Team Fugee

by Dirk Mclean

  “My coaching career would be over.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Right. Next idea.”

  “We could work on a couple of tactics on Saturday.”

  “Do you have anything in mind?”

  “The Double Cross. First a player has to win a corner kick. Most players, including the opposition will bunch up in front of the goal area. But one player will drift to the far side. Hopefully no one notices him. The kicker sends the ball, not to the centre area, but to the far side where the solo player waits for it. It will look like a bad cross to the opposition. But, and here’s the tricky part, the solo player has to get the ball and send it to the middle quickly to someone who can shoot to goal.”

  “Now, that is mas’! We’ll give it a try!” Coach Greenidge was jumping up and down.

  15

  Opposition

  At supper Mom told Ozzie and Dad about a counteroffer she had received from Scarborough Centenary Hospital. Her boss, the Head of Paediatrics, would be retiring in December. The position was hers if she wanted it.

  “I will have to let the hospital board know by next Friday,” she said. “That’s the day I have to confirm my acceptance of the Hamilton offer, too.”

  Two days after our match, Ozzie figured.

  Staying would be great. But Ozzie was getting used to the idea of leaving Malvern and everything he knew. What if he went somewhere like Principal Arsenault did? Would he grow more if he went out of his comfort zone? What about the changes that had already happened? He was not only playing soccer, but he was leading his second team. He was confused.

  Ozzie simply said to Mom, “You’ll know what’s best, Mom.”

  He had a friendly match to focus on.

  Halloween was on Saturday. William Hall PS was celebrating it on Friday. Knowing that he could not show up without a costume, Ozzie had told Mom and Dad to pick anything. That morning, in the living room was a Star Wars Jedi Knight costume, complete with lightsaber and a white tunic with brown, hooded robe.

  Then he noticed Rebecca’s black jumpsuit and platinum wig. She was Storm from Marvel’s X-Men. Dad said Storm was based on Oye, Nigerian goddess of storms and tornadoes, Ozzie thought. Rebecca can be stormy at times.

  Hall United had a light practice on the frosty morning. The team took turns shooting at Ozzie and Victor. Just before class, Ozzie put his costume on over his regular clothes in the change room.

  “You won’t guess. I’ll tell you,” said Dylan when Ozzie eyed his costume. “A Hobbit from Middle Wales. I wanted to come as Gollum. But I didn’t want to spend the whole day almost naked.”

  “One way to get a girlfriend,” Ozzie offered. He looked up as Victor joined them. “I don’t get it, Victor.”

  “My parents said Aladdin or Arabian Prince — choose.”

  “Glasses. Black, mock turtleneck jersey. Black pants. Mock Apple tablet,” said Dylan. “You chose Steve Jobs. Because of his Syrian heritage.”

  “A hero. I get it,” Ozzie exclaimed.

  “You knew that about Steve Jobs?” Victor asked Dylan.

  “My dad would disagree, but I know everything,” Dylan said.

  Hiding behind his Jedi Knight mask, Ozzie overheard three students talking later that day.

  “Taking on the Kingston Bluffers, how dumb is that, eh?” said Student A.

  “Who do they think they are, Montreal Impact?” asked Student B.

  “They think they’re Manchester United, mate, in the bloody Barclays Premier League,” said Student C in a mocking English accent.

  “They’re Leicester City, man, risen from the dead to become champions,” Student A commented.

  “Those Bluffers will kick them over the Scarborough bluffs, they will,” Student C guffawed.

  At least they know soccer teams, Ozzie mused.

  “And what could that Welsh idiot, what’s-his-name...” Student B asked.

  “... Dylan,” Student A replied.

  “Yeah, Dylan. What’s he doing with a bunch of Nigerians and Syrians?” Student B continued.

  “Oh, didn’t you know, he’s a refugee. From the Co-op. Or is it the coop?” Student C snickered.

  “None of them should be representing this school, if you ask me,” Student B stated.

  Ozzie kept quiet. This was not a moment to stand up and face anyone who thought like that.

  After school Coach Greenidge reported that so many students, both boys and girls, had already signed up for a ride to the game that he might have to order a second bus.

