Deportes and Recreation 2: Workers Playtime

Quieridos.

Lima is a city of nearly endless anticipation.

Recently, after nearly a month of recounting, the city finally learned which of Lourdes Flores, of the centre-right, or Susana Villaran, centre-left, would be their first woman mayor.  It took 23 days, but Villaran was finally acclaimed victor. Among her first acts was to create a public transit commission. Bless her.

And after over two months of playing fleeting coquette, the shy sun still refuses to permanently come out from behind its veils. So, still we wait and hope that soon it will deliver us from the grey-grey.

Here's a story about a pick-up soccer game in the neighbourhood.  Hope you like it.

Bored, one Saturday I read of an art studio giving a spray-paint workshop in another end of town. Having plenty of time to kill, I decided to walk there along the beach. On the way, I saw some day-labourers with an old black plastic ball heading towards one of the many cement mini-soccer fields that have been installed near the ocean. They had just finished their shift, and most of them were still wearing their work clothes and had their helmets with them. 

I wasn't that into the idea of an artsy workshop, but really needed to burn off the pent-up energy of my boredom, so I asked if I could join.  Fortunately, I had some shorts and a t-shirt with me because I had planned to go to yoga or the gym after the workshop.  After I furtively changed behind some rocks by the ocean, I joined in on the usual pre-game ball-passing and aimless target practice that characterizes soccer warm-ups all the world over, as we waited a long while for more players to arrive.

Eventually, people trickled in but then others came bringing news that the employer's business office was about to close. And with a sudden commotion everyone ran off lest they miss out on their days wages.

Assured that they would be back, I sat alone on the concrete slabs dusty with sand against the rusty goal and read an old Peruvian book I had with me about life in the Andes. It described abundant mountain rivers of unknown origins and destinations that likely ran past the very villages that either my new soccer friends or their parents left in order to live in the pueblo jovenes (trans: Young Towns, i.e. shanty towns) that grew around the old perimeters of Lima, which now comprise up 2/3 of the city's population, and much of its work force.

After about half an hour of reading, they came back but with more people. There was more of the usual preliminary kicking around, and there were also many introductions and explanations of who I was, where I came from (ah, de Canadá, que bueno), and how to properly pronounce my name (Do-mee-nee?).

After all this, deliberations began on how to form teams and how to deal with the problem of too many people. After much discussion it was decided that we would have three teams, and that the composition of each would be decided in the classic schoolyard way, by captains choosing us one at a time.

It was a bit confusing at this point to figure exactly what was going on, but I think I went mid-round (I believe the fact that I was about a foot taller than most players probably compensated for the fact that I was from Canada, and therefore probably crap).

Still, things weren't exactly settled for some reason, and discussions continued with the number teams fluctuating as their sizes waxed and waned. By the time the dust, or sand, settled, I lined up with Lucio, Alvarez and Rigoberto, feeling somewhat like an overly tall gangly foreigner  against four other folks, while two people waited in the wings to play after 15 min.  I unwittingly got stuck in goal, mostly because I wasn't too sure what was happening, which I thought was a touch exploitative of them. But then again I was the new guy....

And so, about a full hour after I had asked to join, we were ready to play.

The pace was lively, and the plastic ball was difficult to control as it bounced on the slippery, sandy, cement. There was a lot of changes of possession since no-one could take more than one or two quick steps before running into another player, and even the most accurate passes usually had to ping-pong towards their destinations. Goals mostly occurred opportunistically if a player found himself with the ball and just enough space near the net to blast it forward. But there were also a few good passing plays, setting up easily slotted goals. Everything was hotly contested for, which made it very entertaining.

Not sure how long I was in net for, but after a while I got a touch bored, and somewhat annoyed after facing a few impossible blasts from fairly close range. The plastic ball did not tickle. So, just for fun, I decided to have a crack for myself just in front of my own net. My shot even surprised me with its speed and accuracy as it neatly zinged the bottom right corner of the opposing net (my imagination even saw flecks of rust fall off the post as the ball brushed by it). Of course, it was disallowed, as they rushed forward to explain the shot was taken from outside of the permissible goal-shooting zone, but I think the point was made

Finally allowed out of net, I really learned how difficult the surface was to play on.  It was almost impossible to stop after a run without sliding half the distance of the field or falling over, and the hollow plastic ball was somehow both heavy on the head, but light enough for the ocean breeze to have its way with it.

With me on, we soon took the lead with a few flukey goals, but the opposing team was more organised and eventually closed the gap. Unfortunately, their go-ahead goal abruptly ended the game, as the blistering shot sent the ball flying across the sand and bounced on to the adjacent highway.

There was a moment of anguish as the ball lay helplessly on the tarmac and we frantically jumped and shouted in vain to get the attention of the approaching swarm-of-cars in hopes that they should take some pity and not destroy our ball.

But the cars showed no mercy, and the ball gloriously exploded as it was run underneath a speeding Nissan.

A tribute to the fallen

After a second's mourning, deliberations began anew and someone was dispatched to buy a new ball, while the rest of us just sat around and chatted while we waited. This is when I learned a little more about where they were from, and what they were doing. They all lived in Villa Salvador, or thereabouts, but their families were from the mountains of Ancash, Cajamarca, Ayacucho, and some from the coast up north in Trujillo.

Day labourers, they were currently working on the coastal beautification projects, laying down grass, ornamenting paths, constructing buildings. They worked 5 and a half days a week, and played soccer on Saturday afternoons, when their weekends began.

They also of course asked me the usual questions, what the capital of Canada is, and whether I have seen polar bears, etc.  Interestingly, they were very taken aback after I answered how long I would be here, because of the shocking implication that I was guaranteed work for that long. This really surprised and impressed them, and they even took the time to ask me further on this point. So, let me get this straight, you know that you'll have a job for three years? Uh, yeah. (contemplative silence). They on the other hand went from job to job, and might have a few weeks of job security at most.

To change the subject, after spotting some surfers on the horizon they asked me if I surfed. I told them I am learning, and they then asked how much a board cost. Again, awkward silence.

This is when the painfully obvious thoughts occur, the absurdity that I likely make more in a day than any of them make in a month, how unlike them I don't have to worry about where the next pay-check would come from, or that in a few months time, when their work is complete here, I will be able to return and enjoy all of it, while they will likely not.

The theater of battle, under the shadows of the illustrious Larco Mar Mall and the Marriott Hotel. 

But we're not here to moralize. And in truth the conversation didn't focus on that for long, and got lively again after a few teasing jokes about Peruvian and Canadian girls, each other, also likely me, and about the back-packers who walked past.

Soon enough a new ball was brought, and after new deliberations on who would be trusted to keep it (Rigoberto, of course!) we started again. This time I started on the bench and got to take a few photos, before I gloriously returned to slot few home. 

Good thing too because when we finally wrapped up, I learned that losers pay winners. With a record of one loss and one win, I broke even. But I understood what made the game so competitive. At five soles a loss, not cheap!

Once accounts were settled, we said our good-byes, and they explained that next week began a new job, so they couldn't say where they would play next.

They then got into their car, and sped off to their homes.

And I walked away alone to my yoga class.