Puerto Vallarta, Mexico (Part 2)

Feeling rejuvenated after a restful Thursday spent at the beach, Friday came around and it was time for session three with Accion Pumitas. Today would be a little bit more lowkey because I was only working with the oldest players. 

It’s always fun to work with older players like this because a lot of them are technically sound, meaning we can concentrate on higher-level skills and concepts. The night before, I had thought of a new drill – a variation of our listening exercise, so I was hoping to debut that one today at the start of the session. The layout was simple. A line of cones in the middle, 10-15 yards to the right, a line of yellow cones perfectly level with the middle ones. Then, 10-15 yards to the left, a line of green cones, just the same. 

We had 24 kids in this session, so they were paired up and stood face to face along the central cones – much like our normal listening drill. Then, just like always, they’d be commanded to touch certain parts of the body (head, knees, back, neck, elbows, etc.). Now, instead of saying balón – there were no soccer balls at all in the grid – I would yell a color – “amarillo” or “verde”. At this point, players would sprint to the corresponding side, trying to touch the cone faster than their partner. Simple enough, but definitely fun to mess with their heads and call out “rojo” or “azul”!

Unsure if the team would be needing an example, I enlisted the help of an older boy named Memo who used to play with the team but had since aged out to demo the drill with me. Memo would still drop by practice to help Coach Julio out, which I thought was really cool. As Memo and I wrapped up the demo, half heartedly done at best, the team’s number 10 interrupted the starting gun. The young man, named Jorge, posed a question just before we were set to begin – “And coach? What’s the punishment for the losers?”

Oooh this is going to be spicy I thought to myself.

“How about five push-ups?” said Coach Julio

“Deal!” said the players. 

The kids loved this drill and I’m sure it’ll become part of the curriculum as long as we have ample space. Each time, they concentrated intently, before sprinting off to each side as if their lives depended on it. Then they would trot back to the center, the round’s losers ready to face their punishment. Each time I would sit there and lead them through the five, counting off each one, but performing them too in solidarity

“One, two, three, four…four and a half” I said.

“Oh come on, Profe!” They yelled.

“Five!”

Then, on the last one all 24 of us dropped down and did five push-ups, which was a cool way to wrap things up.

After that, I gave Profe Julio the floor and he made his way to the end line for a similar variation of the drill we had just done. This time, a ball would be placed at the half line for each pair. Then, at their respective cones on the end line, they would shuffle in a circle before being called by Profe Julio to run to the ball. Whoever reached the ball first would be the attacking side of a 1v1 drill, trying to beat their partner and reach the end line first to claim victory. The punishment is the same as before for this one.

Finally, with all these shots and crosses out our system, it was scrimmage time.

“Hooray!” yelled the niños.

The teams were well split, with Profe on one side and me on the other, Memo on my side and Uly on the other. As always, the scrimmage had everything: Golazos, a crunching open field tackle by the other team’s defender against Pavel, and much, much more.

My team was losing 3-1, but I wasn’t tripping. It was just fun to be playing with the little homies under the refreshing kiss of today’s rainstorm. A boy from the opposite side approached me, “Profe can we play mano o cabeza now?” he asked excitedly. 

“After the second half!” I told him, which he responded to with a big smile.

Finally, it was showtime. We circled up and three or four kids sprung at the opportunity to help me explain the rules to the rest of the group. Jorge eventually took the responsibility of explaining things. A girl who had been speaking English to me the whole program, who I had worked with on Wednesday too, listened to the rules and said “Oh I’m not gonna even try playing this – my anxiety will go through the roof,” she said.

We were hitting three rounds – five winners, five winners, then four winners, with every round giving those left a better chance at winning as the prizewinners from rounds prior stood off to the side. One kid was super funny, looking like a deer in headlights every time it was his turn, backing up further and further from me hoping it might help his chances to have a little extra time before the ball made contact with his body. All the other kids backed up whenever it was their turn as well, hoping to adopt the same strategy as the originator. 

