Diego the Tornado

by Joachim Masannek

  There it was, the offer Danny had talked about, the offer Alex’s father couldn’t refuse. Mr. Alexander leaned back in his chair, cool as a cucumber, but the sweat on his upper lip betrayed his bluff.

  “You’d do that?” he asked, looking at us one by one. “You’d really do that?” he asked again, this time looking at Alex, his own son.

  Alex didn’t say a word. None of us did. We listened to Danny and finally understood the genius of his plan. The slicked back hair and the shades made us look merciless, and that’s why Alex’s dad took the offer.

  “Fine,” he sighed. “You win. But if you lose to the Furies and don’t find a sponsor, I will personally confiscate those jerseys, you got that?”

  We nodded, and then we left the bank calmly, but as quickly as possible. Mission accomplished. Now we had a chance to win against the Furies. But no, there was one more thing we needed: our coach, Larry! Would he come back and coach us? Or would he send us packing, because he still didn’t believe in us?

  We all knew, if Larry didn’t believe in us, we could forget the soccer gear. We’d never play soccer again. We’d release ourselves from the solemn oath we had sworn with each other, and go study underwater basket weaving. That was about the size of it. And it scared us.

  None of us wanted to do any of that, and so, with great humility and hunger because it was way past our lunchtime, we ran straight from the bank to the soccer field to find Larry.

  All Eggs in One Basket

  “So, what do you say, are you with us?” Kevin asked, as cool as a cucumber, as if it didn’t really matter at all.

  Larry sat in his rocking chair, calmly looking at what we had brought along: the jersey designs, the Charter and the player contracts.

  “Come on, Larry, make up your mind already. We don’t have all day!” Kevin demanded, and even I didn’t think he was bluffing.

  Larry didn’t think so either. He looked at us, and luckily we were still wearing our shades, or Larry would have seen that our eyes were begging him to join us. He pushed his cap back onto his neck thoughtfully, and scratched his forehead.

  “Man! You’re sure singing a different tune now,” he mumbled. Then he threw another glance at the rules and contracts.

  “This is serious stuff, I think. Like you’re putting all your eggs in one basket.”

  He scratched his forehead one more time.

  “If you lose to the Furies, your allowance will be gone for the next two years, maybe even longer.”

  He eyeballed us again, but we hid behind our shades and remained silent.

  “I don’t know,” Larry thought out loud, “but I guess this is the way it’s got to be. It’s something about those sunglasses.” Then he snapped his fingers as if he suddenly realized the truth. “I got it! Your sunglasses are like your war paint, your very own, very cool war paint. Am I right?”

  We burst out in smiles all around. Even Kevin couldn’t keep from smiling, he was that relieved. But Larry remained serious.

  “Too bad, though,” he sighed. “Really too bad I can’t be your coach.”

  That wiped the smile right off our faces. Our knees buckled and we staggered back a few steps. But Larry wasn’t done yet.

  “I mean you’ve got to understand. These are players’ contracts. I don’t see a coach’s contract. I can’t work like this. Coaches are always on the hot seat these days. If something bad happens – I take the heat. I can’t coach the Wild Soccer Bunch without a contract.”

  Did Larry just say what I thought he said? An avalanche of rocks fell off my chest, as Tyler rummaged through his backpack.

  “Larry, I’m glad you brought that up,” he said, beaming. “I just happen to have a coaching contract right here!”

  He handed it to Larry, who opened it immediately and read it out loud.

  “Contract for the best coach in the world. The small print is our Charter. Therefore the contract cannot be terminated, unless you are a traitor or no longer wild and voluntarily join a basket weaving class.”

  Larry thought long and hard and scratched his forehead again.

  “Wow! This is really serious. I don’t know,” he murmured and handed the contract back to Tyler. “I left my fake blood at home,” he grumbled looking right at us. Kevin grinned and pulled a bottle out of his pocket and showed it to him.

  Larry just smiled. “Looks like you boys thought of everything,” he said and sealed the deal, pressing his thumbprint on the contract and swearing our oath.

  “All’s well,” he began, and we all finished along with him “… as long as you’re wild!”

