by Dirk Mclean
“Nooo!” screamed Dylan.
“Toronto FC didn’t see it coming.”
“I’ve seen enough. Gotta go.”
“Good luck with your cross-country meet tomorrow, Dylan.”
They both hung up. Ozzie sat staring at the screen, but his mind was on anything but the match. He liked hearing his full surname — Ocala from his birth parents, and Holder from his adopted parents, who had come to Canada from Trinidad & Tobago. His birth father used to say, “A good name is better than gold.” Ozzie had double gold. When he and Rebecca first arrived some children at school mimicked his accent and asked him to roar like a lion. But he was proud of all his names and what they said about him.
He decided to read for half an hour before bed. Ozzie’s latest novel was Mella and the N’anga by Gail Nyoka. After his thoughts about his name, the book would take his mind to ancient Africa. But his mind kept travelling right back home to the decision he had to make.
If only my school had a proper soccer program, he thought. I wouldn’t be in this mess.
3
Ozzie United
It was another sunny morning. Ozzie had risen early and still didn’t know what he was going to do. He arrived at school looking smart with his white, crested polo shirt tucked into black trousers. He entered the office reception area at eight-fifteen, seconds before Victor. The office secretary told the boys to sit and wait. Principal Arsenault’s office door was closed. Ozzie and Victor avoided looking at each other.
Ozzie closed his eyes to block out his surroundings. It was only then that he realized he was nervous. He opened his eyes when he heard a door squeak open.
“Ozzie and Victor, good morning. Please come in,” Mr. Greenidge said as if he was inviting them in for breakfast.
On entering, Ozzie saw Principal Arsenault sitting erect behind her desk. He thought of Dylan’s constant referral to her as Her Majesty. She did look sort of majestic in a gold power suit.
The boys were not invited to sit.
“Victor, I’m sorry I teased you,” Ozzie blurted out before anyone said anything. He surprised himself as he heard his words echo in the room.
Victor looked like Ozzie had slapped him awake from a deep sleep. “Ozzie, sorry... for pushing you...”
Principal Arsenault and Mr. Greenidge looked at each other. It seemed to Ozzie that they were silently scrambling to come up with a Plan B.
“Do either of you recall what this month’s character word is?” the principal asked.
After a few seconds of quiet both Ozzie and Victor said, “Respectfulness,” at the same time.
“Good. Normally, an incident like this would lead to suspensions, parents being notified, tears even. Your apologies show maturity. However, such actions as yours cannot go without consequences,” she said and nodded to Mr. Greenidge.
Mr. Greenidge cleared his throat like he was about to give a speech.
“Ozzie and Victor, you and your soccer teams are to play a presentation match in front of the school. It will be on the Friday before Thanksgiving weekend, in two weeks. There will be two twenty-minute halves with a ten-minute break between.”
Mr. Greenidge took a coin from his pocket and showed both sides to Ozzie and Victor. He pointed to Victor.
“Heads. I mean tails,” called Victor.
“Make up your mind,” said Mr. Greenidge.
“Heads,” Victor said once more.
Mr. Greenidge tossed the coin high. It almost touched the ceiling before falling again.
Dad always says that in the law of averages heads wins most often, Ozzie thought. Why didn’t I get to choose? And what’s the prize anyway?
Mr. Greenidge caught the coin and slammed it on top of Principal Arsenault’s desk for all to see. It was heads.
“Practices on the field thirty minutes before school each morning or thirty minutes at lunchtime. Victor?”
Victor quickly said, “Lunchtime.”
All right. I still have lunchtime to do some homework, thought Ozzie.
“The after-school sessions will continue as before. No mistakes, I promise,” concluded Mr. Greenidge, looking toward Principal Arsenault.
“Any questions, boys?” she asked.
Will there be a trophy? Will the school band play? Will Major League Soccer scouts attend? Ozzie asked silently.
But when no questions were asked aloud, Principal Arsenault stood up. “Respectfulness. Don’t make me regret this,” she said sternly.