I watched him closely – mano cabeza, cabeza mano – he whispered to himself, just before it was his turn to go. I think he did end up winning so yes his stress was rewarded in the end. Now, in the middle of the scrimmage I had been shepherded to the sidelines two times to meet with some of the parents of the kids.

First, I was presented a full dinner combo of fajita style chicken, rice, and beans from the 2015/2016/2017 age group. Then, just 10 minutes later, I was called over by another parent with a stack of Tupperware containers in her arms. In one, an ENTIRE KILO OF TACOS PASTOR. Obviously, I was excited for this. 

Then, in the other containers, all the fixings, including onions, cilantro, hot salsa, a hearty serving of pineapple, and like 25 tortillas. I prepared two tacos for myself and watched my team go down 6-1 under the comfort of the sideline’s shaded bench. I turned to Profe Miriam – “My team is losing so badly right now. It’s much more fun for me to be here eating tacos than to be out there” I said with a laugh through a mouthful of taco.

I guess my ambiguous answer of “any food is okay with me” led to the parents preparing an entire buffet of various Mexican dishes. Honestly, the two dinners would’ve been plenty enough, but then came the third when a mother of one of the pinguicas, Alex, approached me with a full Mexican sampler prepared in a baking tray. It contained small servings of some of my favorite dishes: sopes, quesadillas, flautas, enchiladas, Mexican rice, and more. It was an absolute delight.

To the side, a bottle full of agua tamarindo to wash down the party that was already happening inside my mouth. I thanked her and her son Alex a million times while we chatted about anything besides football.

“Is it hot in Connecticut?” she asked. 

“Well, we have four seasons so we get it all, snow too, which has its good and its bad” I said.

Oh I know all about that! My sister lives in Alaska,” she said.

“Oh nevermind you know more than I do,” I responded with a laugh.

I told her how it had been one of the warmest experiences I’ve ever had with our community partners. “I’ll never forget how kind you guys were to me.”

“That’s how our culture is,” she said, as we packaged up all the containers for me to eat over the next two days. I was overwhelmed. My fridge was as full as it had ever been. As I made my way to the car, I hopped in the front seat and joked with Profe Julio – “Today was perfect, Coach. Absolutely perfect.”

“I rolled outta bed, I ran two drills, had a scrimmage, and then ate three dinners – how lucky am I?” I said with a laugh and a grin. 

As we drove back home, we took a minute to talk about Vic – our mutual connection. “The thing I like about working with Coach Victor is that he cares more about equality than he does competition – which is how it should be for kids at this age,” I started.

“He’ll say okay we need balls but only this many, please take the rest for another team that needs them more.”

“He’s very humble… a great guy to work with, but you know that already and he’s just like you,” I said to coach Julio in closing.

“We have a saying in English, I’m gonna butcher it by translating it to Spanish but it goes like this – like birds of a feather fly together. Como los pájaros están volando de la misma manera,” which I cringed at my terrible translation. “Do you have a phrase like that?” I asked him.

“Ah yes like: Estamos en el mismo barco,” he said with a laugh.

As I reached my tent after a great two days of sessions I told Profe Julio that we would be in contact until next time. 

“Thank you for everything, Coach. It was one of the most warm and special experiences I’ve ever had. It was more than a team or a community or any of that, it felt like one big family – and that’s a testament to you and everything you are doing here,” I said.

Pulling a signed Pumitas jersey out of his car, he vowed that whenever I came back I would always be welcome. “Even if you just want to go on vacation with your family, we can go have some fun by the beach,” he said. “Until next time Esteban! ¡Vamos pumas, vamos pumitas!” he said, hopping into his car and driving off into the sunset.

During my last visit to Puerto Vallarta earlier this year, I linked up with the GRC Foundation during a program at Club Vallarta with Coach Victor. They were doing sign ups at the club to provide new pairs of shoes for kids from the surrounding community at the same time as I was running a football session with another group of kids at the club. The GRC Foundation recently collaborated with a local comedor infantil, so I reached out to them for a new session.