  Ozzie introduced the surprise speed tactic which had frustrated Victor United. Coach Greenidge called a practice for the next day from two to four p.m.

  “I did not put this on this schedule. If you cannot make it because of family commitments, that’s okay. I’ll work with whoever shows up. No pressure, guys. There’s still Monday and Tuesday,” he concluded.

  Ozzie, Victor and Dylan made a pact with one another. They would be there.

  Friday night the Holder household was almost empty. Rebecca was out with her friends. Mom and Dad were out with Mr. Gupta, to discuss Mom’s dilemma, Ozzie presumed. He and Dylan relaxed by watching a Kevin Hart comedy. Ozzie wanted to mention what he had overheard the students say in the hallway. Could they be right? Was Hall United really playing out of their league? He decided not to bring up what Dad would call ‘negativity.’ Laughter was a good way to keep fears at bay.

  * * *

  Ozzie completed all of his weekend assignments at the library by noon on Saturday. He saw Victor coming out of the meeting room and waved to him. Victor approached him sheepishly.

  “I take extra ESL class. I must better my English,” he confessed.

  “You don’t have to be shy about that, Victor.” He wanted to say “embarrassed” but “shy” was better. No need to make Victor feel bad.

  “I want to stop others teasing me... when I... stumble with English.”

  Ozzie recalled his comment about Victor not reading that set off their fight in September. “I understand,” he said, as he finally did.

  “My secret. I share with you. Where did you learn to speak so good?”

  “Nigeria. At an orphanage.”

  Ozzie realized how lucky he had been not to have language as a challenge when he got to Canada. He took Victor to the audio section and suggested some CDs for him to check out. They exited the main doors together. As they walked along Sewells Road, three older teens blocked their path on the sidewalk.

  “Trick or treat, what are you two dressed as?” Teen #1 asked.

  “I think they’re dressed as fugees... ref-fugees.” Teen #2 said.

  Ozzie and Victor moved to the side but were blocked again.

  “Why you two dressed up in nice Canadian costumes? You got suicide bombs under those costumes?” Teen #3 demanded.

  Ozzie was confused. I’m not even Muslim.

  “I know, I know, you’re from Serious. No, wait, Syria?” Teen #2 snickered.

  Victor was about to speak. Ozzie stopped him.

  “Three against two,” Ozzie said in his boldest voice. “You’re bigger, taller and stronger. The question you need to ask yourselves is, are you faster than a Grade eighter?” Before the words left his mouth, Ozzie grabbed Victor and pulled him away. They ran across the road, causing a car’s tires to screech.

  The teens chased them. But Ozzie and Victor ran with lightning speed, backpacks on their backs, across Neilson toward the busy east side parking lot of Malvern Town Centre. When he dared a look behind them, Ozzie realized that the teens had given up. Besides, there were too many witnesses. Ozzie and Victor stopped, panting and laughing together.

  “Will I always be seen as refugee?” Victor asked.

  “You can’t think about that.”

  “What to do then? Run away?”

  “W
ith some guys you stand up and face them. With others you leave their presence. Even my Dad still faces situations and he was born here. Don’t let them steal your joy, that’s all.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Victor said. “See you at the practice, Ozzie.”

  “Later,” replied Ozzie.

  16

  Coming Together

  Two hours later all Hall United players gathered at the school’s field. Four of the nine assistants showed up as well. It was a light practice involving a step by step breakdown of movements. Since it was outside of a school day, no one was covered by insurance. Coach Greenidge could not risk injuries, so no actual play.

  Mr. Greenidge patiently explained the Four-Step Poker Dance, moving three players around to show them the plan. “A passes sideways to B who passes ahead to C. Meanwhile A runs ahead to be in line with C. C passes to A who shoots to the goal. If executed properly it will be ten times faster than it sounds.”

  “What about their defence?”

  “You cannot give the Bluffers a chance to see what you are doing,” Coach Greenidge said. “If you manage to do it once in a match, you won’t get a second chance. You are playing the Bluffers, yes, but you would be bluffing them.”

