by Dirk Mclean
Mrs. Yee signalled that his time was up. He stopped short of having his classmates dance on their desks.
Next was Dylan who recited “Fern Hill,” a poem by his namesake, Dylan Thomas, a Welsh poet. Dylan’s voice was like music as he spoke of a childhood of wonder in a farm setting of nature, sun, moon and sky. Ozzie began to think that Dylan recited poems in his head while cross-country running.
The final presenter was Victor. He stood in front of the class and held up a small flag. He said, “Syria.” Then he crossed to the door and switched off the front lights. On the SMART Board was a picture of beautiful mountains, a green hillside with wildflowers, a farmer with goats. The class saw a city street with outdoor cafes, happy faces, outside and inside of a huge mosque, children playing soccer on a street, a market with fresh and dried fruits, vegetables and other items. There was a big mall with an indoor roller-skating rink where children skated while adults sat at tables, beside a fountain, drinking coffee and eating pastries.
The screen went blank for a few seconds. Then it showed a soldier with a gun, buildings blown out by bombs, heaps of rubble, tanks, dead bodies in the street with limbs missing... blood.
Victor switched on the lights and returned to the centre saying,
“My household — mother, father, younger brother, grandfather and me. My uncle disappeared. He was a lawyer. My father paid money to find him, but we never knew anything. His wife (my aunt) and my three cousins were killed. That’s when we knew we had to leave. We left Damascus and headed to Lebanon with very little. My grandfather died along the way and we buried him. We could not mark the grave.”
Victor held up a small Canadian flag and continued. “My brother came to Canada with weak lungs. He’s still getting better. We were the lucky ones. My grandfather...”
Ozzie could see that Victor was struggling not to cry. He thought of his own birth parents. Disappeared. And presumed dead.
“I miss him,” Victor blurted out. And he cried. Mrs. Yee went over and put her arm around his shoulders.
Ozzie blinked back his own tears.
12
Field Trip
The yellow, six-wheeler bus chugged along Kingston Road, carrying the Ozzie United and Victor United teams. The players sat easily with each other, no longer rival teams. Ozzie sat in a window seat alone in the middle of the bus. He heard the drums of the marching band as Birchmount Stadium came into view.
“Look, cheerleaders!” Sunny shouted.
“In your dreams,” replied Ade.
The bus turned right onto Birchmount Road, blocking the field.
“Actually, each school has their own marching band. And, yes, cheerleaders borrowed from the football teams only for today,” said Mr. Greenidge.
Ozzie could see that the stadium was smaller than BMO Field stadium Dad had taken him to the year before. But it was impressive for a game between Grade seven/eight teams.
The Kingston Bluffers, challengers in navy blue, warmed up on the north half of the field. The Agincourt Archers, defending champs in orange, occupied the southern half. Mr. Greenidge had told them that the stadium held two thousand, and it was full. The Grade seven/eight spectators included many Scarborough area schools with soccer programs that had competed for this championship. The other seats were taken by parents, coaches, school officials and the media. Vendors with drinks and snacks were everywhere.
Ozzie realized those students could have been his Scarborough teammates and competitors in Grade nine. He could have played on this field in the future. But instead he was moving to Hamilton.
Canada, even though I spoke English?
He settled into a seat beside Ade and Josiah. They were high above the green artificial turf with the sun to their backs.
Kickoff was at one-fifteen. The first half was uneventful. Defenders defended. Forwards and midfielders flowed up and down. The pace seemed slow, like the teams were trying to get to know each other, Ozzie figured. He was used to watching pro games with more excitement. He and Ade pointed out skillful attempts to each other. They laughed over flaws, like a Kingston Bluffer dribbling the ball and tripping over it. The match remained scoreless.
