A Goal for Joaquin Read online

  * * *

  As Joaquin was drying off after taking a shower, a boy named Stan Martinson, another sophomore who also played on the reserve squad, approached shyly and said, “You put on a good show out there today, Joaquin. You’ve got a lot of guts, man.” He looked around the room as he spoke, obviously concerned about other players seeing him speak to Joaquin. “I have to hand it to you . . .” he mumbled as he walked away.

  Joaquin stood there with a baffled look on his face. It was the first time anyone on his team had ever said anything that actually sounded friendly. There was a smile on his face as he stood in front of the mirror combing his wet forelock away from his eyebrow. Maybe there were other players who resented the way Coach Sommers treated them but were afraid to challenge his authority.

  As he walked home, he noticed the beautiful pink and purple sunset. He remembered the expression his mother used, “Pink sky at night, sailors’ delight.” Joaquin picked up the pace of his steps as he reached Oak Street. He was starving, and he hoped there was a meal waiting in the oven when he got home. After he finished eating, he thought, maybe he’d call Jessica and talk about math or something.

  Chapter 4

  That night at supper Joaquin tried to sound enthusiastic when he told his family about practice. He explained how he made a perfect sliding tackle, but left out the part about Coach Sommers and Mike Weathers accusing him of making a dirty play. He also didn’t mention the fight. Maybe the coach really didn’t know the difference between a flagrant foul and a clean, aggressive play. He also told his family about the way he stole the ball and raced down the field for an uncontested goal. He didn’t mention that Coach Sommers cleared the players from the field before the shot really went into the net, but it seemed like a harmless omission.

  * * *

  At school the next morning, he told Jessica what happened at practice. He didn’t leave out any details when he narrated the story to her. For some reason she didn’t appear to be very surprised when he described the way Mike Weathers and Coach Sommers acted. She didn’t say anything directly, but Joaquin got a very clear impression that Jessica knew something about the coach that she wasn’t ready to share. He thought about nudging her a little and trying to pry out the information, but then he decided she would tell him when she was ready.

  He surprised himself when he mentioned the game scheduled for that night. “You know, Jessica, there’s a home game tonight. You could come and watch if you want.” He nervously adjusted his weight from foot to foot and flipped his hair out of his eyes. “I’m sure I won’t play, but it would be sort of nice to have somebody in the stands for moral support.”

  “Aren’t your parents going to be there?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, “I told them I’d probably be on the bench, so if they had something else to do, they should just stay home. I feel bad having them there. They were very excited about moving to Lakeshore. I don’t want to spoil that.”

  “You’re very considerate. Most people would be worried about their own feelings, and here you are trying to protect your parents.” She had a sad smile on her face as she spoke. Joaquin felt both good and embarrassed at the same time. He didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him, and he hoped he hadn’t come off sounding like he was fishing for sympathy.

  “It’s no big deal,” he raised the pitch of his voice and stood up straighter as he spoke, trying to sound positive. “It was just an idea. It’s up to you.”

  “That’s okay, Joaquin, I’d like to come to the game. But don’t worry if you don’t get to play. I think I understand what’s going on. I’m impressed by how brave you are just going out there every day.” She put her hand on his arm as she spoke.

  He could feel a warm surge move through her fingers and into his forearm. It felt good to have a friend. He squared back his broad shoulders and breathed deeply. He was looking directly in her blue eyes, unable to think of words to say. The pause only lasted a few seconds, but it seemed like hours. Finally, he laughed and said, “I don’t know if I’m being brave or stupid. We’re half way through the season, and I haven’t even gotten into a game yet. I think I’d be better off getting a paper route or something.”

  “Well, you could just put a bundle of papers on your back and run around town delivering them. You’d get the same amount of exercise, and you wouldn’t have a coach yelling at you.” Jessica was laughing now too. “Of course, you might get chased by dogs on a paper route. There aren’t any dogs that chase you at practice are there?”

