Tournament Fugee

by Dirk Mclean

  Coach Bridge looked at his watch. “We have to be off the field by three o’clock. Two other teams are already booked.”

  When Victor walked out of the Tigers game, the two missing players had been among his loudest critics. He felt in his gut that they were not going to see those two players.

  “I have an idea,” Victor said. “Our subs, Joram and Bassel, were going to be playing the second half. Instead, we will put them on the Tigers. One midfielder and one defender.”

  “No subs for either team. I can live with that,” Coach Bridge said.

  “Deal.” Coach Jeong-Hough beamed. “Victor, you’re shaping up to be quite the leader.”

  I still have to prove that, Victor thought.

  Kickoff was at 1:40 p.m. The first half was very energetic. Both teams displayed their skills, especially the forwards when they had the ball. Habib scored first against Ozzie in the Tigers goal at the twenty-eight-minute mark. Victor and the Gazelles managed to hold the lead till halftime.

  They started late, so break was cut to eight minutes. The Gazelles huddled, sipping water and eating oranges.

  “Guys, you’re working well as a team. I like what I’m seeing. Remember everything we practised and talked about before,” Coach Bridge said. “Anything you want to share, Victor?”

  Victor did not hesitate. “I know this team a bit,” he began, to chuckles. “They are a strong comeback team. Coach Jeong-Hough would have told them at the start to play fast and hard, to treat us as a seasoned team. And you saw that. But don’t think they don’t have anything in reserve. So, guys, this is no Saturday afternoon —” Victor searched for the phrase, “—‘let’s kick the ball around’ match. They are going to come back at us with all they’ve got. One last thing. Forwards and defenders, don’t expect Joram and Bassel to be easy on you.”

  True to Victor’s prediction, the Tigers stormed back with a vengeance in the second half. They held possession of the ball most of the time. The Gazelles struggled to keep pace with a team that played as if it was a regional final.

  Victor saved many shots on goal. He barely had a moment to relax. He punted the ball into the Tigers half of the field, but their forwards and midfielders brought it back toward him in what seemed to be seconds.

  The defence, especially Raja, was working hard. In three minutes the match would be over. Victory shone on the horizon like a newly risen sun. Victor could hardly wait.

  Sometimes victory can be blinding.

  “Raja, watch out for that guy on your left!” Victor yelled to the defender.

  But it was too late.

  The charging Tigers striker, Muhammad, faked a move that sent Raja in the wrong direction to his right side. Victor stepped to his left side to cover his corner. In that split second he left the middle of the goal free and clear for the Tigers midfielder and captain, Raymond, to tap the ball across the goal line. The score was tied at 1–1.

  Victor was angry with himself. He knew he should admire the skilful play. But it stung to be beaten by a former teammate.

  “Recover, Victor, recover,” he whispered to himself.

  He bowled the ball back to the ref while the Tigers celebrated. Victor’s not-at-this-moment-buddy, Ozzie, was in the thick of it. But Victor knew they would be buddies again in two minutes.

  Victor had played a lot of games and watched a lot of matches on TV. He knew that the final two minutes of any match were sometimes the most dangerous.

  There was what might be called the final kickoff. All were tired. The Gazelles forwards passed the ball between each other. Flanked by two of their midfielders, Dani and Firas, they bolted toward the Tigers defence, only to lose possession of the ball. Tigers defender Drew sent the ball back to Ozzie. And he punted the ball back into the Gazelles territory. It was a punt-for-punt move, as if he was saying to Victor, “You punt, I punt.”

  Victor was determined not to be scored on at the end of the match. All of the Tigers advanced in a wave.

  Ten seconds left.

  Ozzie had left the goal empty. The Tigers kept coming.

  Five seconds left.

  Victor had trouble seeing the ball as his defenders braced for the attack.

  Two seconds.

  Whistle!

  It was all over. Victor knew how lucky he was. Another five seconds, and who knows, he thought.

  In Party Room A, they all gathered for a pizza party. As Raja passed by Victor he whispered, “You’ll have to do a lot better if we’re gonna win any matches in Vancouver.”

  Victor stared at him. Is he going to be a problem? Victor wondered.

  Victor approached Coach Bridge just as he was saying to Coach Jeong-Hough, “Thanks for the workout.”

  “You didn’t expect us to go easy on you, did you?” she asked.

  “I was hoping your team wouldn’t squash us. That might have rattled their confidence heading into the tournament. As it is, I’m pleased with the outcome.” Coach Bridge smiled.

  Victor was not pleased. He was relieved. He had his concerns about the overall strength of the team. He also worried about them trusting him as a captain. So sometimes — sometimes — relief was okay.

  8

  The Push to Get Better

  Early Sunday morning, Victor had gone through ablution and salat with every muscle aching and sleep grogginess filling his head. Gabriel’s wheezing from his chest cold had woken Victor several times through the night.

  When Victor woke up for the second time at eight o’clock on Sunday morning he felt better rested. But Gabriel still sounded bad.

  Is he getting better or worse? Victor wondered.

