Kevin the Star Striker

by Joachim Masannek

Every single one of them had a reputation that made your blood run cold. And obviously their stupidity didn’t keep them from playing soccer.

  Our laughter had caught in our throats. Diego had started coughing again, and with heads hanging low, we slumped down on the curb. We continued our silence until I couldn’t stand it anymore. But my brother Tyler beat me to it.

  “This isn’t going to work!” he said. “We need a plan.”

  “Okay, what did you have in mind?” Julian asked.

  “Use some of your magic to make a new soccer field for us out of thin air?”

  Tyler just shrugged his shoulders. “There will always be a place to play. I’m talking about something else.”

  “What?”

  “A coach,” Tyler said calmly. “If we want to beat these jerks — and we don’t really have a choice after the performance you put on today — if we want to beat these jerks, someone has to coach us.”

  Every single one of us looked at him, stunned. That’s Tyler. If he built a house, he’d start with the roof.

  “Don’t you think we have a few more important problems right now?” I asked him, irritated. He just gave me the once over.

  “If you ask me, we only have one problem: we are scared stiff. We all look like we just wet our pants.”

  “Smart Aleck!” I teased. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  Danny came to my aide: “You know, your brother Tyler is a real pain.”

  Silence. Deep down inside we both knew that Tyler was right. We just didn’t want to admit it.

  “Fine!” Tyler mocked us. “Then let’s just sit here until our two weeks are up. Then what? I’ll tell you what. You’ll all go into hiding!”

  “Very funny,” Roger yelled, but one glance from Tyler and he shut up.

  “Maybe. But even if we were allowed to play in Toyota Park, we’d be hiding under our beds.”

  No one said a word. Tyler was right. Toyota Park wouldn’t help us win. A different soccer field wouldn’t make the Unbeatables lose. The Bulldozer’s kick would not be softer, Octopus would not be less fearsome, the Grim Reaper wouldn’t be nicer and Kong and Mow-down would not slow down. Tyler was on to something. We needed to improve our own play. In fact, a coach was a brilliant idea. But like any brilliant idea, execution was key.

  Who could train us? Who would want to train us? Roger mentioned the U.S. Soccer coach Bob Bradley. I think he was the only coach Roger knew by name. We didn’t even bother discussing him.

  The only man we knew of who had ever played soccer was Alex’s dad. But Alex was afraid to go home. He was grounded for twenty days and the last thing he wanted to do was ask his father a question.

  Then someone we knew limped towards us. “Hello men!” he greeted us. “I may be wrong but I’m betting today was a really tough day for you!”

  Then he winked knowingly and handed each of us a lemonade.

  “If there’s anything I can do, just say the word!” he smiled. We liked his smile, you can bet your life on it, no matter how much he reeked of beer.

  Larry, of Course!

  Suddenly it was as clear as day.

  “Larry, of course!” we shouted and jumped up.

  Larry stepped back in shock. He had not seen that much excitement in years.

  “You used to be a soccer pro, right?” Danny shouted.

  “Now wait a minute, hold your horses!” Larry tried to slow us down.

  “Yes, you said so yourself!” I interrupted.

  “You sure did!” agreed Josh.

  “Of course he was!” confirmed Roger. “He was the best! Just look at him!”

  Larry stood before us and tried to wipe his eight-day-stubble from his wrinkled face. He was clearly embarrassed.

  “Hold on, you’re moving too fast, wait just one darn minute!” he stammered.

  We hung at his lips. Larry took off his baseball cap and wiped the sweat off his brow.

  “Well, to be honest, I …”

  “No, you said so!” Diego cut him off. He didn’t want to hear the rest of the sentence. “You used to be a real pro, until a browbeater like Mickey the bulldozer ruined your knee.”

  Larry stood in front of us and helplessly shrugged his shoulders. “Did I really say that?”

  We nodded and looked at him, silently. Larry cleared his throat.

  “I might have had a few when I said that.” We shook our heads. “Honestly? Are you sure?”