Whatever it was that the coaches said to their teams during the halftime break, it worked. They returned fired up. The defending champs drew first blood with a clean goal. The Kingston Bluffers, feeling the sting, reacted with a vengeance. They lobbed. They passed. They secured seven corner kicks. They headed balls. They assisted each other, even though one of their forwards missed a shot to a completely open net. Their star forward got two goals. Twenty-two minutes after that first goal Kingston Bluffers were leading 3–1. The Agincourt Archers goalkeeper could not hide his disappointment. He crumbled.
“Five minutes to go,” Josiah said to Ozzie.
“The mark of true champs is to commit to scoring until the end,” Ade said wisely.
“I’ve seen teams score three goals in the last five minutes,” Ozzie added. “The team that’s ahead can’t get arrogant and sloppy.”
They watched the Kingston Bluffers dilly-dally with the ball, confident of their victory. Ozzie was not impressed with that strategy. But even he could see that they had secured a victory. They were the new champs — clean and square.
After the trophy and medal presentation ended, Ozzie saw Mr. Greenidge chatting with both coaches. It seemed he knew the Kingston Bluffer’s coach well for he kissed her on the cheek. On the ride back to school there was much analyzing and replaying of goals scored. Stepping off the bus, Mr. Greenidge asked Ozzie what he honestly thought of the match.
“We would have beaten them both,” he replied.
* * *
The next morning Ozzie arrived early at school. He was waiting in the parking lot to catch Ms. Birbalsingh to talk about a weekend assignment he had missed when Mr. Greenidge pulled up. Ozzie recognized the sound of Beethoven’s Fifth symphony on steel pan pounding through the open windows. He smiled at the thought that Mr. Greenidge got charged up for his day like that.
“Good morning, Mr. Greenidge.”
“Morning, Ozzie,” he replied, exiting the suddenly silent car. “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday. If I can arrange an exhibition match with the Kingston Bluffers, would you be interested?”
“You’re teasing, right?”
Could Ozzie United take the field again?
“I never tease... on Fridays. I’ll get back to you,” he said, walking off. “Not a word to anyone.”
That afternoon Ozzie watched as Dylan placed fourth at his cross-country finals. Overall, the William Hall PS Grade seven/eight team placed fifth. Each member had posted a personal best. Ozzie had a new appreciation of Dylan’s athletic commitment. He was aware of how hard Dylan had trained. He knew that he too would have to work harder and commit to becoming a better goalkeeper.
13
Out of the Comfort Zone
At the beginning of lunchtime on Monday, Mr. Greenidge caught Ozzie before he reached his locker. They walked along the hallway away from his friends.
“Ozzie, I have good news and I have good news,” said Mr. Greenidge. “Which do you want to hear first?”
“The first good news first.” Ozzie smiled.
“The Kingston Bluffers have agreed to a friendly match next week.”
“No way.”
“Yes, way.”
“All right! You are the best, Mr. G!” Ozzie exclaimed. “And the second good news?”
“The match cannot be against Ozzie United only. Victor’s team needs to play too.”
“But that’s not good news. We won.”
“Yes.”
“It’s not fair.”
“That’s why I’m meeting with you before anyone else.”
Ozzie didn’t know what to say.
“See how this fits for you,” continued Mr. Greenidge. “Ther
e’s a bigger picture here, Ozzie. A mixture of players from both teams will give a better representation of William Hall.”
Ozzie was silent. He didn’t like it, but he took it in.
“I’d like you to take the rest of your lunch period to think this over, Ozzie. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll cancel the whole thing, no problem. Let me know.”
Ozzie left his lunch in his locker and strolled over to Malvern Town Centre, entering near the No Frills supermarket. He did not want to run into his team and have to ask their opinion.
He avoided the food court and walked past the kiosk that played reggae. Usually he would chat with the owner about calypso, soca and chutney music. But he stopped when he saw Principal Arsenault coming out of a gift shop, carrying a large bag.
“Ozzie, why are you looking so glum?” she asked.
He figured that she already knew. Mr. Greenidge had to have received her permission.
“Mr. Greenidge...”
