In the summer of 2017, I reached out with excitement to a Honduras-based organization by the name of Care 4 Communities. They were doing incredibly important work on the island with English classes, sport training, and more. Perhaps their most significant offering to the community though, was a beautiful turf complex complete with gradas and everything. “La Canchita” or the little court, was known to those in the community and beyond. It was a safe haven to many, a place where kids, jovenes, and adults could go to share community, conversation, the game, and more.

Armed with nothing more than a ball and surrounded by the company of friends and teammates, young athletes would often spend as many as five hours a day at the field. The philosophy was simple: five hours on the field was five less hours they could’ve spent doing something else, and in a community as at-risk as this one, that ‘something else’ often presented its own danger in and of itself.

Unfortunately, the 2017 conversation with C4C, though fruitful and filled with excitement, never materialized into anything more than just that. I found myself in Honduras two or three times since then, but with other community partners and teams in place, C4C largely became an afterthought. That is, until about two weeks ago. 

Having already contacted Josh, I began to look at the possibility of sharing some of our resources to other spots out there. Eager to keep my word following that conversation five years ago, the second message I sent was to C4C and their local director, Nelson.

“Give me a call, let’s talk!” he answered, twice as fast.

Life is kinda funny because I’d definitely met Nelson a year ago on the island, and I’m certain even before then too. It was November of 2021, I had just gotten my haircut at a local barbershop directly across the street from la canchita in Sandy Bay. Immediately smelling new blood and sensing a new face, I was swiftly greeted by a young, charismatic man rocking a red Ohio State polo. That young man was Nelson. Hence, this phone call was not an introduction, but rather a re-introduction.

“I know you man,” I said with a laugh, recalling the first time we met as the interaction quickly came back to him as well.

Back then I had mentioned to him my plans on the island and our offerings through the charity, before concluding the thought with the fact that I was already tapped out of resources. I had already spread soccer balls, goalkeeper gloves, and cleats to several teams across the island, so a visit to C4C and their beneficiaries simply would not be possible. I had faith though, and that faith saw things through all the way up until this past week. 

“Call me when you get to the island and we’ll take it from there!” Nelson told me enthusiastically, ahead of my Saturday morning flight. 

As instructed, I hit him up on Sunday right after our match against Galaxy. I was booked the first half of the week with Victoria programs, but we settled on a Wednesday kickaround with the boys, followed by a Thursday evening session with the little kids weather permitting. There were sometimes as many as 50 little niños participating, so I was stoked for that – not to mention, thrilled to see such high levels of participation at such a young age. Despite earliest plans laid for Wednesday, Nelson told me to drop by whenever so we could chat. I took him up on the offer, heading to La Canchita right after a Tuesday morning haircut. 

“You should come here later tonight at 6 if you can!” He said, mentioning that the niños would be practicing later that evening. 

With their parents filling the gradas, it was sure to be a spectacle, he promised. Plus, it was a means of getting acquainted with the grounds ahead of anything more concrete. During that Tuesday chat following my haircut, Nelson took me in as one of his own, introducing me to the boys as they all paused their “cuadro” to offer greetings and handshakes. Introductions were interrupted for just a second as one boy spoke up, “Nelson, can we buy a soda?”

“Okay let’s put together our money,” Nelson responded as every boy pulled money out of their pockets and pooled it all up in a pile. It was really beautiful to see, I swear. I dug through my bag and pulled out a 20 lempira note, placing it in the middle. “Ok, we have enough!” said one of the boys, passing the bills over to another. That boy was tasked with purchasing the soda for the group. 

“Don’t forget the vasos!” yelled out a third boy from the crowd.

“The kids always do this… we’re always sharing. And when the soda comes – everyone shares it – no seconds until everyone has had their share of firsts” said Nelson, giving context to the moment.

During a period of waiting for the Pepsi courier to arrive, I thought back to the collection pile and how cool a moment it was. Everyone contributed, even if just two lemps or four lemps – and because of that, the Pepsi tasted just a little bit sweeter, for it was bought not given, and in that sense earned. The Pepsi having been a perfect solution for a parched mouth, I packed my things up and headed back to my room to prep for my session later in the day with Victoria, bidding the boys adieu and thanking them for sharing the soda.

Over the next few days, I found myself spending more and more time at La Canchita. I had somewhere between 12 and 15 footballs to give C4C, so I would bring them over in waves. Each time, Nelson would accept them gratefully and within seconds the balls would be rolling along the slick turf of La Canchita, the boys wasting no time in putting these precious resources to use. The boys took an immediate liking to the new Puma balls, but that came as no surprise to Nelson – “it’s an expensive brand here, it’s really difficult to find them,” he said. “The Puma ones we have here on the island cost maybe like 900 lempiras.” That is about $36 USD. 

Finally Wednesday rolled around, and with it , the trademark heavy showers that Honduras’ rainy season was known for. We had only played for about 15 minutes before it started to downpour. Did the kids care? Not even a little bit. They were there balling out in barefeet and drenched clothing. Myself, sloshing around in waterlogged indoor flats, my clothes soaked all the way down to their core. I got to the field around 11 AM, telling myself I’d just play a few games and then go get breakfast. Next thing you know, 2 PM rolled around and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything all day less a banana for breakfast en route to the court.

“Nelson, I’m gonna dip out for a baleada real quick – you want anything?” I asked. “Sure bro sure, thanks,” he said, “but wait, let’s see how many boys are here.”

He counted 14.

“Let’s put some money together,” he said, a carbon copy request from the other day.

Armed with yet another pile of bills both big and small, a boy ran up through the colonia before returning with 14 baleadas and a bottle of Pepsi. 

“Here, two are for you,” Nelson said, giving me first dibs on the pile. “Nah bro it’s okay, I’m good with one, make sure all the boys get one,” I said – a gesture my heart was happy to make though my stomach perhaps less so.