  “Well, not any four-legged ones maybe.” He rolled his eyes and smiled, proud of himself for the quick comeback.

  “You’re probably right there,” she said. “Well anyway, I’ll come to your game today. I want to see if you’re as bad as Coach Sommers thinks you are.”

  “Thanks, I hope I don’t let you down by falling off the bench or stumbling and dropping all the practice balls when I’m running toward the locker room.” He was amazed that he could laugh about these things. He was also surprised that he wanted Jessica to see the game, to see him sit like a big toadstool on the sideline waiting for a chance to play. Normally, he would have been humiliated to have a friend, especially a female friend, see him sit on the bench during a soccer game. But somehow Jessica was different. He never felt like he had to impress her.

  * * *

  The game that night went pretty much as he’d expected. Western Center scored on a breakaway forty seconds into the game. They scored two more goals on penalty shots, and their center midfielder launched a forty-yard rocket just before half-time to make a 4-0 lead. Coach Sommers’ speech during the intermission was the same as always: a lot of ranting and raving but really no concrete suggestions for getting back into the game. Joaquin sat attentively at the outside edge of the circle of players. He never took his eyes off the coach. He wanted to look like he was in the game mentally even if he was nowhere close to it physically.

  The second half was not much different than the first. Western Center scored two goals on easy shots from right in front of the goal, and Lakeshore’s only score was nullified when Mike Weathers was whistled for being off-side before his teammate took the shot. Coach Sommers complained vehemently about the call, and the referee had to give him a yellow warning card for unsportsmanlike conduct before he would calm down.

  At a Lakeshore throw-in with six minutes left in the game, and the score 6-0, the coach shocked Joaquin by rolling his arms at the ref to ask for a substitution. “Lopez, get in for Hardy at sweeper, and don’t let me see them score any more goals.”

  Joaquin nearly stumbled to the ground getting out of his sweat pants. He looked around to see if Jessica was still the bleachers, but he didn’t see her. No time to worry about that, he thought, this was the chance he was waiting for. He ran to his spot in front of the goalkeeper. He did some deep knee bends to stretch his legs.

  Joaquin could never figure out the logic behind the way Coach Sommers aligned his players on the field. He placed three forwards on the offensive front line, four midfielders in the center of the field, and only three defensive fullbacks and a sweeper to help the goalie. Most games were played on football fields which are narrower than regulation soccer fields. There wasn’t enough space for four midfielders. They ended up running into each other when they went after a ball. It reminded him of the team he played against in California that still used the old English 4-4-2 line up. That arrangement used only two forwards, but four midfielders and four defenders. The midfielders didn’t have space to operate while the forwards lacked the manpower needed to mount a strong offensive surge. Most teams used three midfielders and used the extra man as a stopper stationed right in front of the goal. Joaquin knew that his team would give up less goals if they used a more traditional arrangement of players, but he had learned Coach Sommers wasn’t interested in hearing suggestions.

  Another thing that baffled Joaquin about his coach’s defensive strategy was his refusal to use anything but a zone de
fense. Every defensive player was assigned a section of the field that he was responsible for protecting. If no opposing players entered a particular zone, then that player stood there idly while his teammates were being overrun by attackers. When two or three players entered a zone, the player in charge was responsible for stopping them all. The system was obviously ineffective, but Coach Sommers stuck with it. Joaquin wished he had the courage to suggest a man-to-man defense where every player was responsible for covering one opponent. His old team used what the coach called a match-up zone where each player guarded a certain area, but instead of just covering the turf, they marked up the player closest to their zone and played a combination of zone and man-to-man coverage.

  These thoughts were a long way from his mind now as Joaquin entered the game. His only ambition was to play hard and hope something good happened. He got his chance less than a minute after entering the game.

