Soccer: An International Language (That Americans Can't Understand)

I've noticed that sometimes the most unexpected events wind up being the most rewarding. Things that are just spur of the moment, unplanned acts of will and whim are going to be the things that I remember about this trip long after it has passed, Monday was no exception. Following our Monday night group potluck, a few of our group decided to take a soccer ball we found up to the community soccer field a few blocks from our dorm. Initial expectations were to just go up there and have a place to burn off the delicious overdose of pasta all of us had inhaled. As we approached the field, we could see it was crowded and that finding a place to play would be difficult, but it wasn't the amount of people that was the most difficult obstacle to overcome. You could almost hear the snapping of necks as essentially all 100 or so people on the field whipped their heads around to look at the white people strolling through their gated community. I felt like the Jamaican bobsled team stepping onto the track at the Calgary games. With their eyes locked onto our every move, we found a dirt and rock alcove at the far end of the turf field and decided to try and seem as harmless as possible with our little game of keep away.

It wasn't long after we began our debacle of a children's soccer game that we realized getting picked up in a community match was slim to none. Most of the group had either never played organized soccer before or were still watching Power Rangers on Saturday mornings the last time they did play. Four or five of the group realized it wasn't worth their time and returned to the safe, awkward-less confines of our dorms to live out better days. That left Rebecca, Corey, the Kaplan's son Jeremiah and myself to bask under the soft glow of the field lights as the red clay caked our shoes in dusty silence. We debated trying to insert ourselves into once of the many pickup games taking place on the field and it was a process that took much longer than expected. It was like a game of human Minesweeper, with all of us trying to find excuses to inch closer and closer to the field. I felt this extraordinary rush of excitement and accomplishment as I set foot on the turf field for the first time, before proceeding to kick the ball towards a broken down net shoved carelessly in a dirty corner. I desperately wanted to do something competitive and that was when we finally mustered up the courage to at least start a conversation with one of the players.

As we waited and watched for players to slowly thin out, leaving more and more room open on the field, we struck up conversation with a young girl who was strapping on her soccer boots over near where we were. The conversation was timid at first, words were deliberately chosen to make sure that no message was muddled in our attempt to invite ourselves into a completely foreign world. The girl spoke very good English and after lowering ourselves hip deep into the waters of Greek soccer with a quick shoot around, we saw the locals gathering for the start of a new pickup match.

You couldn't understand a word, but you could tell by their tone that the local kids (who ranged from 15-19 years of age) were reluctant to accept these outsiders into their merry band of footballers. After some discussion, the teams were set and we were ushered off to our respective sides of the field to prepare for the beginning of the match. It didn't take long to look around and notice that they had stuck all of us Americans on one side, leaving us one Greek girl to balance out the sides against much more experienced and skilled players. I knew that the collective soccer experience of our All-American group rivaled that of a seven year old bantam league player, but I figured if we could show flashes of brilliance to keep from getting embarrassed, this might be fun. We occupied a small section at the north end of the field and would be playing the width of the field instead of the regulation, so as not to disturb the national team hopefuls playing the remaining length of the turf space. After quick introductions, kick off was underway and our Greek soccer experience rested on the ever changing whims of luck.

It only took me a few minutes into the match to realize that there was a thin sliver of hope on the horizon. Rebecca and our Greek captain Helen, had several nice chances to break open the scoring early in our favor. Unfortunately, our side attended the "Cristiano Ronaldo School of Finishing Shots" and weren't able to put the ball in the net. The local side's counter attack was relentless and a blistering shot from a few yards out was too much for our 8th grade goalkeeper to handle. 1-0. Taking this as a precursor of the beating to come, I started to play more aggressively from my defensive position and was able to forward the ball awkwardly up to Helen who dribbled around the local defense like they were cardboard cutouts and punched one past their keeper. 1-1. And there was much rejoicing.

2 1/2 hours later and countless numbers of goals scored (on both ends) the match finally came to an end. As the game progressed, bonds formed and it became less of an organized friendly match against Greek and Americans and more of a bunch of kids fooling around on the pitch. Kids would join teams and leave them as they wished and we had lots of fun trading goals back and forth with these very friendly and very talented young men and women. The locals English was passable but most of the international dialogue was communicated in the form of curse words rather than syntax. We notably lost the match but I took solace and a certain pride in the fact that the four of us were able to hang with these local stars. We scored numerous times, made awkward plays look somewhat flashy and all put together a solid performance for a bunch of fish out of water. It was one of those wow moments that made me realize the significance of what was going on around me. Teenagers from completely different worlds, cultures, backgrounds gathering together on a field and just playing a game. We could have all been mutes, no words needed to be spoken, international and domestic issues plaguing both of our nations seeped out of our bodies like sweat. For those 2 1/2 hours, fun was the only thing that mattered.

It is hard to explain how much a simple game like soccer can mean to a people. For Americans, sports are generally more complex. Our more popular sports like football and baseball all require a certain amount of players and equipment to properly facilitate a competitive game. Even basketball requires a special hoop and court to be able to function at all. Soccer is different though, it is something that can be played with just a ball and some stones to denote where the goal is. It is a simple game, a beautiful game, and you can tell the Greek's take great pride in participating in the sport. Walking onto the field for the first time was an interesting experience once you got past the starting. Kids from all over the neighborhood, both young and old, were engaged in something much more than a game, it was a training ground for social interaction. You learned who the big kids were and saw that the little ones didn't try to interfere with their game. You could observe the non-athletic teenagers sitting in the bleachers that adorned the right side of the field, carrying on private conversations but keeping an interested eye on the proceedings below them. Mixed groups of boys and girls fiercely battled for possession on the field, all equals and all striving for one single goal. Victory. It is easy when you are a child participating in youth league sports to realize that this is where respect, acceptance, social interaction, etiquette and patience are emphasized more so than victory, teamwork and sportsmanship. Just looking out on the field I could break down the social groups and where the dividing lines were drawn. The field was a mini model of the community of Aghia Paraksevi, and its inhabitants mimicked their off the field counterparts.

I was able to get names and Facebooks of my teammates and competitors and walked off the field exhausted in every sense of the word, but invigorated with a new sense of wonder and curiosity about how much soccer, and sports in general mean to the world. Sports are so much more than silly games kids and boys play, they are teaching tools. Schools can stress all the curriculum they want in the classroom, but the lessons that the local Greek kids and I will retain are the ones we learned in between the lines.