  We smiled at him in anticipation. Larry sighed. Then he did a dance that looked as if he wanted to jump out of his skin. Finally, he was done with it.

  “OK, fine,” he sighed, “you’re looking for a coach. Did I get that right?” “Yup, you did,” Tyler answered expectantly. “And you chose me?” Larry was skeptical. “Yup, we did,” Danny and I blurted out. “Why?” Larry asked. “Because you don’t have anyone else?”

  We didn’t respond. We were embarrassed.

  “Or because you really believe that I’m the best man for the job?”

  We just looked at him.

  “You have to be honest with me now. What you just did, Kevin, was crazy. You’re lucky you didn’t get a black eye.”

  “No big deal,” I grinned, but Larry locked eyes with me and wiped that grin right off my face.

  “You know the only thing the bunch of you is going to get in two weeks is a black eye. You’ll be lucky if that’s all you get. Mickey the bulldozer and his Unbeatables are way out of your league.”

  We looked up at him, surprised. That’s not what we expected, or rather, that’s not what we wanted to hear. But Larry showed no mercy.

  “And if you ask me, you don’t stand a chance against them.”

  That was too much for me. I jumped up. “You bite! I thought you were our coach!” I exploded, but Larry just shook his head.

  “Not yet I’m not. Right now, I’m just a friend who is being honest with you.”

  “We can live without your honesty, thank you very much! In fact, why don’t you just kiss my butt!” I was hopping mad and I had to fight back the tears.

  Larry looked from me to the others, who were still sitting in front of him at the curb.

  “Do you agree with Kevin?” he asked. The others looked at the ground, embarrassed.

  “OK,” Larry said, “then maybe I can’t help you.”

  He picked up the empty glasses and limped back to the soccer field. We looked after him. We were shattered. Then Larry stopped and turned around.

  “I thought you wanted to beat those jerks,” Larry challenged us.

  I had no clue what was going on.

  “What do you mean?” I shouted, “I thought you said it was impossible.”

  “Probably,” Larry answered calmly. “But even the impossible is possible if you are honest.” A gentle smile played around his lips, but that made me even more furious.

  “OK, OK, and what is it exactly you want to hear?” What I was about to say I had never said in my whole nine years: “Yes, I’m scared. I’m scared stiff! Is that it? Are you happy now?”

  Larry’s smile vanished. He shook his head sadly. “No, I’m not. I want to know what kind of coach you want. If you want me, then you have to trust me one hundred percent. And I have to trust you one hundred percent. Trusting each other is the only way we can beat the Unbeatables.”

  Larry just stood there, waiting.

  Diego swallowed hard: “And what about our fear?” That question had been on all our minds.

  “I understand,” Larry nodded, and his smile put dimples on his cheeks. “Your fear is fantastic. It is because of your fear that you even have a chance. Don’t you get that? Your fear is your strength.”

  We shook our heads. We didn’t get a word he was saying.

  Larry took off his cap and scratched his head.

  “Dang! Aw, who cares, you’ll get it eventually. The main thing is that tomorrow you’ll all come to the park near the lake. There’s a field right at the dock. At ten. Is that clear? Whoever is late pays for a round of beer
… oops, I mean lemonade. And keep your chin up, men!”

  Larry winked at us one more time, and then started limping toward his stand. It took another quick minute for us to realize we actually had a coach. That took a huge load off my mind.

  “We’ll be there!” I yelled after Larry. “You can rely on us one hundred percent!”

  “And you Unbeatables,” Roger yelled through the fence to the soccer field. “Watch out! Mickey, tell your morons! You have two weeks, and not a second more.”

  And then we ran.

  Moms and Dads

  We ran like mad. This was a fantastic day. We had shown Mickey the bulldozer who was boss, and we had our very own coach. We were no longer just a few little boys, but a full-blown soccer team with a decisive match ahead. We wanted to tell everybody about it. We had to tell everybody, and so we ran home as quickly as we could. Including Alex. And that was a mistake.

  Alex had forgotten what had happened the past few days. But it all came back to him when he stood in front of One Woodlawn Avenue.