  “Let’s call it Bluff the Bluffers, then,” offered Sunny.

  “What if they hear you?” asked Victor. “It would be game done.”

  I’m sure he meant ‘game over,’ thought Ozzie. He said, “If we call out Four-Step Poker Dance only we will know what that means.”

  “Okay. Once more,” Coach Greenidge said.

  Once more became eight times more. Then Coach Greenidge handed out bottled juices, water and oranges. After the break, Ozzie and Victor positioned the forwards and midfielders. Ozzie placed the four substitutes as Bluffers in front of the goal area.

  “What we are going to teach you is called the Double Cross,” Ozzie said.

  * * *

  Ozzie and Dylan walked together afterwards.

  “My Dad wanted to buy me new gloves,” said Ozzie. “I said no. There’s not enough time to break them in properly.”

  “Ozzie, you’re lucky to have your Dad support you like that. My Dad thinks I should have won cross-country. If he knew I was playing soccer he’d be laughing his head off,” Dylan said, shaking his head sadly. “He’d say, ‘Bring me the man who put you up to this nonsense. I want to look into his eyes.’”

  “Poor Coach Greenidge, facing your father. No, you’d have to send him Principal Arsenault instead.”

  “She’s almost twice my dad’s height. He’d have to stand on a barrel to challenge her, he would,” Dylan said.

  That image cracked them up.

  “Sure you don’t want to go trick or treating later?” Dylan asked.

  “Positive. Yesterday was enough for me. Besides, I’m getting too old for that.”

  “Hmm. Text me if you change your mind.”

  They bumped fists and went their separate ways. One thing Ozzie knew for certain: The team was coming together. How well they would do next Wednesday was left to be seen.

  * * *

  Ozzie was the first to arrive at the Monday practice. November had brought fall in full colourful splendour. A year ago most of the leaves were already on the ground by this time. Some people said it was global warming. Some said it was global cooling. Ozzie hadn’t decided who was right. He was glad to be wearing gloves and feeling well rested after two nights of ten-hour sleeps.

  The drills included the Four-Step Poker Dance and the Double Cross and other tactics. Coach Greenidge stated that Victor would be the first-half goalkeeper and Ozzie would play the second half.

  Principal Arsenault announced that the character word for November was Compassion.

  At lunchtime Victor invited Ozzie to walk over to Malvern Town Centre. He told him to leave his lunch in his locker. Ozzie was curious but did as asked. They arrived at the newly opened stall in the food court, Falafel of the Desert. Victor treated Ozzie to a tahini-dripping falafel and raspberry juice.

  “This is so good, Victor,” Ozzie said, taking a huge bite of his wrapped sandwich. “Thanks.”

  “I am happy you enjoy it. Yesterday I listened to one of the CDs you showed me at the library. I played back and spoke aloud. It’s good. Thank you.”

  “Anytime,” Ozzie mumbled around the food in his mouth. He wondered if he would find falafels in Hamilton.

  Victor went back to Falafel of the Desert and brought two wax-paper-wrapped items to the table. He handed one to Ozzie.

  “What’s in the pastry?” Ozzie asked, peeling the paper from the treat.

  “Pistachios. Walnuts. A light sugar syrup. Ancient Syrian spices,” Victor replied. Through a sweet sticky mouthful, he asked Ozzie, “What you think of Coach Greenidge?”

  “I like him. No other gym teacher wanted to restart a soccer program here.”

  “You think we are like lamb?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lambs get killed to make shawarma.”

  “I don’t care. I’m getting to play soccer. And I’m glad we’re playing together.”

  “Me too,” Victor said, smiling. “You know, Mr. Greenidge wants to be super coach. That’s okay.”

  As they walked back to school Victor pointed at Lester B. Pearson Collegiate Institute.

  “I’m going there next year. What about you?”

  That caught Ozzie off guard. “I... I haven’t decided yet.”

  “They have a good soccer program. Maybe we will play together.”