  Then we wrote a polite letter to the Furies. It was our sincere wish to play them in three weeks from Sunday. We suggested that specific date because that’s how long it would take for our jerseys to get here, and three weeks would be enough time for us to get ready. At least that’s what we thought, fueled by our newfound courage and confidence. Lucky for us, we had no idea how good a team the Furies really were.

  The Challenge

  We took the letter to school the next day. Fabio himself would have to be the one to bring it to the Furies. We really didn’t have to discuss this. It was a question of honor and pride. Fabio and his arrogant father would be the first to find out that the Wild Soccer Bunch a.u. never gives up.

  “All’s well!” We welcomed each other as we arrived at school one by one. “As long as you’re wild!” We all gathered at the stairwell that led from the yard to the school building and sat down on the steps. The first bell rang and the other kids stormed past us into their classrooms. In no time the yard was a ghost town. The weather was still wild. It was June, but it was chilly and grey like November. The wind howled, blowing dust out into the street like a thick fog. We could hardly make out the entrance to the playground, and that’s why Fabio didn’t see us when he finally arrived.

  Like every day, he showed up at the last minute. We knew why. Since we had paid him a visit at Heaven’s

  Gate 9, he avoided us and we ignored him. That’s why the last thing Fabio expected that day was to see us waiting for him when he arrived.

  He walked toward us, staring at his feet. For a moment I didn’t recognize him. He didn’t look anything like the beaming boy on the first day of school. Maybe it was just the gloomy weather, but I could have sworn he looked sad, lonely and worst of all… unhappy. For a brief moment I forgot what he had done to us and that he was the enemy. In that moment, I was sure he missed us, especially when he saw us. A smile flittered across his face like a ray of sunshine. But when he realized we wanted something, his smile disappeared, and loneliness and sadness were replaced with icy pride. Yes, Fabio was as wild as any one of us. He would have been a perfect addition to our team. But that was no longer possible. He was our opponent and our enemy. Proudly, he held his head up high and marched directly towards us.

  Kevin gave the sign and we all stood up together. Fabio didn’t flinch. We stood in his way like a dark threatening wall. For a moment all you could hear was the howling wind. Then Kevin stepped towards him. The two of them were so close their noses almost touched.

  “Hello, Kevin,” Fabio said calmly, but Kevin had no time for formalities.

  “Do you have any idea why we’re here?” he asked Fabio coldly, the way you talk to your opponent during a game.

  “I can guess,” Fabio said, never even blinking.

  “Good!” Kevin responded. “Then please take this letter to the Furies.”

  He pushed the letter into Fabio’s chest. Fabio took it and looked at it. The envelope was black and sealed with our logo. Again a smile flittered over Fabio’s face. Was it joy, as I thought, or mockery? Kevin must have thought it was mockery.

  “One more thing. Tell your father, and anyone else who thinks we’re not worthy – we’re not going to take it anymore.”

  Kevin riveted him with hostility, but remained calm. He stepped aside to let Fabio pass. But then Fabio did something I didn’t expect him to do: he hesitated. He looked at us, on
e by one. Finally his eyes met mine; it was as if he looked directly into my heart and at that moment I almost felt sorry for him. But then, without a word, he was gone, walking up the stairs and disappearing into the building. Kevin looked after him and pumped his fist.

  “Yeah!” he shouted, raising his hand for a high five:

  “All’s well!”

  “As long as you’re wild!” Danny answered, slapping Kevin’s hand. Then we followed Fabio into our classroom.

  Grass Is Red

  The next two weeks went by in a flash. We practiced every day and along with our newfound enthusiasm, summer returned as well. Larry really coached us hard, but unlike the practices we had for the game against the Unbeatables in the fly-infested park by the lake, nobody complained. This time we were ready to give it our all. Without protest we repeated every single exercise until Larry was satisfied. We’d play one-on-one for hours, fighting over the ball as if our lives depended on it.

  We’d drive shoulder against shoulder, slide into the ball at the last minute, but wouldn’t stay down long; instead we’d get up immediately and keep fighting for the ball.

