Tournament Fugee

by Dirk Mclean

Malik scored next. Hayyan headed in one more with seconds to spare before the final whistle blew. The final score was 3–0. The Gazelles produced a solid blanking, the scoring all done by three players who had not scored before in the tournament.

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

  Raja was the first to start high-fiving the team — including Victor.

  Can we do this again? Victor wondered.

  “Guys, we’re now tied with Montreal Gold Hawks in points,” Coach Bridge said. “We’re doing very well. Better than I had hoped. If we win tomorrow, we get to play in the final. Do you want one more match or two?”

  “Two!” they all shouted.

  “Then you must dig even deeper. You must focus and play your best. Ask yourself, each of you, ‘Have I played my best soccer?’”

  The Gazelles were suddenly hungry to be the eastern finalists. During lunch Victor overheard players say that Montreal might take the whole tournament. Others were saying Vancouver. Nobody was saying GTA Gazelles.

  Victor took some lunch to Habib and gave him the good news.

  “You really think we have a chance, Victor?” asked Habib.

  “Hard to say, Habib. Actually, yes, we have a chance. But it can’t be a draw, we have to beat them. That’s why I want you to take it easy for the rest of the day.”

  “I thought it was Coach who wanted me to rest more.”

  “Well, we both decided that.”

  “Okay, captain,” Habib said, smiling. “I’ll take your advice. Thanks for lunch.”

  “No problem.” Victor bumped fists with him.

  As he headed to the showers, Victor thought of how he had changed since the school year had started. All of the taunts from Raja would have made that Victor react with his fists. That was what had happened when he and Ozzie, with their own teams, fought over the use of the school’s field. It led to the Victor United and Ozzie United match in front of the school. Then members of both teams formed Hall United and played a friendly match against the Division Champions Kingston Bluffers. After that match, the Bluffers coach, Coach Jeong-Hough, invited Victor and Ozzie as co-goalkeepers on her new indoor league Scarborough Tigers. The idea that it all had started with a fight brought a smile to his face.

  The team headed out that afternoon. Amena, Sandra and Lilith escorted the Gazelles and the Regina Aleppos and their guides to the Nitobe Memorial Garden. In the Japanese garden, Victor marvelled at the trees, shrubs, waterfalls and stone lanterns. He looked into the reflecting pond at the koi swimming.

  “The garden is in memory of a man who wanted to bring together the people of Japan and Canada,” Lilith informed them.

  Victor thought of Grampa. Who would remember him? There was nothing to mark his grave beside a lonely highway in Syria. Victor picked up a flat grey stone and secretly wrote Grampa’s name on it with the sketching pencil he always carried. Then he placed it beside a stream where the water would wash away the pencil mark.

  That evening Victor drew a section of the garden with a bridge and a stone lantern. On a tree he wrote the name Bayazid.

  Outside rain thundered. Victor remembered that their next game would be on the grass of Field #4. Would a soaking wet grass field make them delay or cancel the matches? He was lulled to sleep by the rhythm of rain tapping against the window.

  15

  Elimination Time

  Round #79:00–10:30GTA Gazelles vs. Montreal Gold Hawks

  Sometimes an elimination match is played with wild desperation. Victor had seen it on TV. And he had experienced it with the Scarborough Tigers.

  Round #7 started out with the sun high in the sky. But the sun was not strong enough to bake the field dry. Habib was back in the line-up. But the Montreal Gold Hawks played rougher than the teams the Gazelles had played before. There was a lot of slipping and sliding in the mud. Victor thought it looked more like a rugby match.

  Two Gold Hawks midfielders received cautions at the same time and had to sit out for two minutes. The Gazelles leaped on the opportunity. Muta scored the first goal, giving them a halftime lead of 1–0.

  But Gold Hawks didn’t give up easily in the second half. Raja slid the ball to an opposing forward by accident, causing the forward to score on a blocked Victor. The score was tied 1–1.

  “Don’t worry, Raja. We’ll recover quickly,” Victor said.