  “Maybe,” Ozzie replied. He was not about to say that he’d probably be in Hamilton. But he thought that it was beginning to look that way — a brand new hospital; a bigger house. Ozzie would be forced out of his comfort zone. He figured if they were staying in Malvern, Mom would have decided already. Friday was four days away. “Thanks for lunch, Victor,” was all he said.

  “You are, as they say, quite welcome.” Victor smiled.

  * * *

  During afternoon practice Ozzie was distracted. He could not focus and he wondered why.

  At home, it all came crashing down on him in the basement. His breath became short.

  Maybe those guys were right.

  Who did we think we were, going up against the champion Kingston Bluffers?

  A bunch of refugees. Fugees.

  Why did I boast to Coach Greenidge?

  Why is Mom making us move to Hamilton?

  His chest felt tight. He called out to Rebecca who was upstairs in the kitchen, warming up supper. She came rushing down.

  Ozzie told his sister everything that was on his mind. She held him as he sobbed. They had to play the memory game for a long time before Ozzie felt better.

  17

  A Friendly Match

  Today was going to be the biggest match of Ozzie’s life — so far. He awoke rested and calm. He stood in the shower, wondering if he would have another attack of nerves. After dressing, he removed his beaded chain and placed it on his dresser.

  Ozzie moved through his morning classes in a daze. After lunch Hall United changed into their uniforms: red T-shirts with the school crest over their hearts and HALL UNITED silk-screened on their backs. The players and assistants crammed into the Hall United Room. They had one last thing to rehearse — their chant and procession.

  As they finished, Principal Arsenault knocked and entered. She looked up at the cobwebbed ceiling and the filthy floor beneath her before settling her gaze on everyone.

  “Good morning, Hall United.”

  “Good morning, Principal Arsenault,” they replied almost together.

  “I want to say that I appreciate all of you putting your talents on display for a good cause. Have an enjoyable match.”

  Ozzie felt the bus ride along Kingston Road was different this time. Instead of going to watc
h, they were a soccer team. Instead of one lone school bus, there were three: one for Hall United and two carrying about one hundred William Hall PS supporters.

  Sitting beside Dylan, Ozzie began to get nervous. He closed his eyes to relax, playing memory game alone. He found a good-feeling place as the images drifted from Nigeria to Canada:

  The family dancing to steel pan music on Caribana Day.

  Tobogganing with Dylan in Rouge Park and tumbling in the snow.

  Dad belly-flopping in the pool at Toronto Pan Am Sports Centre.

  He opened his eyes before the bus turned onto Birchmount Road. No school band. No visible cheerleaders. But the Kingston Bluffers did have a large crowd.

  As the Kingston Bluffers fans sang their school song and shouted the chant Ozzie remembered from almost two weeks ago, he suddenly saw Birchmount Stadium as a Roman coliseum. The crowd was made up of citizens foaming at the mouth for blood, Hall United’s blood, his blood. The players of Hall United were not real gladiators in their eyes. They were upstarts. Principal Arsenault sat beside the Emperor, Superintendent Dominski. She had offered them up as entertainment. The ball was not a soccer ball. It was Ozzie’s head.

  Ozzie shook the images from his head.

  After the teams had warmed up, Superintendent Dominski welcomed the crowd. As guests, Hall United was introduced first. To a mixture of cheers from their fans and polite applause from Bluffers fans, they chanted:

  We’re Hall United

  We’re high spirited

  United we stand

  United we succeed

  Hall United, Hall United

  They repeated the chant, gaining vocal strength and confidence as each player took his position on the field. Victor settled in the centre circle with the referee. Ozzie took a position in line with the midfielders.

  As Superintendent Dominski introduced the Kingston Bluffers, they ran onto the field and took their positions. They were all business, no chants. It was their supporters who chanted.

  The Bluffers won the coin toss and led the kickoff. Taking possession of the ball, they seemed to be toying with Hall United. They kept the ball in their half. They dared forwards Ade, Muhammad and Sam to take the ball away. Ozzie, along with midfielders Hassan, Tarek and Sunny, followed them. Yet Ozzie had seen this tactic before against Agincourt Archers.“Hassan, Sunny, fall back, now!” he yelled.