournament marshal. “Grandview, you’ll be after them. You guys look great, by the way. Those track suits are very sharp.”

  “It’s all about deportment,” said Claude. The boys shuffled toward the tunnel exit as the two teams in front of them walked out.

  Then it was their turn.

  “A special Top Flight welcome for the Grandview Eagles from Burnaby, British Columbia!” said the announcer. He was standing on a stage set up at the far end of the stadium, along with other people Abbas guessed were VIPs.

  With their banner leading the way, the Eagles stepped out onto the pitch. The stands in Varsity Stadium were full, with more than five thousand people cheering the teams as they entered.

  Varsity Stadium was much smaller than BC Place, where Abbas and the Vancouver Herons had played in the final game against Victor’s team. But it was exciting to be here, maybe even more exciting than the All-Syrian tournament. While it had been an honour to play for the Herons, there was something very meaningful about this tournament with his school friends, boys who meant the world to him.

  “Hall United!” said the announcer next. That was Victor’s team! They must have been right next to each other in the tunnel. But it had been so tightly packed Abbas hadn’t seen his friend.

  Right behind his team’s banner walked Victor. Victor saw Abbas and gave him a smile as his team lined up next to Grandview.

  For the next fifteen minutes the rest of the teams, boys and girls alike, walked proudly out into the stadium. “Willowdale FC!” said the announcer as the very last team stepped onto the turf surface of Varsity Stadium.