  “Victor, honey,” said Mom. “I’m going to get in touch with my old friend, Amira Wassef. I heard she ended up in Vancouver after her husband and two of hers sons died.”

  “How did they die?” Victor asked.

  “They were on one of the boats heading to Greece when it turned over and everyone drowned. She and her other son, Abbas, were not with them.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “Yes, we heard many stories like that. That’s why we went to Lebanon,” Mom said. “You remember Abbas, don’t you? You played together one weekend when we went to Aleppo.”

  “No.”

  “Five years ago?”

  Victor shook his head.

  “Anyhow, you’ll see him again.”

  Victor shrugged. He had no memory of this Abbas.

  The Gazelles sat on the field in a circle. Coach Bridge stood holding a soccer ball. For a split second Victor saw Grampa standing, holding the ball in the same way. He blinked and the image was gone.

  “I am happy that you finally got to work as a team yesterday. And that brings me to another point. Communication,” Coach Bridge said. “Forwards, midfielders, are you guys on the same team? We’ll work on that today. I want each of you communicating silently and vocally with your line as well as with every other teammate, including your goalkeeper.”

  “Yes, Coach,” they said together.

  “Another issue,” he continued. He put down the ball and picked up his clipboard to consult his notes. “Passing. Dani and Firas, you two more than anyone else are guilty of wild passes of a moving ball. I want you to practise stopping the ball before an opponent is close to you. Take your time. Then pass. You’ll have more control. A spinning ball is harder to control.”

  Victor thought that Coach Bridge was being fair and thorough. And he finally saw why he was giving notes now, rather than after the practice match. Coach Bridge did not want to spoil the good feelings the team had from completing their first full match. Victor slotted away the idea. He wanted to be a strong leader and help his team get better, too.

  “You all ran out of steam in the last ten minutes,” Coach Bridge went on. “That must not happen again. The more you control the ball, the more you control the pace
of the match. Understood?”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  The team worked on all these things during the first half of the practice. After the break, they sat in a circle once more.

  A week earlier they had been given a tournament package with information to take home. But Coach Bridge explained that if they heard some things aloud, the information could stick in their memory.

  “You are guaranteed a match against each of the other teams,” Coach Bridge started. “Four eastern teams. Four western teams. By the end of Round #7, the eastern team with the most points will play the western team with the most points in a final.” He paused to make sure they understood, then continued. “There’s no extra time for stoppage added on. If there’s a draw after seventy minutes, that’s it. No penalty shootouts, except in the final, if necessary.”

  They went on to practise more drills. Coach Bridge worked individually with Victor to sharpen his skills.

  When he ended the practice, Coach Bridge reminded them to get lots of rest. Victor did not need to hear that twice. He was willing to stuff his ears with cotton balls to get a better sleep that night.

  Victor finished the last of his school assignments that evening. And he stuffed his ears with cotton balls, just in case Gabriel did have another restless night. Victor knew Gabriel was spitting up yellow mucus. He wished it was clear. Or, better still, no mucus at all. If Gabriel showed some sign of getting better, Victor would feel happy. He’d feel happy for his brother. And he would feel better about taking him tobogganing the weekend before. These were Victor’s last thoughts as the sleep guardian escorted him through the night clouds high in the sky.

  On Monday morning Gabriel’s mucus was dark. His lips had a blue tint. His chest was aching when he took a breath. He wouldn’t eat. Mom confirmed that his fever was high. She and Dad prepared to take him to the emergency department at Scarborough Centenary hospital, just south of the Malvern area. Victor left for school worried, aware that Gabriel was sicker.

  Mom texted Victor that Gabriel had pneumonia and the hospital was keeping him for a couple of days. After school Ozzie went with Victor to the hospital. When they arrived Gabriel was sleeping with tubes in his nostrils to ease his breathing.

  After visiting hours were over, Victor, Mom and Ozzie waited for Dad to get the car and drive them home. Dad would return to stay overnight with Gabriel.

  “I’m going to call Coach Bridge and tell him I won’t go to Vancouver,” Victor suddenly stated.

  “Are you crazy?” Ozzie exclaimed.

  “Victor, what makes you say that? Did something happen on the team?” Mom asked.

  “If I don’t go I’ll be able to stay with Gabriel. It’s my fault. I took him tobogganing. He’s so sick,” Victor sobbed.

  Mom put her arm around him and he buried his head in her shoulder.

  “Honey, you did nothing wrong,” said Mom. “Gabriel could have caught pneumonia anywhere. Even from school.”

  “Your mom’s right. Don’t blame yourself,” Ozzie added. “Look, your ticket’s already bought. You’re the captain. Who would replace you?”

  Victor dried his eyes with his scarf. He thought of Raja replacing him as captain and goalkeeper. Raja would get his wish. No way, Victor thought. Not after how hard he had worked.

  “Victor, Gabriel is in good hands here,” said Mom. “Think about why this tournament is being held. You are representing Syrians from all over the country to say thanks to Canada. That includes people who can’t be there, like the rest of our family.”

  Victor nodded. He would represent Gabriel and say thank you to the country offering Gabriel medical care. “I’ll go. I must go,” he said.

