“Keep it clean,” I tack on, earning some scoffs and eye rolls from the boys. I glare at Sergio.
His jaw is tight, but he doesn’t have much of a choice but to reiterate my input.
Then, the play begins. It quickly morphs from a friendly to a fierce competition. The boys work well as a team, passing the ball and calling out plays. It’s obvious they’ve played together for a long time and can read each other’s intentions before action is taken.
But the girls step up. Wanting to prove themselves, they have intentionality behind their passes and shots on goal. I’m proud of them for not being rattled. They keep their heads, even as the boys begin to talk smack.
At the end of the half, the score is tied: two to two.
I pace the sidelines, calling out plays, substitutions, and feedback.
Across from me, Sergio starts to unwind. He’s furious that this isn’t the easy win he predicted.
“¡Márcala, márcala! ¡Párala ya!” he yells. Guard her, guard her! Stop her now!
But Julieta is on a mission. She nutmegs the player, taking the opening to pass the ball through his legs, recover her dribble, and take off toward the goal.
The player, number twelve, is furious, and tears after her as the boys shout on the field. Slowly, their play begins to unravel.
Julieta makes a clean pass to Anna who receives it beautifully.
Come on, girls. Come on. I press my hands together, keeping my mouth shut and watching the moment unfold.
Anna shoots, propelling the ball toward the top right corner of the net. The goalie lunges, his arms outstretched. But the shot is perfect. The ball skims the tips of his fingers before neatly dropping into the goal.
“¡Goalzo!” Julieta screams, her arms flung wide. Goal!
The girls huddle together, giving props to Anna and Julieta for the play.
The boys are pissed, trash talking, blaming each other, and wasting time.
“¡Esto es un vergüenza!” Sergio hollers, his anger rolling off his shoulders. This is a disgrace!
He glares at me, sneering at my girls. I step toward the pitch, wondering if we should just call the game.
“Vale, vale,” he murmurs. Then, snapping his fingers, he points at me. “You want to play for real? Let’s play. Let’s go. Coaches in. We finish this game now; winner takes all.”
I shuffle back a few steps, caught off guard by his flagrant unprofessionalism. “This is supposed to be friendly, hombre…”
“What? You don’t think you can take me?” Sergio jeers.
My anger fucking soars. But I’m not about to lose my cool like him.
“Come on, Coach! You can beat him easily,” Julieta encourages, a little too loudly because Sergio’s eyes flare.
“We’d love to play with you, Coach,” Alice tacks on.
“See? They want you to join too,” Sergio says, nodding.
I sigh. “Fine. There’s twelve minutes left. Let’s do it. You ready for me, Coach?”
Sergio snarls, narrowing his eyes. “Siempre.” Always. Except it sounds like a threat.
I take the field with my girls.
“Move the ball around. Clean shots only. We work as a team,” I coach the girls.
They nod in understanding and then, we’re back in play.