I corresponded with Patty, who is in charge of the comedor’s operations, and things just ran from there. They were open every Saturday, feeding about 25 kids each day. I told Patty I would reach out as soon as I got to Mexico.

Despite landing on a Monday, I wanted to make sure we were set to work together later that week on Saturday. I prepared a certain amount of equipment for Accion Pumitas, while making sure to set aside at least 25 soccer balls for our session at the Comedor.

Saturday rolled around and I was on my way. The kids were arriving at 11 a.m., and besides lunch, all that was on the agenda was soccer class. I hopped in my Uber, and my ETA was 10:50. Perfect, I said to myself.

I showed up and walked through a small gate to the kitchen, which was conveniently covered by a techo.

“It’s new, maybe like 3-4 months old, but we are very thankful for it,” said one of the comedor’s volunteers.

We started things off with a charla as I gathered about a dozen participants in front of me. We kicked things off with a listening drill, led by my captain for the day – a tall, older girl named Brittany. She was extremely helpful and engaged throughout the session, not only helping carry out the listening drill but running point for our ball control grid as well as providing numerous demos during the relay race portion of things.

As we got deep into the listening exercise, the middle-aged kids in the group interrupted a round.

“Profe speak English with us, we’ve been practicing!” they exclaimed in Spanish.

“Okay… well we can try,” I said hesitantly.

I turned to one of the volunteers, “Can they do this?” I asked.

She said to yell out commands in English, but to touch those parts on my body at the same time to give them a visual reference. It was a nice little learning experience, but I reverted back to Spanish and the kids were right back at home just like the prior rounds. Still, I hadn’t been able to run this listening exercise in English in a while, so it was definitely a nice little change that I couldn’t complain about.

Our playing space was really small and uneven, but I was grateful for that techo as just outside of its shade sat the burning Mexican sun. We used the space wisely, running ball control grids in each corner and making as much room as we possibly could for the relay race lines.

“For the first one, we’re going to do tres bicicletas,” I said to the kids.

“Brittany, do you know that one?” I asked.

“Sí, Profe,” she said enthusiastically.

“¿De verdad?” I asked, a bit surprised, but pleasantly so.

“¡Sí!” she reassured, approaching the first cone and performing three step overs to perfection.

After a couple different variations, we wrapped things up with a bunch of applause and a new soccer ball for each participant. Aware that we had been missing a few youngsters, I left the remaining soccer balls inside the locked kitchen’s doors to be passed out the following week. As Brittany helped lay 25 soccer balls out in front of where the kids were seated, I watched their eyes light up excitedly.

“Ooh! I want that one!” yelled one of the older boys.

He pointed at a white Sondico number.

 “It’s like Real Madrid… the Champions” he said, with a smile.

He wasn’t one of our mano o cabeza winners so I watched his heart sink as each participant grabbed a ball before him, watching several white balls find new owners. He was still a bit far down the line, so I reached down to my feet and grabbed the last white soccer ball and put it behind my back.

Finally, two from the end, he reached the pile of balls. Sifting through it, he tried to find a white one, but they had already been claimed long long ago.

“Oh, wait a minute!” I said, realizing it was him and the moment had come.

I pulled the white Madrid-colored soccer ball from behind my back and watched his eyes light up the same way they all had when the pile of balls was first introduced.

“¡Gracias, Profe!” he said with a high pitched squeal and an emphatic fist bump.

It doesn’t take much to make an already special moment a little more so if you’re just willing to pay attention. I learned that a while back and I try my best to practice it when the opportunities arise. After, another volunteer grabbed a tray of sandwiches – ham, mayonnaise, bread, onions, and tomatoes – passing one out to each kid. Then, a big cup of orange juice to wash it down with.

Before we could dig in, the kids said a quick prayer, closing with “y gracias por Esteban, for coming here to teach us about fútbol today.”

Gracias a ti. Hasta pronto, Puerto Vallarta.