Tournament Fugee Read online

  Victor wondered why he did not say, “Play to win.” Maybe he forgot, Victor thought. Maybe he does not think we can win.

  17

  The Second Half

  Dani was a solid midfielder. He had scored goals during the tournament. Victor knew Dani made every effort to follow Coach Bridge’s and Victor’s advice and instructions.

  Dani had a determined look on his face when he received a pass from Hayyan. Dani dribbled, faked, reversed and drove forward again. He treated the Herons defence like they were invisible. Facing the goalkeeper, he faked to the left, then faked to the right, then faked to the left once more. He shot the ball with his other foot. It was totally unexpected. Even Victor was not sure what he was seeing. He didn’t know how a goalkeeper could face a play like that. Dani made the equalizer. The score was tied 2–2.

  With his arms open wide, Dani ran toward his excited teammates. Sometimes gut instinct ruled, Victor realized. What Dani had done was not pre-planned. The worst thing that might have happened was loss of possession. He had gambled the way Victor had with Double Speed against the Regina Aleppos.

  The crowd chanted and chanted. He was not sure anymore who they were chanting for, the home team or the eastern visitors — or both.

  It seemed like the Herons thought, “Why not us?” They returned the attack. Their left midfielder scored against Victor with a reverse scissor kick that no one saw coming. Not Johnny, not Raja, not Victor. The Herons were ahead again, 2–3.

  Victor passed the word from his defenders to midfielders to Habib and Muta: “Dig deeper.”

  With regulation time running out Victor saved two more attacks to his goal. And then there were 110 seconds to go. It was that magical twilight in soccer when the lagging team could produce an equalizer. Or the leading team could score one more goal to prevent it. All of this swirled like a whirlpool in Victor’s brain. This would be when heroes were born.

  Who would it be? he thought. A forward? Perhaps. A midfielder? Perhaps. A defender? Not likely. Not unless all players stormed the opposition.

  Joram secured a corner kick. He did not have much practice with corners and he quickly mentioned this to Victor. Together, they selected Dani to take the shot. Joram joined the mix in front of the Herons goal. And, so, with seconds ticking toward a Herons victory, Dani kicked the ball. The ball moved with the right speed at the right height with the right curve. It sailed, no, it floated straight to Joram’s head. As it touched his head, Joram turned it one micro degree into the Herons net.

  And — the whistle blew.

  It was the end of regulation time.

  The score was 3–3.

  They would have a penalty shootout to decide the game.

  Victor and Coach Bridge picked Habib, Muta, Firas, Hayyan and Dani to shoot, in that order. The Herons picks were, in order, Abbas, Daniel, Nabil, Gabriel and Samir. Samir had scored against Victor with the reverse scissor kick. It was up to Victor and the Herons goalkeeper Muhammad to try to stop the alternating strikers.

  All 54,500 spectators clapped and hollered on their feet. They were, after all, the home crowd. Their team was on the verge of victory.

  Coach Bridge took Victor aside. “Nothing matters anymore, Victor,” he said calmly. “Not the stadium, not the tournament, not the team. Not even Raja.”

  In that moment Victor realized that Coach Bridge knew all along. He had seen Raja’s attitude toward him.

  Coach Bridge continued. “The next few minutes will be about you receiving a gift from Allah, the gift of a beautiful ball five times. And each time you must embrace the gift and be thankful.”

  It was not easy but Victor managed to blank out everything in his head. He focused on each second. He saw Raja turn away, not wanting to look at the shots. At least he’s not looking at me in judgement, Victor thought.

  Abbas shot the ball toward Victor’s upper left corner. Victor did not blink. He reached up and spread both hands. He pushed the ball away, rather than letting it come into his gloves. No goal.

  Habib’s shot rolled low, but it was fast. Too fast for the Herons goalkeeper. Muhammad’s dive was too slow. Goal.

  Daniel was next. The ball went straight into Victor’s hands. No goal.

  Muta’s shot hit the left post and bounced outside of the net. No goal.

  Nabil’s shot went to Victor’s upper right corner. It struck the joint of the frame and bounced over the line. Goal.

  Firas sent the ball low left at Muhammad’s goal, hard. Goal.

  Gabriel sent it at Victor’s shoulder level. Victor reacted too late. Goal.

  Hayyan scored for the Gazelles.

  Samir was too fast for Victor and scored.

  So far, the Herons had scored 3. With only Dani left to kick, the Gazelles had scored 3 as well. If Dani scored, victory was theirs. If not, they would select additional players to kick.

  Dani had analyzed goalkeeper Muhammad through the two games and the shootout. He stepped back from the ball. The ref blew the whistle. Dani took three steps and shot the ball. It went low and hard, just out of reach of Muhammad.

  Goal.

  The stadium of children, still standing, went wild. Their team had not won, but they had witnessed a great match of a game they loved.

  The Gazelles mobbed Dani. They piled on top of each other. Coach Bridge joined in their celebration of hugs and high fives.