  “Okay,” Raja replied, but he seemed rattled.

  Habib scored, proving Victor right and making it 2–1. The final ten minutes was all defence for the Gazelles. Raja was in fine form. They held on, denying the Gold Hawks an equalizer or a winning goal.

  The Gazelles were celebrating, even though they looked and felt beat-up.

  “Thanks for not yelling at me in front of the team, Victor,” Raja whispered. “I hate messing up.”

  Victor looked at Raja and realized that his weakness was his fear of making mistakes. “Everyone messes up sometimes, Raja. You recovered well,” he whispered back.

  “Team, well done,” said Coach Bridge. “I’ve decided not to hold a practice tomorrow. It’s your scheduled free day. You deserve to have it off. We’ll have Saturday morning to practice.”

  Right then, he got a phone call. The western finalists were no big surprise — the Vancouver Herons. The Gazelles would be playing the home team in the final on Saturday.

  After lunch the Gazelles were taken to North Vancouver, called North Van. At the Capilano Suspension Bridge, they had to wait for a wedding couple ahead of them who were having their pictures taken.

  “Don’t look down or you’ll want to jump over,” Johnny teased his teammates.

  Victor walked across the bridge, holding the cables, arms outstretched. He summoned his courage to look down at the river far, far below. He wondered if the people who made the bridge felt like they were making a link to the edge of the world. As most of the Gazelles also braved the cliff-walk, Victor overheard some cruise ship tourists say they were heading to Alaska next. Okay, that’s the new edge of the world, he thought.

  When they returned to NSDC Victor phoned Ozzie. “How was the cross-country skiing in Barrie?” Victor asked.

  “Plenty of snow, as usual. I’m going to try out for the national team next year. But only if I can kick the ball while I ski,” Ozzie said laughing.

  “Cross-country winter soccer. I get it.”

  “Or even better, ice-skating soccer.”

  “We could start a league,” Victor suggested. “But first we’d have to learn to skate.”

  “Who needs to learn to skate? Let’s slide and fall all over the arena like clowns. More entertaining for the spectators,” Ozzie suggested.

  It felt good to be laughing with his friend.

  “So, how’s the tournament going?” Ozzie asked.

  “Believe it or not . . .”

  “. . . Okay, I won’t believe it . . .”

  “We’re in the final on Saturday.”

  “And who says there’s no Allah! That’s great news. When were you going to tell me?”

  “I just did.”

  “But I had to ask. That should have been the first thing out of your mouth.”

  Victor told Ozzie about meeting Abbas again after years. He shared his use of Double Speed against the Winnipeg Green Stars. He talked about the leadership workshop and the trips to Stanley Park and Grouse Mountain. He even told Ozzie about his sketches.

  * * *

  The next day, while the Herons held a practice, the Gazelles and several other “brothers” visited the Museum of Anthropology. They posed for pictures beside the giant totem poles. Amena told them that it was the first day of the annual Coastal First Nations Dance Festival.

  Inside, Victor was transported with laughter by a dance performance that had comedic characters. As an encore, the show’s narrator stepped closer to the audience, now in the role
of storyteller. She greeted the adults. Then she greeted the children. She beat her drum and then introduced a story about two young birds, who were sisters. She beat her drum some more and continued.

  “The older bird. Always the older one, eh?” said the storyteller. “She dared her sister to fly off a mountain. The bird flew off, but her wings were not yet developed. The younger sister crashed into the forest below. And died. The older sister, she was not sure of the strength of her wings. She decided not to follow. Let me tell you, she felt guilty and heartbroken. She could not forgive herself for causing her sister’s death. Years later — well, bird years later — that older sister grew up. She became strong and good at flying. She soared and landed softer than airplanes at Vancouver International Airport — fog or no fog. She became wise. She learned that at each moment you make a choice that you alone are responsible for. She forgave herself. And she healed.”

