Puerto Vallarta, Mexico (Part 2)
After my previous program in Puerto Vallarta, I took a quick rest before jumping back out onto the field. I connected with Victor in late March for a few programs with his kids from the Volances barrio.
Back then, while driving to practice, we received a phone call from a player, nicknamed Guapo. He was calling Victor to let him know he wouldn’t be able to attend practice that day because he didn’t have any cleats or tennis shoes he could wear. The only option he had was his school dress shoes, which his mom had already prohibited him from wearing to play sports.
Three months had passed, but that conversation replayed in my brain every day. It was mind-boggling to think one player did not have shoes to come out and play. Growing up in the United States, I had several big-box retailers near me with several cleat options.
There was a need there, not just for Guapo, but for so many other players on the team. A need that I knew we could fulfill thanks to our generous donors.
While home, we got to work, cleaning pairs of donated cleats two, three times over. Victor maintained contact, compiling a list of his players most in need, and their shoe sizes. Despite this, I was still fearful. The sizes were Mexican sizes, and even after plenty of research, I was still nervous my conversions were off and kids would be filled with hope and excitement only to leave disappointed. Plus, it has been notoriously difficult to provide cleats at programs because of almost guaranteed issues while passing through customs..
Yet, I was determined. That conversation about Guapo still sat there in the back of my mind, clear as day. I knew somehow, someway, it was all going to be worth it.
Fast forward to June.
The kids had just finished school for the year and were on summer vacation before hopefully starting a camp program, complete with field trips and all. We locked up the classroom and walked just outside to see the new artificial turf field they had built for the kids to use. It was a beaut!
“After running our programs on more dirt fields and rock-covered parking lots than I can count, I always feel spoiled whenever we get to use one of these,” I said while rubbing some artificial rubber nubs between my fingers. That feeling never gets old, except when those rubber pellets get stuck in your cleats. That’s a feeling I can certainly do without.
The complex was surrounded by trees, winding pathways, park benches, and more. Down below, there was a basketball court, for a recently started basketball program they had begun offering to the kids.
As I walked across the new field, feeling the turf under my feet with every step, all I felt was excitement. Excitement to train on this type of surface. Excitement for the kids to experience these kinds of conditions every week during their games. Excitement for this amazing program being run with Victor at the helm, doing so much good for not just the kids, but the entire community.
As kids began to trickle in, I recognized more and more familiar faces from our last two sessions in March. Kids flashed familiar smiles while others were quick to approach me, “Nice to see you again, ¡Profi!”
One boy’s face lit up, “I remember you gave me a soccer ball!”
“You still have it?” I asked.
“Yes, at my home!” he said enthusiastically.
We only had about an hour since the turf was always in high demand, but teams were usually very good about sharing field time. Víctor led the kids through a few laps around the field and some stretching before I proposed jumping into a reta – shoutout to the kids from yesterday for this new term that I will absolutely use for the rest of my life.
This way, while scrimmaging, we could pull kids off one by one from our list of soccer cleats. Víctor agreed and split the players into two teams. One by one, kids made their way over to the sideline to try on pairs. I could barely contain my happiness; getting new cleats had always been one of my favorite parts of playing soccer. At times I even questioned if I liked the game as much as I liked the footwear!
We had a variety available: blue cleats, green cleats, orange cleats, Nike, Adidas, you name it we had it.
As soon as each child settled upon their new pair, they’d lace them up tight and immediately return to the field. I swear, there seemed to be an extra kick in their step once they had that new pair laced up.
We broke into Golden Goal as our field time was wrapping up. One team led by the captain eventually claimed a 2-1 victory. I broke into one single game of mano o cabeza just to test if the kids remembered it from last time.
Their smiles suggested they hadn’t forgotten the rules, and we enjoyed a playful round with literally nothing at stake besides some good old-fashioned fun. We moved off the field to a shaded area, where Victor helped pass out some of our positive affirmation cards.
“These are just nice messages and well wishes for you guys from nuestros socios,” I told them.
“Can we write our own messages back?” said a voice softly from behind the crowd.
It was such an innocent and pure idea, that I’m sure we’ll do something with it in the future.
“Mira, they have words in Spanish on one side and then the translation in English on the other,” I added. “Just in case you want to practice your English for Coach Víctor!”
Víctor shared some last-minute details with the team, regarding the upcoming playoff schedule that weekend as well as their seven-a-side “Fútbol Rápido” tournament that just started on Wednesday evenings.
After that, we made our way down to the basketball court so the kids could sign a jersey that had already collected a few autographs from the day and program before. As kids were signing away, a few parents approached to thank me for always helping out the team. Others also mentioned how their kids still kept their soccer balls at the house, just as excited to see it now as the first day they’d received it. The kids began to head back to their nearby homes but would stop to extend a hand my way before saying goodbye.
“Bye Profi, thank you again!”
“Hope you enjoy the new shoes and good luck this weekend,” I replied with a smile.
“See you soon!” they would answer.
As Víctor and I made our way back to his car, luggage in tow, albeit empty this time, I breathed a sigh of relief.
It was all worth it. It always is.
