The Footballers
by Dan Free

I hadn't been long in this new country, when I noticed that many of them were wearing a little white ball with black speckles on chains around their necks. I was in a taxi, and the driver was wearing one. I couldn't help but ask him, "what is that what you're wearing around your neck?"
"Oh that," he said kind of hastily, "I'm a footballer!"
"Oh you play football?"
"Well yes," he said, "my parents were footballers, and so I was born a footballer."
He cast a kind of furtive defensive look in my direction, scrutinizing my eyes, to see what I was aiming at.
"You aren't a footballer?" he asked.
"No I am not much of a sportsman, I said.
"Ah", he said seemingly relieved adding proudly, "I am a Spartan!".
"What is that?" I asked.
"You don't know Spartans?" He asked kind of skeptically.
"No, I am new here!"
He checked me out and seeing that I was sincere, "He continued. "We are the true footballers! We descend from the great coach St. Pele!"
"Who is he?" I asked
"You also don't know St. Pele? Well, he was one of the great mid-centers, and he started our club!"
"Club?" I asked, "What club?"
You don't know very much about us," the driver said smirkingly, "Well a club is uh… our place where we gather and play the game on Sunday, it is our faith, our mother, it is the true club, the first one! If you like to see what it's like and be one of us, you could come with me on Sunday!" He said with a sudden fervor!
"Oh, that would be interesting, thank you!"
"Interesting?" He laughed, "Ha I've never heard anyone say that before! You sure are a stranger!"
We made an appointment! He would pick me up on Sunday around 11 a.m. and take me with him to his club! And so it happened that he drove me on Sunday with his taxi, though this time for free, as if it was his duty to do so, because he was taking me to his club! He carried a long black bag.
It seemed we were a bit late, as the "game" as Rico, my friendly taxi driver, called it, had already "kicked off!"
We entered a hall-like building, and were greeted by people that were wearing large black shoes with buttons on the soles, elongated colourful socks, short white baggy trousers, and a colourful sportshirt with a number on the back! Rico took me aside into the right wing of the building and led me into a kind of dressingroom, where he opened a locker and deposited his regular clothes that he took off. Next he opened his bag and took out a similar costume that he very reverently put on, then he produced a head size football, a bigger copy of the one he wore around his neck, and kissed it. He locked his locker and we walked out of the dressing room into the first lounge and from there through glass doors into a much wider hall with great wooden rafters where lots of people were standing facing the front, where on a platform a man dressed in a similar outfit, only black this time, wearing not just a large silver football around his neck but also a big size silver whistle.
"That's our coach," said Rico reverently, "He leads the game!"
The coach was handling a beautiful ball, which he bounced up and down and then threw deftly to the attending footballers! He threw it very carefully, so that it was easy enough for them to catch it. I even saw it sometimes being bounced back by the heads of some. This bouncing back and forth of the ball between the coach and the "players" as Rico called the attendees, was accompanied with gasps and cries of "ohhh's and aaahhs!" When it was a particular good bounce, the whole congregation cried loudly and wildly, and repeated chant-like refrains, like "Sparta, Sparta, Sparta…!"
Suddenly a ball was kicked by one of the front line members who were wearing silver numbers on their backs, that were not higher than twelve! He kicked the ball deftly into a golden colored net that hung between a white wooden frame. When the ball hit the net, the whole congregation suddenly went wild, raising their arms in praise and abandonment, and yelled as one man: "GOAL!" They danced up and down and the silver numbered man who had "scored", raced wildly around the front jumping into the arms of the other silver numbered guys, who smilingly hugged him, cheering and laughing loudly! These front-line men Rico called the "A-class players!" They seemed to be a special breed, that were very much honoured by the rest of the congregation.
After the goal, every one remained standing up with their arms raised, and sang a song. The lyrics of which went something like this:

Hip Hip Hurray. Goal and goal again!
St. Pele is not dead, but he shall rise again.
He shall win the world cup, and the golden ball
And we shall rule and reign with him
All for one, and one for all!

Hip Hip Hurray. Goal and goal again!
We're eternal players and we shall rise again.
We will win the victory on everlasting turf
When we will play forever
And bravely we will serve.