“So you’ve had a talk. I’m curious, are you worried about the match? It’s an exhibition.”
“My team should be playing the Kingston Bluffers.”
She led him over to a bench where they sat down. “You are right. When I was principal at a school on the Six Nations of the Grand River Reserve...”
Ozzie recalled that the Grand River was in Brantford, way past Hamilton.
“... I got a call asking me if I would head up William Hall PS. I said no.”
“Why?”
“I was raised on the reserve. When I went to McMaster University in Hamilton on a basketball scholarship, I mixed with people from all over the world, returned to the reserve as a teacher and then principal. I was comfortable among my people. When the call about William Hall came again, I met with an elder. She advised me to get out of my comfort zone and grow. She said the change would be good for me. Here I am.”
There was that word again, “change,” Ozzie thought.
Ozzie stared at the gift bag Principal Arsenault was holding. She took out the item and unwrapped it. It was a large round piece of stained glass. She held it up to the light. Two white owls with green eyes, side by side, stared out at Ozzie.
“Neat.”
“Snowy owls. My grandparents’ wedding anniversary is this weekend. They have great intuition, my grandparents.”
She repacked it, looked at her watch and stood up. “Ozzie, when in the past did you have to work with new people?”
“It was when I organized six-a-side. Even though we all came from Nigeria as refugees we came from different parts. We didn’t arrive in Canada at the same time. Some of us were adopted by Canadian parents, and some came with their families.”
“Yet you managed to bring them all together as a team,” she said. “I really admire that kind of leadership.”
“I think I’ll talk to Mr. Greenidge again,” said Ozzie slowly.
“You can only grow from the experience.”
He nodded.
“Need a ride back?”
“That wouldn’t be cool.”
“Okay. I get it. See you.”
“Bye, Principal Arsenault.”
When she was out of sight Ozzie ran past the music kiosk, which was playing a soca he did not recognize. He dashed past the food court and out of the centre. He rushed across the west parking lot to the school’s staff room. Breathlessly, he asked a teacher going in the door if she would find out if Mr. Greenidge was there. Seconds later Mr. Greenidge came out, chewing his lunch. He had a piece of what looked like spinach stuck to his teeth.
“I’m ready to talk, Mr. Greenidge,” Ozzie blurted out.
Several minutes later they met with Victor in the Ozzie United Room. Mr. Greenidge explained to Victor about the friendly match.
“So you each pick five players,” Mr. Greenidge said.
“I want Dylan Hollingsworth on the team,” said Ozzie boldly.
“Not a chance,” Victor objected. “He can’t be one of us. He’s a cross-country runner.”
“Dylan’s played with us many times. He’s in good condition. And he would be a strong midfielder,” Ozzie argued.
“How come he only placed fourth?”
“Fourth is pretty good. Have you ever run a race?” Ozzie challenged.
“Okay, guys,” Mr. Greenidge interrupted.
“I’m not giving up any players,” Victor said with finality, crossing his arms.
“Fine. I will,” Ozzie offered.
“Deal,” Victor said quickly before Ozzie changed his mind.
“Give me your first choices and positions right now,” Mr. Greenidge said, moving to the board with a marker. “There will be four substitutes. Two each.”
He wrote as they offered their choices.
“Some guys won’t be happy,” Ozzie said.
“I’ll take care of that,” Mr. Greenidge assured them. “It will be okay.”
“I hope you are right,” said Victor.
The buzzer announced that lunch period was over. Ozzie had forgotten to eat.
“Gather everyone and we’ll meet in the gym after school,” Mr. Greenidge said.
Ozzie knew that he had one more thing to say.
“Mr. Greenidge, there’s a piece of salad on your tooth.”
14
Hall United
A new team named HALL UNITED was made. This team had six Syrians, five Nigerians and a Welsh boy. There were two Syrian and two Nigerian substitutes, and nine coaching assistants, for a total of twenty-five players.