  But Victor could still feel the guilt hanging over him like a dark rain cloud. It was a lot like the guilt he felt about Grampa.

  Sleep did not come easily to Victor. When it did, he surrendered to it like a stone dropped in a pond.

  9

  Last Chance

  Moments before the start of practice on Tuesday, Coach Bridge phoned Victor. He told him that he was running late and to get the team started.

  Victor got off the phone and took a deep breath. He was not sure how his teammates would react. His head was swirling. But he knew that he had to act responsibly. That gave him a sudden rush of energy.

  Victor gathered the Gazelles and explained the situation. There were rumblings. Some wanted to wait for Coach Bridge. Victor reminded them that it was their last practice. They could not afford to waste any time. He led them through a warm-up. Then he opened his notebook for two seconds and closed it.

  “This drill is called Split Defence.”

  He tossed a ball to forwards Habib and Muta, and another one to Bassel and Joram.

  “All right, two midfielders will join each pair of forwards.”

  Midfielders Dani and Hayyan went with Habib and Muta, while midfielders Firas and Malik sided with Bassel and Joram.

  “Both groups will attack at the same time. The four defenders — Raja, Nabil, Anwar and Johnny — will decide among themselves how to defend the goal,” Victor concluded, looking around.

  “How about if we stand aside and see how you handle two balls at once,” Johnny joked. Some of the players chuckled.

  “This is silly. There will never be two balls on the field at the same time in a real game,” Raja sneered.

  “Guys, this is an exercise,” Victor said with authority. He looked squarely at Raja before continuing. “If you don’t want to do it, you can get off the field now.”

  No one moved.

  “Take your positions, please!” he barked.

  By the fourth time the forwards and midfielders attacked the goal, the defence had worked out strategies. They were also communicating better among themselves.

  When Victor had opened and closed his notebook before, it was on a blank page. He had made up the activity on the spot. He would write it down later from memory.

  So far, he had made the right decisions as captain. Will I continue to do so? he wondered.

  Then Coach Bridge arrived and he thanked Victor for leading the team. Victor had seen him crouching near the doorway from the second run of the activity. Coach Bridge led them through the rest of the practice. And then he answered last-minute questions about the tournament.

  “It’s March Break. Who will watch us play?” Dani asked.

  “Allah will watch you play,” Johnny responded.

  That got laughs from them all, including Coach Bridge.

  “The spectators will be children from various schools, anyone who has an interest in soccer. All tickets are free. But instead of teachers, they will be there with parents and guardians,” Coach Bridge replied.

  “Syrians?”

  “Syrians, yes, and other children. Any more questions?”

  Raja raised his hand. “The package said bunk beds. Four to a room. Do we have a choice of roommates?”

  Raja locked eyes with Victor who held his gaze. Victor already knew the answer and smiled inwardly.

  “The short answer is no,” explained Coach Bridge. “All teams are made up of eleven players plus two subs. The four defenders will room together. The four midfielders will room together. Goalkeeper, two forwards and two subs will room together with an extra cot. You will decide among yourselves who gets which spot when you see the rooms.”

  While the players thought about the room assignments, Coach Bridge reminded them, “You are doing something unique and special. I believe your captain has one last thing to share with you.”

  Victor stood in the middle of the circle. “Since we are the GTA Gazelles, this will be our motto: G for Great, T for Team and A for Attitude.”

  Victor stuck out his hand. In twos and threes the rest of the team came to the centre, placing their hands on top of one another’s. Raja’s was the last hand in.

  �
�Great, Team, Attitude!” they shouted in unison.

  Victor hoped he was sending a message.

  And then they were dismissed.

  * * *

  Victor knew that Principal Arsenault was kind and fair-minded. And he believed she liked him. So he was curious when she called Victor into her office for a meeting. Principals from schools across the GTA were aware of the Syrian project. They all had given permission for March Break to start early for the players in the tournament.

  They chatted casually for a few minutes.

  “I know that you are representing your cultural heritage, Victor. And I am proud of you for what you are doing,” she said. “I also want to remind you that you are representing William Hall PS.”

  “Yes, Principal Arsenault. Thanks,” Victor responded.

  They stood and shook hands.

  The unspoken message was clear: we expect great things from you, Victor mused.

  “I hope you get to Stanley Park. It’s quite special,” she added.

  Victor nodded and managed a shy smile.

  On Wednesday after school, Victor went back to the hospital. This time he was alone. He did not get close to Gabriel. He feared passing on any germs from the outside to make his condition worse. So, he sent him a silent message to get well quickly. “Allah is healing you. I’ll see you soon, my brother,” he whispered.

  Seeing Gabriel so sick brought tears to Victor’s eyes.

  Mom had packed Victor’s suitcase by the time he arrived home.

  “Here is Abbas’s phone number,” she said, handing him a slip of paper. “His mom says he’s excited to see you again. Especially since he’s on the Vancouver Herons team.”

  “Okay. That means I get to play against him. I wonder what position he plays.”

  As Victor picked up his suitcase, he saw something new on the sideboard in the living room. It was the sketch of Grampa. Mom had set it in a silver frame, as she promised.