Hip Hip Hurray. Goal and goal again!
We'll send the golden football back in the net again!
We'll make our passes forward and score against the foe
Whom we will trample under
In a-wonderful-game-of-woe.

Hip Hip Hurray. Goal and goal again!
We follow our St. Pele when we shall rise again.
Our fans will cheer with wonder when in the final game
Our club will become champion
And Pele will rule and reign.

When the song was over, the whole mob of footballers went wild and with their arms raised they cheered and shouted, "goal, goal!" They uttered oohs and aahs until they finally simmered down!

Suddenly the coach blew on his whistle and all riveted their eyes on the dais where he was standing. He put on a special scarf and assisted by two younger little league footballers, he turned to the back where there was a gold coloured glass case. He opened the doors and reverently took out a trophy of a golden ball held up by several hands. He kissed it and while everyone cheered again, he joyfully shook it up and down in front of the club members and raced and jumped across the podium, kissing it over and over, while the congregation wildly cheered again. After this ritual he placed it back in the case and locked it with a golden key that also hang around his neck.
Then he opened a black book, that bore the title WFA RULES! Rico said reverently, "He is now going to read from the manual!"
The coach opened the book and scraped his throat:
"Players" he said solemnly: "Today we will read from page 465 rule 19 and 20 from Chapter C on the duties of the referee!"
He began to read; "If and when the referee is abused in word or in deed by any of the players, he is to produce a red card, signaling the disqualification of the player in question, who will then forthwith be compelled to leave the field. Number 20… If and when the player should abuse the referee any further, he will be disqualified not only for the length of the game, but will be subject to disqualification for a season, according to the judgment by the Football Association!"
Rico said, "now the briefing begins!" He folded his hands.
"Brethren," said the coach, "be careful that such disqualification will not be summoned over you. But pass your footballing days in fear and reverence of the referee, for he it is who will give account of every misdeed on the field and is able to not only disqualify you from the field, but from the season…yea even from the club and from the entire FA, as they that are reprobate and who have wholly given themselves over to rulelessness, as the sportless, who do not play a good game, but loaf in front of televisions with beercans and who are nothing more than fans or worse not even worthy of the name footballer anymore and are in shame and contempt. If they should fall away from the club, or worse even join another club…they will be in fire and betrayal of our Holy St. Pele!"
Here I saw a shudder go over the backs of certain members and people were nervous and shifty eyed!
"Yea!" continued the coach, "Be a fair play and kick not against the shins of your co-players, but be an example of a good and loyal footballer, always bravely carrying your ball, never flinching and always with your head up for the shame that the other club would pour upon you. And be steadfast and unmovable, a player that should not be ashamed, but deftly kicking and heading the ball in the right direction! So be it!"
"So be it!" said all the players!
Interesting ceremony," I whispered to Rico, "So when does the actual game begin?" I asked interested.
"What did you say?!" He said with a frozen tone.
"I mean when is the game beginning?" I asked.
"This is the game!" said Rico curtly "We just played it, didn't you see the 12 front liners and the coach handling the ball, and the goals we scored in the holy net? What do you mean, when is the game beginning, you sound like a sect-member or a cult! Are you with a sect or something?" He spit out his words and narrowed his eyes.
I said, "No, I don't know what you are talking about, what is a sect anyway?"