Mr. Greenidge handed out the list of positions and duties and the practice schedule. There was much chatter and grumbling. He clapped his hands to get their attention.
“Good afternoon, footballers. William Hall has been given a unique opportunity. As you can see, everyone will be involved. Those of you not playing on the field will be my assistants and trainers. I take full responsibility for selecting you and assigning posts and positions, as a one-time coach for this exhibition.”
Ozzie was relieved that Mr. Greenidge had taken any heat off him and Victor.
“Principal Arsenault and I hope that a showcase of your collective, and I mean collective, talents will pave the way for this school to have a full soccer program for both boys and girls,” he continued.
“When will that be, Coach?” Sunny asked.
“Possibly next year. We’re not sure,” he replied. “I know most of you will be in high school by then. Those in Grade seven will benefit directly.”
“I’m in Grade seven,” Peter spoke up. “If we get beaten 20–0 by the champs, how will that benefit us?”
“Yeah, we only have one week. It is impossible to win,” said Hassan.
“We’re gonna be slaughtered like turkeys at Thanksgiving,” said Sunny.
Coach Greenidge held up a hand. “If that is your attitude this can end right here, right now,” he said firmly and calmly. “You are not marching into a war as untrained soldiers, risking your young lives. This is a soccer match for those who will come after you.” His voice began to rise. “You are brave giants upon whose shoulders others will one day stand. Not everything is about winning. Your co-captains, Ozzie and Victor, and I do not believe the score will be 20–0. Whatever it is, you will not be embarrassed. You will hold your heads up high. Am I right or am I right?”
Silence.
“I said, am I right or am I right?” he barked.
“Right, Coach!” they yelled in unison.
Tuesday morning the air was cool. Fall was beginning to show its presence. Early morning dew sparkled on the grass when Hall United started their first practice.
As planned with Ozzie and Victor, Coach Greenidge led them through drills and activities, without a big speech before or after. The lunch break would be for talks between Coach Greenidge and the co-captains or between the co-
captains alone, as needed. The touch football team had been eliminated from the playoffs, so the field was also free after school.
The afternoon was a repeat of the morning’s session. This time Coach Greenidge wanted to see how everyone cooperated. At the end, Coach Greenidge brought them into a circle, assistants included.
“Footballers, good sessions.” He looked around at each and every one of them. “If I had a season to work with you, I’d coach you differently. With one week, I’m going to point out what you do well individually and how to improve that. I’ll correct only what is necessary as we go along. In soccer, communication is key to playing as a team. Apart from silent signals that we work out between ourselves, English will be the only language spoken. You are a team. Act like one. No Syrian clique. No Nigerian clique. And definitely no Welsh clique.” He pointed at Dylan, to chuckles among the boys.
Ozzie went to bed early, exhausted. He knew that he would have to pace himself through the week. At the next morning’s practice, two assistants, Trevor and Sayid, shot penalty kicks to Ozzie and Victor in goal. On the rest of the field, Coach Greenidge had the new forwards and midfielders dribble the ball and pass to each other. Off to the side, two assistants, Kenneth and Yusuf, worked with the new defenders.
One morning, Principal Arsenault announced that anyone interested in soccer and who wanted to support Hall United should sign up with Coach Greenidge. There would be a school bus booked to take them to the friendly match.
At lunch on Thursday, Ozzie met with Coach Greenidge in the former Ozzie United room, now the Hall United room. They sat eating their lunches.
“Dylan told me that he stood in as referee for your six-a-side match before the presentation match. How was that?”
“Fine. He knows the game very well. That’s why I trusted him to do that. Otherwise, it would have been a disaster.”
“I’ve been thinking about a rehearsal match this Saturday afternoon. The new squad versus the rest.”
Ozzie chewed, thinking over what he had heard.
“A match is a good idea. But, but, but... if the rest beat us what happens? Will they demand to be the new Hall United? Headline in the newspaper: WAR ERUPTS AT WILLIAM HALL PS.”