  Returning to the NSDC, Victor met up with Abbas. He did not talk about his practice. And they avoided talking about the final match. Walking along a path, Victor thought about the story he had just heard. He told Abbas about the day he and his family stopped along the highway.

  “I kicked the ball toward Gabriel without stopping it first. The spinning ball rolled onto the middle of the highway. Without thinking, I went to get it. Grampa was shouting something so I stopped in the middle of the road. The next thing I knew Grampa pushed me. I wondered why he did that. I looked back when I heard the horn of a truck blaring. Grampa had picked up the ball. Abbas, there was this look on his face a second before —”

  Tears welled up in Victor’s eyes. But he had to finish. He owed that to Grampa.

  “We buried him along the highway. We could not put up a marker with his name. The authorities would have known we had fled and in which direction. We had to keep the Bayazid name safe.”

  “Wow,” said Abbas. It was almost a whisper.

  “My fault,” said Victor.

  “An accident, Victor,” Abbas said.

  “My fault, still.”

  “Thanks for sharing that with me. I know how hard it is to tell people about losing your family.”

  “Thank you for listening without telling me how to feel.”

  They parted and Victor went to his prayer room for some quiet time before supper.

  16

  To the Final Match

  By the time the GTA Gazelles entered BC Place Stadium late Saturday morning all the other teams were already there in the audience. The day before, the teams that didn’t make the final were allowed twenty-minute mini matches to get a taste of the big field, a sort of consolation gift. The Vancouver Herons were finishing their practice. Soon the field would be free for the Gazelles to have their practice.

  The Gazelles entered at field level. Their eyes bulged. Their jaws dropped. Their heads turned 360 degrees to take in the cavernous stadium. They were rendered speechless. As soccer players, they were in a holy of holies. It came close to, but also very different from, Victor’s experience entering the magnificent Great Mosque of Damascus as a child.

  How did he get there? If anyone had told him at the start of the school year that he was going to be playing on this field on this day, he would have said, “No way!”

  The Gazelles began an hour-long practice to get a feel for the largest field of their playing lives. Coach Bridge took them through strategies they had talked about at the NSDC. He reminded them of the Herons tactics from the game against the Gazelles exactly a week before. They had to keep in mind that their opponents might or might not change some of those tactics.

  “So you’ve played them before,” said Coach Bridge. “Don’t underestimate them. You know where their offence is strongest, their striker.”

  “Abbas,” Victor offered.

  “Finally the intelligence I asked for a week ago,” Dani teased.

  “Be determined and focused. But be flexible with your approaches,” Coach Bridge said. “Today, this field is your home. Be comfortable here.”

  Victor handled the practice shots on goal as best he could. He looked on silently as Coach Bridge had Raja and Bassel, as backup goalkeepers, receive practice shots on goal also. Victor hoped that he did not break an ankle or have an injury and have to leave the game. He had come this far. He needed to complete this tournament with his team.

  Victor looked up as the retractable roof began to open and sunlight streamed onto the field. With practice over, the Gazelles got a tour of the complex. While the guide talked about the stadium which was opened in 1983 and renovated in 2009 for use during the 2010 Winter Olympics, Victor’s mind went to Gabriel. Gabriel would be amazed to see this place. Victor wondered how Gabriel was doing. But he decided not to call Mom and Dad. If there was any news they would call him. That was their promise the night before when he told them that he would be playing in the final. Still, he began to feel anxious. He was not sure if it was being in such a big stadium or if he was sensing something about Gabriel’s condition. Children do die from pneumonia, he thought. Double pneumonia, surely.

  From high in the stands, Victor saw the W for Vancouver Whitecaps FC at centre field. He hoped it stood for winning for the Gazelles as well.

  During lunch in the food court, Victor decided he needed to pay attention to his teammates. “I’m here for those who can’t be. I’ll call Mom and Dad after the match,” he whispered to himself.

  Raja appeared beside him. They were both silent for a moment. Then Raja said quietly, “I heard that your brother is in the hospital, Victor. How’s he doing?”