  “Great! Team! Attitude! Together! Together! Together! Together!” they chanted.

  The Gazelles and Herons lined up and shook hands. Victor and Abbas added a high-five to each other.

  “Friends again,” Abbas said.

  “Brothers again,” Victor added.

  “Congratulations, Victor,” Abbas said.

  The GTA Gazelles assembled for a group photo against a backdrop of the crowd. No one was in a hurry to leave. They were still on their feet. They chanted for all the teams. The organizers managed to get all eight teams onto the field. The chants got louder and louder.

  The players could not hear each other so they stopped trying to speak. They soaked in the love they were receiving. It occurred to Victor that the children were thanking them for thanking them.

  Memories for a lifetime, Victor thought.

  * * *

  When the stadium finally began to empty Victor found a quiet spot. He phoned Mom.

  “Yes, yes,” she said. “We saw it all on CBC, live. We were watching in Gabriel’s room.”

  “Did he watch, too?” asked Victor.

  “Of course, honey. We’re so proud of you for what you’ve done.”

  But Victor did not want to talk about himself. He had a reason for calling and he needed answers. “Tell me the truth, Mom.”

  “It’s true that Gabriel was getting worse,” said Mom. “But the doctors changed the medication. Now he’s much improved. Dr. Holder says he’ll have a full recovery.”

  Dr. Holder was Ozzie’s mom. Victor was glad to hear she was overseeing Gabriel’s case.

  “She said he was ‘out of the woods,’” Mom went on. “I think she means okay.”

  “That’s good, Mom,” said Victor. “I’ll see you all tomorrow. Tell Gabriel I send him a big hug. You, too. And Dad.”

  As Victor clicked off, he began to cry. He could not stop himself. Tears of relief that Gabriel was definitely okay mixed with tears of joy. At the game’s end he had felt so much love. Victor had held onto his emotions the way he held onto a ball after catching it. Only longer, much longer. And now he could let them go.

  He dried his eyes and rejoined his teammates on the field.

  “Great job, captain,” said Raja, extending his hand.

  Victor shook it.

  “I’m glad it was you in goal and not me,” Raja said with a smile.

  I’m glad, too, thought Victor.

  “Thanks, Raja,” he said.

>   “You’re a fine captain, Victor,” said Raja. “I mean it.”

  And Victor could see that he did.

  18

  Farewell

  When they returned to the NSDC it was only four o’clock. Victor felt like time had expanded and he had lived a whole day since the start of the game. In some ways, he had.

  Lilith woke him from a one-hour nap in time to get ready for the farewell supper. The meal was extra special. It ended with pistachio ice cream. Instead of the players collecting their food cafeteria-style, they were served by wait staff at their tables. This time they sat with their teammates, one table per team.

  The Syrian Consulate in Vancouver presented the players with this parting meal. There was no head table separating the players. Consulate staff and representatives from all levels of British Columbia’s governments sat among players, coaches, organizers and volunteers. For this tournament, there were no trophies, no medals and no player-of-the-match award handed out. All players received a personalized Certificate of Participation.

  Committee member Mr. Sanders rose from his table to address the crowd. “Now that you can remember the eight Samirs, the fifteen Anwars and the thirty-seven Muhammads,” he started, to huge laughter, “I urge you to maintain contact with your new brothers.”

  Vancouver’s Mayor Waldron ended his brief speech by announcing a final treat for Sunday morning.

  * * *

  Their last morning in Vancouver, the Gazelles gathered in a meeting room.

  “Let me say, once more, how proud I am of all of you,” Coach Bridge told them. “Your dedication, your persistence, your ability to rise from defeats and to snatch victories under pressure will strengthen you for whatever you do with your lives going forward. Thank you, thank you, thank you. As-salam Alaikum,” he said, wishing God’s peace upon them.

  “Wa-laikum as-salam,” they all responded, wishing God’s peace back.

  The private boat sliced through the calm, early morning waters of Vancouver’s harbour. Over the loudspeaker, Mayor Waldron’s voice spoke of a love for his city. He pointed out key places and shared memories.

  Victor held his face up to the sun and breathed in the salty air. He would miss this city. He took it all in, intending to sketch from memory. He hoped to return to explore more of its beauty and treasures.

  “I hope you come back,” Abbas said, reading Victor’s thoughts.

  “Only if you promise to come to Toronto,” Victor replied.

  “I’ll have to get a job first and save up, inshallah,” said Abbas, expressing his hope that Allah would make it so. “Deal.”

  “Deal.”

  They bumped fists.

  At the airport later that morning, Victor thanked Amena, Sandra and Lilith on behalf of his teammates for their hospitality. There were tearful and joyful goodbyes. Bonds had been formed. Email addresses and phone numbers were exchanged.

  Victor was lucky to get a window seat again for the flight. He stared out at the clouds below and remembered Coach Bridge saying, “We must not feel guilty for leaving and for surviving while others perished.”

