Goal Maestro!

Well Sunday, alone, was worth the price of admission for moving down to Belize as far as I’m concerned. I was picked up at my house around 9 am to embark on the journey. I boarded the bed of the pickup truck where I was greeted by 2 of my students, una senora vieja, 3 of the other players, a couple futbol fans from the village, the coach, a bag of platanos, and a bucket of okra. I later found out that there were about 7 people inside the truck. Needless to say, we were rolling deep. We caravanned with 3 other trucks that had a similar set up. We drove about 2 ½ hours through the jungle and the Mennonite community to the pueblo of San Felipe. One of the trucks broke down right outside of San Felipe. Most of the Gallon Jug community has roots in San Felipe, so we spent the next couple hours greeting family members, eating, dropping off bags of platanos, and trying to fix the broken car. At around 12:00 it was time to head another 15 minutes north to the pueblo of Trinidad for our futbol match. We had adopted 3 more players in the bed of our pickup truck as a result of the broken down truck.

Now I knew that Belizeans took their futbol seriously, but I had no idea that this particular tournament was of such a magnitude. There were to be 3 games that day. The field was packed with fans from the 6 perspective teams, blasting reggae music, a few vendors selling tamales, tacos, and empanadas, and of course your pueblo borachos. We watched the first game, and started to stretch and get suited up for our game.

The match: Gallon Jug vs. San Lazaro. Considering the remoteness of our village compared to the rest of the pueblos, we probably had a good 25 fans. Our coach pulled us together, and went through the starting lineup beginning with the defensive line. As he got to the front line, I listened up for any indication of my name; Alec? Alejandro? Gringo? Nothing. But he did mention the name of the starting center forward as “Maestro”. All of the guys pointed at me in case I didn’t catch that one. What a fitting name for what I was about to teach on the field that day.

This game was no joke at all. Each team lined up on the sideline facing each other. Both teams walked to center sideline, and then turned in and proceeded towards the center of the field walking side by side. As we got to center field, all of us were to face each other. The ref said his little schpeal; we shook hands, and then took our positions. At this point, I noticed that nobody was in any rush to start the game. Instead, all of the players turned to the sidelines and started to wave for the next 5 minutes. The crowd erupted as they made it clear which team they were supporting. Apparently this was our moment to soak of the spotlight, and wave to our fans. I really had no choice at this point. I had to represent.

About 15 minutes into the first half, my partner, Neto, controlled the ball at about ¾ field and dished it out to me on the right flank. I took about three dribbles past my defender until I was about a yard in from the 18-yard mark, and nailed it into the lower left hand corner. Goal Maestro!!! The crowd went wild.

I continued to play the rest of the first half pretty much out of my mind. I had a header off of a corner kick that hit the post, and a connected bicycle kick off of another corner kick that didn’t have much power behind it, but looked cool nonetheless. We scored another goal off of penalty kick as a result of a handball in their box. The opposing team scored a break away goal late in the first half, and the score at half time was Gallon Jug: 2, San Lazaro 1.

Pretty much the theme of our halftime speech was Ganas! Y Animo! About 2 minutes into this very inspiring speech, it started to pour down rain. This torrential downpour lasted for the next 45 minutes, which just so happens to be the entirety of the second half. The second half was a hysterical mud fest mess. We were pretty much playing in 6-8 inches of water and mud. There was absolutely no soccer being played. Players were slide tackling every chance they could, wrestling in the mud, and attempting to dislodge the ball from the mud any way they could. I thought the fans might take cover as a result of the storm. Nope. Every man, woman, and child manned the storm and continued to cheer for this mess of a half. Final score Gallon Jug: 2, San Lazaro 1. We won, which means we head to the pueblo of Indian Church this Sunday.

We all jumped back into our trucks, and headed back to Gallon Jug. The drive back was not short of celebratory cervezas and pan dulces. About 2 hours into the ride back, our car pulled over. Apparently Mexico was on the other side of this river that we were driving next to. We each paid a $2 customs fee in order to get in a little boat that some dude rowed about 100 feet to our neighboring country of Mexico. By this time, it was probably about 6pm, and I was pretty warn down from the game, the cervezas, and the 2 hour ride in the back of a pickup truck, so I was wondering why we were now heading to Mexico rather than heading back to Gallon Jug? Apparently groceries are considerably cheaper in Mexico, so all of the woman went into this little grocery store and stocked up, while the men relived our victory. We loaded the boat up with all of our Mexican groceries, and got back on the road.

By this time it was about 7pm, and we were all a bit tired from the excursion. About an hour from Gallon Jug, we approached a river that had completely overflowed the road. I would guess that the overflowed portion was probably about 200-300 yards. Cars were pulled over, as people stood next to the overflowed river, and scouted it out to see if it was passable. We saw some cars headed our way from the opposite direction, so we decided that if they could make it, we could. With my main man, Neto, behind the wheel, we went for it. Now I still think that it is a miracle that we made it through this road because I could not see the road through this water, so I’m guessing that it was about 2 feet high.

In any event, we made it through the overflowed river, and headed another 45 minutes through the jungle back to Gallon Jug with a Jesus-esque miracle, a victory, and some Mexican groceries.