  Victor was surprised by Raja’s concern. “He’s — he’s getting better.” Victor didn’t want to go into details. “Thanks for asking.”

  Raja nodded. Then he was gone so quickly that Victor questioned if it had really happened.

  After lunch both teams relaxed in the Pitchside Club Lounge. Victor and Abbas avoided each other until it was time to head to their separate locker rooms.

  “You nervous?” Victor asked Abbas.

  “Kind of,” Abbas replied. “You?”

  “Just another away match,” Victor shrugged.

  “Not really, my friend, not really,” Abbas chuckled. “See you out there.”

  “I’ll see you first,” Victor said.

  And they bumped fists.

  Before the Gazelles left the locker room, Victor gathered them together. “Each of us knows why we chose to come to this tournament. We made that choice — as individuals. But we’re here together. We’re going out there as a team. Together. We’re brothers on and off that field.”

  Victor noticed Raja drop his head down.

  “Let’s show Canada our talents as we give thanks. Together,” Victor concluded.

  “Together,” his teammates responded without any prompting.

  “One more time,” Victor said and they joined him in a circle.

  “Great! Team! Attitude!”

  Victor was surprised by his own burst of emotion. He had not planned to give a speech.

  All the Gazelles were silent, in their own thoughts, as they filed out of the locker room.

  * * *

  Nothing in the world could have prepared the Gazelles and the Herons for the roar of 54,500 screaming children and youths as they arrived on the field. The other six teams were introduced from their section in the stands and also received a rousing welcome.

  A Syrian girl, wearing a simple orange hijab and showing her full face, began a passionate rendition of “O Canada.” Victor felt a tingling up his spine. He felt a wave of belonging wash over him. All the refugees were no longer immigrants. They were Canadian.

  If only Grampa was alive and here to share this . . .

  He shook off the thought.

  “I have always asked you to do your best,” Coach Bridge began. “In order to do your best you must feel good about yourself. Three words, guys:
Communication. Flexibility. Fun.”

  Kickoff began promptly at one o’clock. Muta won the coin toss. Victor was aware that in previous games the Gazelles forwards had been slow off the mark. But today Habib wasted no time. Receiving the ball back from Muta, he crossed it over to Hayyan. He dribbled and passed to Firas. They all pushed toward the Herons defence. Habib waved for the ball, received it and dribbled past one defender and another. He faked the goalkeeper, sending him to his right and tapped the ball to his left into the net. The Gazelles were ahead 1–0.

  Victor had never seen Habib so charged. He looked up at the electronic score clock while the Gazelles celebrated. Fifty-eight seconds. “That must be some kind of record for one of the fastest goals,” Victor said to himself.

  The Herons controlled the speed of play with their kickoff. They doubled the mark on Habib. He was now a serious threat to them. The Herons quickly gained a corner kick and converted it to a clean, successful header by Samir. 1–1.

  The Vancouver spectators cheered and hollered. Then they started chanting:

  H-E-R-O-N-S!

  Herons! Herons! Herons! Herons!

  The Gazelles had a kickoff once more. Before they could use a tactic, Abbas stole the ball and bolted past the Gazelles defence. He got a cannon of a shot past Victor. The Herons were ahead 1–2.

  Abbas grinned at Victor, who returned his smile. Abbas had beaten him, no contest.

  Victor managed two more saves before the halftime whistle.

  Coach Bridge addressed the team at the break. “Guys, you proved you can score against them. Score again. Every chance you get, take the shot. Take it. And if it does not go into the net right away, prepare for rebounds.”

  “Some of you may be thinking, ‘We’re losing,’” he continued. “You are not losing because you are behind by one goal. You have not figured out how to beat this team — yet. Go back out there —” He paused and Victor saw that tears were falling down his cheeks. Coach Bridge wiped his face with both hands. He did not apologize as he said, “Go out there with Syrian pride. Go out there with Canadian joy in your hearts. Play safe. Play strong.”