  We’d stop the ball no matter how high or how low it was, and we’d stop it with whatever body part it took – with our foot, thigh, belly, chest, or head. And without a beat, we’d pass the ball with the very same body part or set it down at our feet and kick it. Larry demanded speed, passing, and communication. But he especially insisted on defense. Every one of us had to be everywhere. Yes, even Kevin, our star striker, had to play defense during the counterattack. We ran and ran and ran, until we were ready to drop. And then we ran some more. We ran and ran until our legs buckled, but never our resolve.

  I’m not kidding. Our legs would collapse in the middle of a sprint or a jump or a shot and we’d fall onto the grass as if slain by a sword. I’m talking utter exhaustion. We were lying in the grass dead as a doornail, absolutely sure we’d never ever get up again. But then Larry came to the rescue with ice-cold lemonade for us all, watched us wet our lips, and waited calmly for us to catch our breaths. Then he’d build us up again.

  “That’s all you’ve got?” he asked dryly. We looked up at him innocently, but remained silent. Larry eyeballed us again. “If that’s how it is going to be you might as well forget the game against the Furies. You got that? The Furies is a top-rated youth club. They have kids who will end up in Major League Soccer in a few years. It’s a different ball game altogether. You’ll see. Soon as the whistle blows, the grass changes color. Green is red. They don’t just have one brick-wall center defender like Julian Fort Knox. They have seven of him. You’re going to feel like you are all alone with 28 men against you. So, what are you waiting for? Get up.”

  We stayed down. We couldn’t get up, because at that moment all we thought was, what’s the point? That’s when Larry came up to me – to me, not to Kevin or to Danny. He knelt down in front of me. “What’s up with your asthma, Diego? I mean, usually, when I work you out too hard, you rattle like an elephant seal.”

  The question caught me by surprise, so I took a careful breath. I expected the usual rattle and the pain in my lungs, but there was nothing. That’s when I realized that since the applesauce duel with my mom the gunslinger, I had not had a single attack. I looked at Larry.

  “I guess that’s because you’re not asking too much!” I smiled and so did Larry.

  “That’s right, and you’re getting better and better. In fact, I’m proud of all of you!”

  I got up. I had to be first to get up because I was always the first to go down. I had to get up to hide my emotions from Larry and my friends. And I had another reason, too: I wasn’t tired any more. “Hey guys, Larry is right! We’re not only getting in better shape every day, we’re becoming better soccer players!” I shouted. My energy was contagious. With that, we continued practicing long into the evening, and then floated home as if on clouds.

  You know the feeling when your body is completely exhausted and you still feel light as a feather? It was a great feeling. We all walked home together, and as we parted, one after another, we solemnly said:

  “All’s well!” And the others responded just as solemnly: “As long as you’re wild!”

  The Helpful Penguin

  On day 15 after the challenge, we arrived at school. This time Fabio was waiting for us. Like we waited for him two weeks earlier, he sat on the steps that led from the playground to the building. But he didn’t get up when we approached. He stayed put, took the letter from his pocket and handed it to us without a word. He looked at us and I wondered how anybody could be so unhappy. But maybe, I thought, maybe he’s only playing it cool and just being plain arrogant. Yes, that seemed to suit him much better.

  Whatever. We didn’t dare open Fabio’s letter right away. But inside, we were exploding with anticipation. It was too late to do anything about it because school was about to start, so we all agreed to wait until school was out, that way we could open it in front of the greatest coach in the world, Larry.

  On the field, Larry took out his pocket knife and opened the envelope. Then he unfolded the piece of paper carefully, and quietly read it twice, pushed his cap back and scratched his forehead. Then he read the letter out loud:

  “Dear Wild Soccer Bunch!” he read, and we sighed, moaned in pain, and rolled our eyes. What kind of greeting was that? ‘Dear’ and ‘wild’ didn’t exactly go together.

  “Dear Wild Soccer Bunch!” Larry repeated, and he had a hard time hiding his irritation. “Dear Wild Soccer Bunch! Thank you very much for your ‘challenge.’ ‘Challenge’ is in quotes,” Larry spat it out with disdain. “Unfortunately, the Furies Youth Club is fully booked. With kind regards, the Club Administrator.”