  His mind flashed back to what the First Nations storyteller had said about choice. He finally saw that Grampa had made a choice. He had sacrificed himself for Victor. Victor felt grateful for that act of love and would honour Grampa for it.

  Victor recalled something else the storyteller had said that he had not paid much attention to at the time: “Life is now, friends. Grab it with a hunger and a passion you never knew you had. And let the rest fall away.”

  “Let the rest fall away,” Victor whispered to himself.

  He thought of how much he had experienced during the matches, especially the last penalty shootout. He looked back at Raja, two rows behind, and realized that his teammate had been, in his way, a teacher. Raja had forced Victor to be a more responsible leader.

  Victor sensed that Grampa would not want him to continue in pain, feeling badly about his death. Victor decided, there high above the clouds, to let the past fall away.

  “I forgive myself,” he whispered. Inside, he felt like it was spring at last.

  Dad met Victor at the airport. They drove straight to the hospital where Victor reunited with Mom and Gabriel. Gabriel looked much better than when Victor had left eleven days earlier.

  “I’m so happy to be with my family again,” Victor cried, as if he had been on a long journey.

  And he had.

  Epilogue

  Mr. Greenidge’s Offer

  Principal Arsenault welcomed everyone back after the March Break at an assembly in the gym. She spoke about how they could give thanks by example and not just words. She singled out students who had showed gratitude around the school. Then she asked Victor to come forward. He walked up, not shuffling, but with a strong leader’s confidence.

  Principal Arsenault read from a scrolled certificate: “William Hall PS Recognizes Victor Bayazid for his Efforts of Gratitude through the Wonder of Sport.”

  She presented the certificate to Victor. He was surprised and felt slightly embarrassed when the whole school applauded.

  Victor learned at lunch that Ozzie and Muhammad had spread word of how Victor spent his March Break. Many students had watched the final match on CBC. As lunch wound up, Leelah walked by. She and Victor locked eyes briefly.

  Then Mr. Greenidge stopped at his table. Victor liked Mr. Greenidge. He had formed and coached Hall United in the fall.

  “Victor, Ozzie, Muhammad, I’m thinking of coaching a summer league team,” said Mr. Greenidge. “I’m forming a multi-racial team with players who know how to get along. Hint, hint. Let me know your plans for the summer. Otherwise, on June thirtieth, at eleven p.m., I will board Caribbean Airlines back to Tobago for the summer. I will lie on the beach every day like a tourist. I will eat fried bake ’n’ shark with slices of avocado for breakfast, washed down with coconut water from a real coconut and not from a can. I will look for a pretty wife at last. And I’ll forget about every single one of you.” Mr. Greenidge grinned.

  They grinned back.

  At home, Victor thought about Mr. Greenidge’s offer. He had a couple of months and could take his time deciding.

  Victor replaced the sketch in the silver frame on the sideboard with a new one. It was a colourful drawing of a setting sun behind green, summery Grouse Mountain, complete with tiny Skyride cable cars. In the foreground was Grampa, radiant and smiling broadly, holding a bright red, yellow and orange soccer ball.

  Acknowledgements

  Once again, a huge thank you to my talented editor, Kat Mototsune, for clarity and perspective. Thanks to visionary Jim and Team Lorimer. Super special thanks to Renée for enduring love.

  I wish to thank my early English/Creative Writing teachers for their encouragement: Coline Gardhouse, Judith Millen, David Teddiman, Dennis Boulton, Robert Collins, Alex Bostok, Ian Waldron and professor Bob Simmons.

  About the Author

  DIRK McLEAN is the author of the sports novels Not Out and Team Fugee. He has also written picture books, radio dramas, and stage plays that have toured elementary schools. Dirk was born in Trinidad & Tobago and now lives in Toronto.

  Copyright © 2017 by Dirk McLean

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  James Lorimer and Company Ltd., Publishers acknowledges the support of the Ontario Arts Council (OAC), an agency of the Government of Ontario, which in 2015-16 funded 1,676 individual artists and 1,125 organizations in 209 communities across Ontario for a total of $50.5 million. We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country.
This project has been made possible in part by the Government of Canada and with the support of the Ontario Media Development Corporation.

  We acknowledge the [financial] support of the Government of Canada.

  Nous reconnaissons l’appui [financier] du gouvernement du Canada.

  Cover design: Shabnam Safari

  Cover image: iStock

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  McLean, Dirk, 1956-, author

  Tournament fugee / Dirk McLean.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4594-1225-5 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-4594-1227-9 (EPUB)

  I. Title.

  PS8575.L3894T68 2017 jC813’.54 C2017-903301-8

  C2017-903302-6

  This digital edition first published in 2017 as 978-1-4594-1227-9

  Originally published in 2017 as 978-1-4594-1225-5

  James Lorimer & Company Ltd., Publishers

  117 Peter Street, Suite 304

  Toronto, ON, Canada

  M5V 0M3

  www.lorimer.ca