  The center forward for Western Center came prancing down the center of the field casually dribbling the ball in front of him. Joaquin noticed a certain rhythm in his stride. He took two short dribbles with his right foot, just nudging the ball a couple of feet at a time. Then he tapped the ball about four feet in front of his left foot, ran up to control it, then sent it back to his right foot and repeated the whole process. The Lakeshore players were covering him so loosely that he had little trouble moving down the field. Joaquin decided to challenge his opponent. He anticipated perfectly and shot toward the ball just as the forward was making the longer pass to his left side. He slashed between player and ball and intercepted without even brushing against the other player.

  In a flash he was racing toward the other end of the field. He used one of his own players as a screen and cut between two opponents who were converging from different directions. He looked ahead to see if any of his teammates were open for a pass, but they were covered. No one broke to try to get free. There were no passing lanes to try to lead any of his teammates toward the goal. He didn’t slow down to worry about this. In fact, he accelerated even faster and got past the Western Center sweeper who attempted a sliding tackle but missed. He knew he could beat the goalie, and he just hoped none of his teammates would step off side and nullify his attack. He angled toward the right side of the goal until he saw the goalkeeper lean in that direction. Then he planted his right foot in the turf and made a quick move to the left. The goalie had already committed. He couldn’t recover. Joaquin saw plenty of open net in front of him. He drew back his left foot and sent the ball sailing into the mesh. The ball hung up in the netting for a second then dropped to the ground. Joaquin heard the announcer shout, “Shot and a score by Lopez!” It sounded good. What was left of the beleaguered home fans sent up a modest cheer.

  Joaquin resisted any celebratory antics, choosing instead to run back to his position as though nothing had happened. A couple of his teammates slapped his hand as he ran passed them, but he could tell no one was very excited about his performance. Realistically, a score of 6-1 was not much better than 6-0, but morale-wise any spark of life should have been appreciated by his team. As he stood catching his breath, waiting for the opponents kickoff, he heard the referee blow his whistle and signal for substitutes to enter the game. With only four minutes left, Joaquin figured it was the other team sending in reserves to get a few minutes of experience. He was shocked when he heard Jeff Hardy call to him, “Lopez, I’m in for you. You’re out.” Hardy gave him a pat on the shoulder as he walked past, “Heck of play you made, Lopez. Nice job.” He sounded sincere which made Joaquin feel a little relief that his moment of glory was over so quickly.

  As he jogged to the sideline, Joaquin assumed he would finally get a word or two of praise from his coach. He was surprised when he saw the angry face that was waiting for him.

  “What do you think you’re doing out there, Lopez?” Veins were bulging out of his coach’s red forehead and his breathing was strained. “Didn’t I tell you to go out there and play sweeper? Do you know where a sweeper is supposed to play?”

  “Yes, I know,” Joaquin started to explain.

  “Well, he plays defense. He’s responsible for the zone right in front of the goal. He is not running all over the stupid field. Now when I put a player in a position, I expect him to play that position and not go dancing up the field trying to show off his fancy dribbling skills.”

  “But, Coach, I scored a goal. It’s the only one we’ve got. Doesn’t that mean anything?” Joaquin decided to hold his ground even if it upset his coach. “I looked for somebody to pass to, but no one was breaking to get free. I saw the opening, so I took it.”

  “You saw a chance to look like a big-shot, that’s what you saw. Well, that’s not going to cut it, Jock-queen. We play as a team here, and we play the way I say we’re going to play. Now since you obviously can’t get that through that jalapeno-sized brain of yours, then maybe you should just go back to wherever you came from and play soccer there. You sure have no business playing on my team.”

  It suddenly hit Joaquin that he was banging his head against a stone wall. He had enough of Coach Sommers’ jalapeno and taco comments. He had enough trying to play on a soccer team where no one knew how to play and no one wanted to learn.

  “You’re right, Coach, I don’t belong on this team.” He wanted to say more, but he didn’t want to come down to his coach’s level. Joaquin still had values and still had enough self-respect not to lower himself into a shouting match with someone as cruel and ignorant as Coach Sommers. Instead, he walked over, picked up his sweat suit, and walked away. He didn’t look back. He knew that once he went through the gate leading to the parking lot his soccer career at Lakeshore was over. It hurt to leave, but he had his dignity to protect. This was something he could never explain to his coach.