  Larry scanned us, eyeing each and every one of us. “That’s not all,” he said. “There’s an addition. ‘P.S.: Dear Wild Soccer Bunch, please understand that the Furies prefer to play opponents who are on the same level, and therefore cannot respond to further inquiries’.”

  It was quiet. So quiet you could hear, taste, and smell our own anger. Our fury gathered like a thunderstorm on the horizon, and then it erupted like a volcano … “That’s an insult!” Tyler yelled.

  “Arrogant morons!” Kevin cursed.

  “They can kiss my goal post!” Danny shouted. And I added furiously: “They didn’t take us seriously. They won’t even consider playing us.”

  Sheesh. That shut us up but good.

  Our ferocity leaked from us like hot air from a punctured balloon.

  There was no way to answer this kind of an insult. It was like the weather forecast. Rain tomorrow. Period. The end. Nothing you could do. We were powerless. Kevin kicked the grass angrily.

  “Stupid jerks!” he shouted. “You know what? They don’t deserve to play us!”

  He looked at us, thinking it would cheer us up, but it didn’t. Without a word, disappointed and humiliated yet again, we sat down in the grass and picked at it as if we were a bunch of depressed sheep. Even Larry sat down. And it didn’t help that he pushed his cap back and scratched his forehead. Obviously he didn’t know what to do either.

  Then Kyle broke the silence.

  “Kevin is right. They don’t deserve us. And I think that’s exactly how we’ll get to them. Come on!”

  Kyle jumped up.

  “Come on, let’s go. There’s not much time. It’s already one thirty and we have to talk to Edgar before my mom crawls out of the salad bowl.”

  We had no idea what he was talking about, but Kyle was already gone and we had no choice but to follow him.

  “You know,” he explained as we were running along. “My mother is an actress. That’s why she always wears cucumbers on her eyes and yogurt on her face. Every day until two in the afternoon. That’s when the paparazzi and the gossip columnists show up … ”

  “What are they doing? asked Josh.

  “My mom is famous so everyone wants to catch a glimpse of her and hear what she has to say.” Kyle said. “And Edgar
is in charge of the whole thing. It’s called publicity.”

  “Well, publicize this,” Josh said and punched the doorbell.

  A moment later, Edgar the penguin opened the door. By penguin, I mean Edgar, the butler, of course. It’s the black tuxedo and tails he wears when he’s working. He looks like a penguin. That day, his face was carved in wood and his nose hung in the clouds like the Goodyear Blimp. He did that to tell those who had no business there, that they had no business being there. But he treated us differently. With us, his wooden face softened and turned into a wide friendly waxy grin.

  “Hi Edgar, which paper is coming out here today?” Kyle cut to the chase and didn’t waste any time. But Edgar morphed back into wood, put his nose up in the clouds, and insisted on the procedure he always required whenever he saw us.

  “Nononono. Not like zat, messieurs. First, ze code.”

  What code?

  “Right!” Kyle realized. “All’s well!”

  “Az long az you are wild! Exactement,” Edgar smiled again. “And now, messieurs. Vat can I do for you?”

  “C’mon, Edgar, I already told you,” Kyle grumbled. “Which journalist is coming today? We need an interview.”

  “We need publicity!” Josh agreed.

  “With pictures! Please tell us which paper is it today, Edgar?”

  “Ze guys from Ze Daily Paper, but oh mon dieu, zey are zo terribly ordinary.”

  “That’s perfect, Edgar,” Kyle shouted excitedly. “That’s exactly what we need. Can you talk them into writing about us in exchange for a big story on mom tomorrow?”

  Kyle looked at Edgar with his big, round E.T.-looking eyes. And suddenly the penguin was no longer made of wax, but of ice, melting in the sun.

  “Olala, monsieur. Zat von’t be cheap. Zat will cost dearly. Zat will cost you… an honorary membership in ze Wild Soccer Bunch.” He grinned broadly.