  “Grounded for twenty days,” the echo in his head was painful, “and a total ban on soccer!” Clever as he was, he decided against the front door and opted for the route that included the apple tree and the garage. After all, it wasn’t even lunch time, maybe his mother hadn’t even noticed he was gone yet. But when he crawled through the window into the bathroom, there was his father sitting on the toilet. Just like clockwork, Alex’s father had come home for lunch, and when he saw his son come in through the bathroom window, his sense of humor went out.

  “Get to your room!” he ordered flatly. “We will talk later.”

  Talk? What was there to talk about? All Alex did was play soccer. Tomorrow morning at ten, practice was supposed to begin. Had to begin.

  Danny had the least problems. His mother sent him away herself to save her china. She had no good reason to be angry. And as he was excitedly telling her the whole story now, she just shook her head. “Why does a man always have to do what a man has to do?” she wondered. “Your father will like that, you’ll have to tell him about it tonight.” That was it for Danny. All he had to do was wait for morning to come and practice to start. But then his mother asked one more question. “What will you do if Alex doesn’t show up?”

  At the same time, Diego stormed into the kitchen of 11 St. Charles Street, where his mother was waiting for him. She stood there, holding the thermometer in her hand. At first, Diego thought he had traveled through time and was back where he started when he played the ice cube under the tongue trick on her this morning. Just to be sure, he checked the clock. No, it was really noon, thereby proving with absolute certainty, his mother had not moved in three hours.

  “Oh man, Mom, don’t you have anything better to do?” The words just slipped out of Diego’s mouth instead of a “hello.” But his mother didn’t say a word. That’s why he knew something else with absolute certainty: she hadn’t quite bought his earlier temperature ruse. She wanted to take his temperature one more time, and this time Diego did not have an ice cube under his tongue.

  The situation was hopeless. He took the thermometer and put it in his mouth. 99° was the magic number. The numbers on the thermometer climbed higher and higher. When they reached 98.5° he closed his eyes, but an eternity passed until the beep finally went off.

  “100°!” his mother said. It sounded like a death sentence.

  “I want Dr. Gilberto Muñoz from the Chicago Fire!” he protested. “This is a no-brainer for him. He’ll treat me and I’ll be fine in no time!”

  “Off to bed!” was his mother’s clear and definite answer.

  “Mom, I don’t think you get the most important things in life!” Diego responded. And although he was sure he was right, his protest fell on deaf ears and he went to bed like a good little boy.

  Roger, on the other hand, was not at all a good little boy. He had no intention of being a good little boy. Roger was mad. When he returned to 1236 Oak Park Avenue, his mother’s friend’s three daughters were still standing in front of the chair, fussing over their own hair.

  “If any of you calls me Roger darling, you’re getting a wedgie!” With that impressive threat he stormed past, up the stairs and into his mother’s office. “Now I need you to listen carefully! Mickey the bulldozer has us by the throat and they took over the soccer field for the next two weeks. That’s why we have to trust each other and win, no matter what the cost. And that’s why I can’t be bothered with these silly cows down there, do you read me?”

  His mother stopped typing, flabbergasted, but said nothing.

  “OK, so we agree!” Roger answered for her, and stormed out of the room. “Hey you, I mean the three pre-school stylists down there,” he shouted down at the girls from the top of the stairs. “Your granny’s poodle ripped your Barbie dolls to shreds!”

  Horrified, the girls jumped up and rushed to the front door.

  “And I helped! It was fun! Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

  The girls stormed out, screaming. Then it was quiet. Roger listened at his mother’s office door. She was back to her typing. He grinned with satisfaction and ceremoniously took the last curler out of his hair.

  Half an hour later, Julian and Josh’s mother came home from work and went to the kitchen to have a talk with her sons. But what she found there on the kitchen table on Dearborn was not her sons, but the boom box. Julian and Josh’s mother sighed, and turned it on.

  “We are waiting for you in the tree house.” Their announcement was short and precise.