Rico said, "We play the real game here, if you think this is formalistic or something like the sects call us, you should see the games of the United Club and F.C. Tulan, then you'll know what is formal and false. They don't even read from the Manual. Only the coach can play the game, and the rest of their club behave just like fans and are hardly worthy of the name footballers. They only wear the football around their necks but never touch the ball themselves! Their game lasts less than one hour and they just gather the membership fee and sing a club song and then they go home! No… we are the real footballers and we play the game every week! Some even twice a week! Why do you think we come here anyhow huh? We are fundamentalists! We read our manuals, and unlike the formalists, we touch the ball with our own feet and head and we play against the enemy. We own the golden trophy! You're sure, you don't belong to a sect or something, huh?"
"I don't even know what a sect is?" I said.
"Those dangerous sects? They disdain our holy clubhouse and claim that they are the real club, because they play not just on Sundays, but they play all week for a living. They consider themselves 'professionals!' But I tell you, they are fanatics. They used to memoir the entire manual, although some have said that now they have thrown out the entire rule book, because they can dream it! They also try to win over some of our players to their club, to play the 'real game' as they call it! They even play on the streets and in parks and on the old fields!
"The old fields?" I asked.
"Yes, the ones that belonged to St. Pele and other early professionals. They are long forgotten and overgrown, but they claimed they dug them up and restored them, and insist that we should play on those fields again. But those fields, even if they ARE the real ones, are holy and should not be trodden upon. That was only for thousands of years ago, when the original A-team played and their first club. Things have changed a little since then! We are not expected to give up everything for football to be Prof.'s, and to train daily and play the game daily, as the patriarchs did. That is not the case. Who do they think they are? They call themselves trainees of Pele and the other Patriarchs. Well… they don't have trainees anymore like in those days. WE are the trainees, and only our members are true players! They are just fanatics and try to live of football. They play for money and fame! They are very proud and brainwash poor young streetboys, to control their minds to become Professionals as they call themselves, too! They are a menace to society and they overdo, studying the manual every day! Actually, Pele only played on Sundays too! OK sometimes on Wednesday nights for an international game. True he did train every day, but he also had other jobs. Pele was a fashionshop owner!
They maintain that they are really fighting with the enemy and are winning over him. Well how can they if they don't even have a clubhouse. The enemy is afraid of us and doesn't even come near our clubhouse, because we're such good players! No, these fanatics are false players. They break the rules and add new ones. They even play with shoulders and chest and tackle the enemy. We believe that the great Referee has given them all a red card, as they are rumored to have been disqualified a long time ago, as they don't even follow the rules. Just kicking the ball on the streets doesn't make one a footballer, you have got to be a member of a bona fide club like ours. And if you're not, you are not even a footballer. Not legally, that is! Our coach says that they are in danger of eternal disqualification, because they play without uniforms and don't wear a ball around their necks and misquote the manual and they are not even officially accepted and ordained in the A-team. They don't believe in the Holy shower to become a member and after the game and although they play every day, they think they can be eternal members just by accepting the spirit of Pele in their lives, even if they do not play fair. If you do not play fair, you can lose your eternal membership! Especially if they are not member of our club or are disqualified from our club.…