Minutes later in homeroom, Ozzie and Victor sat further away from each other than before. Battle lines had been drawn. The class stood for the playing of “O Canada” over the PA system. It was an upbeat rendition by a group of Cree singers. Ozzie never knew which of five different versions they would hear. It could be sung by the soulful R&B singer or even the French operatic tenor.
After a series of announcements, Principal Arsenault declared the first soccer match at William Hall PS as the beginning of a new era of the school. The whole class erupted in chatter. Dylan, sitting beside Ozzie, turned and high-fived him.
“The first in Her Majesty’s reign, she means,” Dylan smirked. “If that’s her new version of consequences, I’d better think up some trouble.”
Ozzie liked early mornings. The question was would the rest of his team feel the same way?
* * *
At lunchtime Ozzie and his team met in an empty, unlocked classroom on the second floor. There was only a teacher’s desk and some chairs. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling. It hadn’t seen a broom in a long time. Ozzie recalled that the orphanage in Nigeria used every room.
While they ate, Ozzie shared the details of the presentation match with his friends. He imitated Mr. Greenidge with a slight Trinidad & Tobago accent.
“In conclusion, all-you better put on a good-good display of soccer talent, or it’s my ass on de line,” Ozzie said to giggles.
“Does that mean your supposed suspensions are supposedly suspended?” asked Sunny, shaking his mop of hair.
That sent the rest of the team into more laughter.
“No suspensions,” said Ozzie. “Let’s get serious. We need a captain. I nominate Ade.”
“I nominate Ozzie,” said Ade.
“Ozzie, you have been organizing us all along, it makes sense... Captain,” said Sunny. “I second that.”
“All in favour?” asked Ade.
Everyone, except Ozzie, raised their hand.
“It’s settled,” stated Ade. “Now for the next order of business, Captain.”
“Okay, men, I’ll lead you into battle. It will be fierce. It will be bloody. It may be muddy. Some of you will not come out alive. Just don’t call me Captain, again,” said Ozzie, talking tough like some action-movie star. He was not sure which one.
“What about a name? We can’t just be Ozzie’s team,” said Peter, a sandy-headed grade seven student with his mouth full of sandwich. “And I want a midfielder spot.”
“Manchester United is already spoken for. Scarborough United doesn’t have the right ring. The only logical choice is Ozzie United.” Ade beamed. “All in favour?”
All hands raised, and Ozzie said, “Dis... missed.”
“Aye, aye, aye, Captain,” they chanted.
Ozzie smiled, despite himself.
That afternoon, with the field to themselves, Ozzie United held their first practice. Ozzie led them through a quick stretch. For fifteen minutes they executed a drill, with everyone taking turns kicking penalty shots on goalkeeper Ozzie. Ozzie dived to the left and to the right, getting up quickly. He jumped up and caught balls, hugging them into his chest. He also watched balls speed past him. He caught the last ball and brought them all into a circle.
“Good practice, guys.” He smiled. “If you are ever in that position, don’t let the goalkeeper see you look at where you are going to sho
ot the ball.”
Ozzie walked home alone. He realized that he had to start thinking like a coach. He would have to plan only a few drills. Too many would be boring for the team. He would concentrate on activities and tactics. He had eleven players to place. Ten players would be divided into three forwards, four midfielders and three defenders. That left one substitute. Kenneth had been the other goalkeeper, but he could also play any other position.
Each player would practice actions on their own. They would practice dribbling — moving the ball along the field lightly with their toe or the inside of the foot. They would learn heading — throwing the ball in the air and striking it with their forehead. They would kick the ball against a wall from a distance.
That evening Ozzie, Rebecca and Dad gathered for supper. Mom had to work late. Ozzie shared his news. But he did not say how the presentation match came about.
“Your principal sure is mercurial,” Dad said, munching some salad.
“What’s mercurial?” asked Ozzie.
“She’s full of mercury.” Rebecca smirked.