“Provecho,” I said, lifting my baleada into the air. “Gracias Profe,” they responded in unison.

Over breakfast, err lunch, whatever you wanna call it at this point, Nelson and I continued our conversation from the previous afternoon. He told me about La Canchita, about his work with C4C, and he shared stories of triumph, failure, and everything in between. He spoke of the field’s humble beginnings, which not coincidentally at all was one of his favorite stories ever – how they had seen kids playing at the beach, playing barefoot, no goals, barely even a ball but rather the remnants of one. The boys were then called over, and C4C reps had a chance to meet with their parents to discuss needs and other ways the community might benefit – from there, the idea for la canchita was born, and as the saying goes, the rest was history.

“What we want to do is just help kids be good leaders – in their communities, in their households, in their lives,” shared Nelson. “And like you know, it’s tough – there’s such a range of ages we work with here – but you just gotta go into it with an open mind, you gotta treat each kid just as special as the next.”

Previously offering only small responses in between thoughts, I paused and put my arm on Nelson’s shoulder. Eyes welling up, I said to him, “Es algo muy bonito man… And please don’t ever forget just how important and necessary your work is,” I started.

“One of the most important things for a kid to have in this life is somewhere where they feel safe, someone who they feel safe with – and you’re giving them that. This field gives them that. This game gives them that. And you’re that person for them.”

A smile revealed itself on his face. “You know what – sometimes kids will stop by here in the morning, sometimes even every day just to say hi,” he said. As many as 150 kids pass through La Canchita per day.

“Other times, they take a moment to talk about what’s going on in their lives, to express how they’re feeling,” he said. 

No matter what, Nelson tries his best to always be there. To be present. To listen when listening is needed.  Why? Because that’s the type of person he is. That’s the type of person he’s always been.

“If a road needs fixing I’m there – I’m asking what are we gonna do about this, how can we make this better?” he had said mid-conversation. “This is my home man… this is my community.”

Baleadas long gone and legs itching to play, I asked Nelson if I could do a quick game with the kids to give them a chance to win some soccer balls. We broke into mano o cabeza with a crowd of near 25, two Man City puma balls the heralded prizes. We had an awesome mix of participants – some as young as seven years old, others as old as 18+. An older boy ended up winning the first round with a little bit younger one finishing in close second. For the next round, our runner up ended up taking it home! We love to see that. 

As requested by Nelson, with the boys already circled up, I took a little window of time to show the kids some tricks, teaching them neck stalls, sit down juggles, and even teaching a younger boy how to do “pancakes”, slowly but surely him improving his technique and getting the hang of it – a look of pride and accomplishment filling his face.

Time absolutely flying by, we broke back into our cuadros and I moved back to my spot on the gradas, not super keen to play in my drenched gear anymore. Instead, I made my way to C4C’s second level to help Nelson pass out bracelets for each boy, along with a couple drawstring bags for the smaller ones. Over the next few days the kids would drop by the field and I’d be chuffed to see them wearing the same bracelets around their wrists. As I struggled to tie a bracelet around an older boy’s wrist – I heard a loud noise, one easily mistaken for a gunshot to the untrained ear.

*POP!*

I didnt even flinch, in my mind it was surely just one of the many firecrackers going off at every hour of the day in the colonia. A boy ran out into the street, retreating back to the field with the remnants of a ball in his hand.

“Nooooo!” I yelled out, seeing the white and red fragments and realizing it was a new Pele ball I had brought with me only just that morning. I unlocked my phone, 4:30 PM it read, I turned to Nelson – 6 hours… a short life but a life well lived we said in unison, paying respects to a fallen ball. 

“That’s why soccer balls are such a hot commodity on the island though!” he said.

Having been at the field since 11:30 and the clock now reading 5:30, I told Nelson I was going to head back home to freshen up before our session with the little niños the next day. “That was a gift man,” I said while on my way out. “Those conversations are one in a million – I said it yesterday and I’ll say it again today, what you do and who you are is something special bro – thank you for being a role model for so many others and for being a force for good within this community.”

With a handshake and a smile I made my way back home, eager to return to la canchita soon enough. Thursday rolled around and I arrived on the turf around 5:30 PM ahead of our 6 AM training session with the little kids. The older boys were playing pickup, but were more than happy to vacate their spots on the field once the younger kids arrived.

“Amigo, where’s the Adidas ball?” I asked Nelson, recalling a blue size four one that the boys were playing with in days prior.

“Ah we still have it somewhere,” he said with a smile, “But they want to use the new Puma one.”

I watched with a smile of my own as two boys took the new Puma balls and washed them off in the puddles surrounding the field, making sure they looked brand new for the last thirty minutes of pickup cuadros. Between sessions, Nelson and I continued to chop it up. Honestly, there were so many parallels between us and our stories that it was hard not to just sit and have a conversation for the entire day. We spoke of burnout, how sometimes the days we don’t want to be there or do something are the most important days. The ones where we just gotta show up for the people counting on us to do just that – show up. I spoke a little about the past year, about how easy it is to be hard on ourselves in this field, to over-criticize our actions.

 “I should’ve done this, I could’ve done that better” – “I didn’t like the way I treated that kid in this part of the training”, “I don’t like the way I spoke to that kid during that part” etc.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he said. 

Careful to circle things back to a positive, I told him how despite all that I find myself looking at pictures from sessions and they’re always filled with pure joy, smiles, laughter, and nothing else.

“Bro this world is tough enough without us constantly beating ourselves up,” I said. “We’re trying our best, surely there are days the last thing you want to do is come here, you just want to stay at home because we’re going through our own things too. Those are the most important days, to pull ourselves up and to be there for the ones counting on us to be there.”