Here I changed the subject, as I seemed to have hit a very sensitive nerve and I didn't want to hear anymore nor care to have to walk home or have to pay an exorbitant taxi fee because I wasn't a supporter anymore! So I agreed with my sudden adversary quickly while I was in the way with him.
So thank God, Rico did drive me to my hotel, and although we did converse a wee bit, the spirit was a bit frozen over. As I got out of the car, I did the unpardonable I guess, because I asked him politely, "Rico, just as a matter of interest, where do these sect footballers play?" He turned a bit red in the face and bit back, "You shouldn't go near them, they are of the enemy! You wouldn't want to be outlawed to the fringes of town, there near the stadium! It is a very bad part of town! Very low class! Good-bye!"
He slammed the door shut and drove off, a wee bit too fast I felt. But I knew enough.
After a good rest for the remainder of the day, I went to sleep. The next day I woke up with one desire, to see those "dangerous real footballers!" In the afternoon I decided to walk just in the direction of the Stadium, that I had located on the city map.
As I neared that area of town, I saw lots of young kids playing with footballs on the streets and some of them were even playing together on lawns in small teams. I walked up to them, and said, "Hey boys, where are the real footballers?" They looked a bit suspiciously and a young one said, "The children of Pele?" Some of the other boys, said angrily to him who had answered the question, "you shouldn't have said that!"
But others answered, "It's OK!" And turning to me, they asked, "Are you a footballer? Or are you with the 'Red Devils'?"
I said, "I am not such a sportsman! And who are the red Devils?"
Oh they said, "That is the club of the Enemy! We don't want to talk to them, because they come to spy on our tactics and to accuse us!"
"Accuse you of what?" I asked.
"You ask a lot of questions," they said, "What do you know about us!"
"Well, you see," I said, "I'm new here in town, and I happened to be invited to Sparta yesterday and attended one of their games, and they thought that I was a member of a sect, when I asked when the real game would start!"
"All the young boys started laughing and slapping their thighs, roaring with laughter, exclaiming, "Sparta!" and "When the real game would begin! Ha that's a good one! Hey, man you're not too bad! YOU have a sense of humor! HA!" And they kept on roaring with laughter!
Suddenly one of them said, "We'll take you to the children! You're not from a newspaper are you?"
I said, "No I am a tourist here, I come from abroad!"
"OK, never mind, come along!"
Five of them, escorted me scurrying along the streets, and deftly passing the ball back and forth between them with great agility and skill, much better than I had seen the Spartans do the day before!"
"You guys are well trained! I quipped.
"Oh," they said, we are nothing, "You should see the children! They really know their stuff"
"Aren't you guys afraid of the red card and to be disqualified for ever by the Referee?" I asked probingly.
"Ha!" they laughed again, "The Referee loves us and will never throw us out of the club. He loves us! We don't get the red card like some of the Red devils do! And even if we should get one, we always get a new chance again, in the next game! You have probably heard that from the Spartan Coach?"
"That's right," I said, "So that's wrong?"
"Ah," they scoffed, "they're so afraid of the red card that they never even play! I have never seen them play! Never in the stadium, and hardly ever on the streets! And what they do in their club isn't worth the name of a game! They hardly ever fight the Red Devils! They're so afraid of them, that they never even take up his challenge. They never even leave their clubhouse with their uniform on or with a ball, because they're afraid that they'll run into the Devils on the streets, and that they will be challenged to a game, which they surely will loose! That's why they hide their little balls under their shirts most of the time, when they enter his territory! Of course not in the center of town. There they feel pretty safe!"
"You don't have balls?" I asked.
"What do you mean we don't have balls?" they asked mockingly with fight and humor in their eyes.
"What do you call this!?" said one of them, sticking a big football under my nose!"
"Ah… I see!" I said, nodding my head.
"And we don't hide it in our sportsbag either, ha!" They all laughed at my sheepish smile.
"He's already been brainwashed by the Spartans!" they laughed to each other. "Never mind, we're joking. By the way we're here!"
The stadium loomed up before us, and they turned a corner into a dead end alleyway, that ended with a wire fence! They pushed themselves through a hole in the chickenwire fence, looking carefully about them to see if nobody was watching them. I wormed myself through the hole as well, but I was a bit too big, and my clothing got hooked. They all wore simple uniforms! They helped to unhook my clothing and pulled me through. It was getting dusk and one by one they hurried across an open area toward the Stadium, that was not lighted due to a broken lightpole. I was the last one to scurry across the lot, and was received by them, on the other side. "Stay close to us now!" they said, and walked ahead of me by the light of a cigarette lighter, although none of them smoked!
We went through a small opening in a wall, on the other side of which was a boiler room, from where went a corridor with sparse light and a stairwell that led down to another floor, where was a door, that had a sign, saying: Authorised personnel only! One of the boys said, "We are authorised by the great Referee!" and smiled at me! They produced a key and we went quickly through the door, down another flight of steps, and again through a hole in the wall, that led through an earthen tunnel, held up with beams at the end of which a light shone and where we could hear sounds of singing! As we came closer the sounds became clearer, and I recognised the tune. It was "Hip Hip Hurray!" but sung with much more gusto than I had heard it the day before!
"…Goal and goal again. St. Pele is not dead, but he shall rise…"
They stopped singing as we entered the room, and smiled at us as the hefty, thick legged sportsmen inside sized me up, as I stuck out as a sore thumb, not having a sports tunic!"
"Hello and Hip Hurray!" said a black clad footballer which I I assumed to be the coach. He arose to shake my hand! "My name is Kruyff!"
"Hello!" I said "I've come to join you!"
"Join us?"
"Goal! I smiled, I've come a long way and had to go through the Spartans to find you! My name is Ronaldo!"
"They all looked at each other surprised and then at me! "Ronaldo? From Brasil??"
"Right!" I said, "I was invited by you!"
All of them broke out in joyful chants and cheers dancing and singing, "Oléeee! Olé! Olé! Olé!! Goal, goal and goal again! Wow man! Hip Hip Hurray, MAN! Are we thankful that you could make it before the game! It is on Wednesday night and the devils don't know what to expect!"
"The little streetboys stared at me with open mouths, saying! "Ha! You sure fooled us!"
I smiled at them, and said! "Yep, you didn't study my legs!"