“Rebecca...” Dad said in mock sternness. “Ozzie, it means she seems to change her opinions quickly. One minute she prefers girls’ volleyball over soccer. Now she’s pushing soccer. Our parent council has been trying to get soccer back into your school since last spring. And now this all of a sudden.”
“We’re not official school teams, Dad. Only a... a little showcase. Victor and the Syrians have been playing for fun... like Ade and the rest of us. No big thing.” He glanced at Rebecca hoping she would not add the truth to the conversation.
“Will Auntie Lisa and Uncle Russell be coming this Thanksgiving?” Ozzie asked. He hoped changing the subject would keep Dad from asking more questions. Auntie Lisa was Dad’s sister and they lived north of Toronto near Barrie.
“I believe so,” Dad replied.
“Tell her to bake two whole salmons this time. On that wood thing.”
“A cedar plank. I’ll give her your order,” Dad chuckled.
“With maple-mustard glaze.”
“That, too. Anything else?”
“No, Dad. Great meal, Rebecca,” Ozzie said, standing up to leave the table before the soccer game came up again.
4
Training Begins
The morning started with Ozzie waking up extra early. Six o’clock. He had written “OZZIE UNITED” on the inside cover of a new hard-cover notebook that he had kept for a special occasion. He then wrote out an activity for his team to play out on the field. The entire team was to imagine they were making a charge against Victor’s team:
The goalkeeper kicks the ball easily to a nearby defender. He passes it across to another defender beside him, who passes the ball high over to the third defender. Left defender traps the ball before it goes over the outside left line, stopping the action. He looks ahead for a midfielder. The four midfielders are almost bunched together. Not a good sign. Who to send the ball to? Left full defender kicks the ball over to the right defender who heads it to a centre midfielder. He traps it with his chest, letting it roll to the ground and stops it with his foot. He turns around and kicks it to the left midfielder who seems to move toward the left corner area. But he changes his mind when he spots the right midfielder alone. He kicks the ball over there, making sure that the ball does not touch his hands and cause a penalty. Right midfielder sees the line of the opposition’s defence ahead. If he is afraid of them it does not show. In the meantime the other three midfielders dart toward those two mean-looking defenders in front of the goal line. The right midfielder sends the ball toward the middle. One of the two centre midfielders jumps higher than everyone else. He heads the ball past the defenders, past the goalkeeper, into the back corner of the net. Goal!
Ozzie called out the plays like that in his head from his bird’s-eye view from the goal. It also helped him to stay alert. Ozzie waved everyone over to him. They formed a wide circle around him.
“You did well today, guys,” Ozzie said. “How did it feel?”
“Tough,” Josiah panted, still catching his breath.
“How so?” asked Ozzie.
“They were invisible,” Josiah said.
“No matter. I’m ready for Victor’s team. I say bring them on now,” Peter boasted.
“What kind of activity was that anyway, Ozzie?” Ade asked.
Ozzie looked around at everyone’s faces before he responded. “We have only ever played six-a-side against each other. I wanted you to get the feeling of playing like a full team against a single opponent.”
“Single? There were eleven of them. And sometimes I couldn’t tell where they all were — they were all over the field,” Kenneth said, to much laughter and talking all around. None of them had ever seen an activity like that before.
Ozzie broke into the chatter. “Now, I didn’t say this before and I don’t want to say it again. Kenneth and Ezekiel, you were four minutes late for practice.” He raised a hand, silencing them. “No excuses. We only have two weeks. If you can’t wake up on time, let me know and I’ll call your house and wake you up.”
“Spoken like a true coach,” Ade said.
The team widened the circle. For the last five minutes of their time, they kicked the ball across to each other, calling out the team member’s name beforehand.
* * *
Friday night, Ozzie and Rebecca had the run of the house. Mom and Dad were out on a date. That morning Ozzie had overheard Mom saying that she felt stuck in her job.
Rebecca and her girlfriends had taken over the basement. Indra was of Guyanese heritage and Fola, Nigerian. They headed down to enjoy their mini film festival.