  Julian and Josh’s mother hesitated for a moment. She bit her lip and deeply furrowed her brow. Then she boldly walked to the kitchen door, flung it open, and yelled towards the tree house. “No way!”

  But the tree house remained still and quiet. Julian and Josh’s mother was determined now: “Julian and Josh! I know you are hiding up there. I expect you back in the kitchen on the count of three!”

  She marched back into the kitchen with resolve and started counting slowly. Her voice was loud and clear:

  “One!” “Two”

  “Two and a half …”

  “Three!”

  But the tree house remained still and quiet. Instead, the boom box started again.

  “Dear mom, even if you count to one hundred, we will not come to the kitchen.”

  Julian and Josh’s mother whirled around, and with a “Just you wait, you’re going to be sorry you messed with me!” she stormed out into the yard and climbed up the tree house. It wasn’t all that easy. The tree house was not only built by kids, but for kids. It had three levels. Julian and Josh’s mother forced herself up through every floor, climbed stairs that were too small for grown-up feet, tiptoed over wooden planks that were too narrow, mounted terrace after terrace. She was knocked, scratched, and pinched at every level, and she kept repeating: “Just you wait, you’re going to be sorry you messed with me!”

  With these words she finally forced open the door to the top floor of the tree house and froze. In front of her was a table set for dinner, and her two sons were waiting next to it. Josh, wearing her apron, balanced a pizza on his hand, and Julian, who wore a tie over his t-shirt, held a bottle of red wine. Julian and Josh’s mother got out her “Just you wait!” then swallowed the rest of her words, as her two sons beamed at her.

  “Mom, you are right, we do need to talk about something,” Julian smiled and Josh blurted out: “But it’s not what you think.”

  Their mother looked from one to the other.

  “Really … and what am I not thinking?”

  “What Kevin did,” Josh’s words just flew out of his mouth. “He showed Mickey the bulldozer who’s boss, and we’re all going to get a black eye because of it. Maybe even more. That’s why we have to practice hard every day. With Larry, he’ll show us all the tricks we need to learn to beat them.”

  Their mother sat down, more confused than before.

  “Just a moment. Who is Mickey the bulldozer?” she
wanted to know.

  “He’s the guy who tears off dogs’ ears!” Josh responded as Julian poured her a glass of wine.

  “Have a drink and eat something first,” he smiled. “And then we’ll talk about being banned from soccer. You don’t want us to lose the soccer field to Darth Vader, do you?”

  I asked my dad a very similar question. We were sitting at the dinner table on Wilson Street. He took my ball back as soon as he got home from work. The last soccer ball the Wild Bunch had left! He took it straight to his office. And that’s where it was now, locked up securely. It was three minutes to the news, and my dad still didn’t say a word.

  “You know, dad, you really have to give the ball back,” I said in the most matter-of-fact voice I could muster. “The cleaning lady is still sick and there is nobody else who can unlock the door for us.”

  My dad choked on his beer and sprayed it all over his shirt. “Excuse me? Would you repeat that?” he snorted.

  “I just want us to be completely honest with each other, you know? Only if we are honest and sincere can we defeat Mickey the bulldozer, and for that we need the ball.”

  I smiled at my dad. My dad looked at me, and then at my brother.

  “Honest and sincere?” he asked and Tyler smiled back. “All right,” my dad said. “You can have your ball, but only under one condition.”

  Tyler and I nodded enthusiastically.

  “You have to take Sox with you to practice,” he said, his voice just as matter-of-fact as mine was earlier.

  “Oh no, that won’t work! We have to practice! Sox will ruin everything!” we both protested, but my dad remained firm.

  “Honest and sincere, you said,” he smiled. “You said it yourself. Sox is your dog. And way back when I bought him, that’s the promise you gave me. ‘We will take good care of him every day,’ you said.”

  Dad was right. We were quiet and looked at Sox, embarrassed. He was lying in his basket, looking back at us, wagging his tail. “How are we going to make this work?” Tyler and I wondered. Sox would run after every ball like it was a mailman. That’s what dogs do.