  Chapter 5

  As Joaquin crossed the parking lot, he heard footsteps running up behind him. At first it frightened him. Had Coach Sommers sent one of the players to catch him and drag him back? Maybe he’d sent them to do something worse.

  “Joaquin, wait.” It was Jessica’s voice. In all the commotion, he had forgotten she was at the game. “Hey, slow down will you?” She was close enough now that he could hear her puffing as she ran. He turned around, surprised and embarrassed.

  “Hi. Hey, I’m sorry I left without finding you. I wasn’t thinking very clearly.” He brushed his hair back and shifted from foot to foot as he spoke. “That jerk Sommers, he just pushed me too far.” His voice broke showing the frustration he was feeling.

  “What happened? You make the best play Lakeshore fans have ever seen, and two minutes later you’re gone. What did Sommers say to you? Why did he pull you out of the game?”

  “He’s crazy that’s why. He yelled at me for leaving my zone unguarded. Said my job was playing defense. Then he told me I had a jalapeno for a brain.” He was shaking now as he talked, his teeth chattering together, partly from the perspiration drying in the cool evening air, but mostly from the anger and humiliation. “What’s the matter with him anyway? I try my hardest out there, and all he can do is call me Jock-queen and Taco-man. How can he do that? He’s supposed to be helping the kids on his team.”

  He walked away, not wanting to show Jessica the tears welling in his eyes. It really hit him now that he had just quit the soccer team. Joaquin Lopez quitting soccer? Who’d ever believe it? What was he going to tell his parents? He didn’t want to look like a big baby who couldn’t take a little ribbing. He didn’t want his parents feeling bad for moving away from San Diego, but how much abuse could a guy take before he stood his ground?

  “Joaquin, come back here. I’ve got my parents’ car. Let me give you a ride home. Come on, it’ll help to talk about it.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I just quit soccer that’s all. I was the worst player on the worst team in the league, and I couldn’t face it. What else is there to say?”

  “There’s plenty to say, Joaquin.” Jessica’s voice sounded soft and soothing. “I shoul
d have told you about Coach Sommers earlier, but I didn’t want to turn you against him if I didn’t have to. Come on, let’s get in the car. It’s getting cold out here, and I didn’t bring a jacket.” She tugged at his strong upper arm. He turned toward her with a slight smile.

  “Here, you can wear my warm-up jacket. I’ll never use it again.” He put the red and white jacket around her shoulders. “Okay, I’ll take a ride home. I’d like to hear what you have to say about Sommers. It’ll make me feel good if I find out I’m not the only one who doesn’t like him.”

  Before driving home, Jessica and Joaquin drove to McDonalds where they ordered cokes and fries and sat in a booth for about a half hour rehashing what had happened at the game. Jessica said the fans were in shock when they saw a player who had warmed the bench all season race through the other team like they were statues. She heard one man say, “Where’ve we been keeping this guy all season?” Others around her echoed the same reaction. It made Joaquin smile to hear this because he still had doubts about his skills. His self-esteem had been given a tough drubbing by Coach Sommers.

  “Sommers was probably mad at you because you made him look like an idiot keeping you on the bench when you’re the only player out there who really knows how to play.”

  “I hope so. I hope I made a fool of him in front of the fans.”

  When they got back in the car, Joaquin asked Jessica to tell him what she knew about Sommers.

  “Well,” she started, “you probably know that he has a son who graduated last year. His name was Jake, and he was the best player we had. He got most of our goals and was the first player we ever had to make the all-conference team. So Coach thought he was some kind of super stud that was going to get a big scholarship to play in college and then go to Olympics. Of course, it was made clear to all the other players on the team that Jake was the scorer. No one else was supposed to shoot at the goal. That was Jake’s job.”