Ozzie and Dylan settled into the living room with the West Indian roti they both loved. He remembered explaining it to Dylan. The wrapper was flatter than a pancake, much larger and folded in a way to keep the curried filling inside. It was delicious!
The boys turned on the TV just in time to hear the opening whistle for the European Cup playoff match between Ireland and Ukraine.
“Ireland has been playing well these days,” said Dylan, biting into his goat roti.
Ozzie chewed some of his vegetarian roti filling. “Don’t rule out Ukraine. They’re playing smarter than last year. France, too.”
They clicked bottles of Malta Carib and drank, grinning like millionaires and enjoying the malt flavoured beverage. By halftime the score was still 0–0, despite both Irish and Ukrainian goalkeepers having saved amazing shots.
“This match is all defensive,” commented Dylan. “When you coach your boys, get them to score. Scoring wins matches,” he advised.
“I’ll remember that,” said Ozzie, smiling.
That night, before falling asleep, Ozzie thought about a save by the Irish goalkeeper. He had rushed forward and caught the ball instead of waiting for it to come to him. Forward thinking!
The first Saturday of fall still felt like summer to Ozzie as he completed his chores. He was happy that the girls had tidied up the basement after their partying. He did not have much to do there.
Ozzie rushed off to Malvern Public Library. Ozzie found it the perfect place to complete weekend assignments and learn more about local history. Its high, open ceilings gave Ozzie the feeling of space like the Anglican Church that Mom and Dad took him and Rebecca to sometimes. The main desk with helpful librarians faced the entrance. To the left of the desk was a teens’ section he was finally allowed to explore now that he was no longer restricted to the children’s collection. A presentation area with a large bay window allowed the morning sun to stream through.
Who’s that? Ozzie wondered. He thought that he saw Victor going into one of the meeting rooms beyond the books in other languages off to the right. Now, that is probably my mind trying to trick me because he is my opponent, he thought. He slid into a booth in the quiet study area behind the English as a Seco
nd Language stacks.
That afternoon the Ozzie United practice was on the small soccer field at Blessed Mother Teresa Catholic Secondary School, just to the east of the library. Usually it was occupied by older teens. Ozzie felt lucky to have the field and that it was so close.
“Today we work on the corner kick,” Ozzie said, putting aside his notebook. “It’s one of the easiest ways for a team to score a goal. When the other team is awarded a corner kick, the goalkeeper gets his team, including the three main defenders — Peter, Josiah and Owen — to cover each opponent in the area in front of the goal. They must prevent the ball from going into their net. In this case, my net.”
Forward Sam stood on the corner arc left of the goal with Ade on the right. They waited for Ozzie to settle on the goal line. The others formed the opposition, sending the ball toward the middle front of the goal so their teammate could score.
After a few corner kicks from each side, Sam stopped the action.
“I should be on the right corner, Ozzie,” he complained. “I shoot better that way.”
“You never get to choose which corner you shoot from,” Ade shouted, moving toward the centre.
“Let’s switch sides,” Sam yelled back, running to meet Ade.
“Guys, it’s only a simple activity. In a real match neither of you might win the corner. It might be a midfielder.”
“But, Ozzie...” Sam started again.
“Tell you what, ten more kicks each from your corners, then switch. Afterwards, the midfielders will get a turn. Back to positions, everyone,” he ordered.
While walking home, Ozzie thought about the practice. He hoped the team would play well and not end up fighting each other in front of the school to embarrass him, Principal Arsenault and Mr. Greenidge. Something about the team wasn’t right. He could not quite place it.
He went home and watched the second half of the Toronto FC versus the Whitecaps game from earlier in the week. He already knew that Toronto FC had won by a slim 3–2 in a penalty shootout. But he wanted to see what he could learn to pass on to his team. His team? A lot had happened that week. A week ago he simply got some guys together for soccer. Now he was the captain of a full team with a big match looming and a principal who hoped she had not made a mistake.
