Soccer Surprise

SOCCER SURPRISE

By Elizabeth Muñoz

I'm a couple of weeks away from my 10th birthday, and my parents just told me that they had a surprise for me. I have been a little sad since last year, when they told my sister and me we would no longer be having birthday parties because they’re always way too over the top. I guess hosting over 100 people for a kid’s birthday party is kind of crazy. 

My mom and dad sat us in the living room, and my dad started, “We have some exciting news for you both. El Nido has chosen you both to try out in Mexico City for las fuerzas basicas. I could not believe what I was hearing; my heart was pounding so hard that I could hear it in my ears. Penny and I looked at each other and screamed with happiness. We ran off the couch and hugged our parents. My mom said, “Charlie, since your birthday is coming up, this would be a trip also to celebrate you. Are you OK with that?” “Yes!” I screamed frantically. I felt over the moon about this news, but then it hit me: I'd be going to COAPA, the place where my favorite Liga MX team plays! What an opportunity, and I couldn't wait to tell my friends! 

On the day we left for Mexico City, I was so nervous, what if I wasn't good enough, what if I did something embarrassing, what if I saw Memo Ochoa or Malagon? Aaaaahhhhh! I was excited and nervous about all the possibilities.

It was going to be 4 days and we'd be training and scrimmaging, they also had special things for us to do like see the mascot eagles at the club, see the press room where the players spoke before the games, we'd even get a tour of the trophy room and get to see the 2024 trophy which if I may add, we had been at the game!

The night before the tryouts, I lay out my uniform, I made sure my goalie gloves were ready, and went to sleep with a smile and nervios. 

The next day, we arrived at COAPA, and there were kids lined up outside the large metal gates with their parents. Soon after we arrived, a man came out and said, “Only one parent per child, please make a line, and we will get everyone in.” Luckily, Mom and Dad were both able to go in since both Penny and I were trying out. Once we walked through the gates, it looked huge: the facility, the fields, the amenities. It was a lot to take in. I took a picture next to the bus that transports the players. There was a young woman's youth team training when we arrived. We waited until they finished before jumping onto the fields. Coaches were wearing American track suits, and we had also been asked to wear our respective Nidos' uniforms. The kids who didn't belong to a Nido yet wore white shorts and shirts. You could easily tell them apart from the others who already belonged to a club. 

They made us all warm up together. I was nervous, there were a lot of us. I had been sticking with Penny, but then they split us up. I went to train with the goalkeepers and Penny went to train with everyone else. In that moment, I realized something silly; it must have been how nervous I was, but I thought about my gloves as I got ready to join the trainers. When you're a goalkeeper, you wear your gloves the whole time you're training. It’s no wonder my parents complain about smelly hands/gloves. I don’t think they realize that we wear them full-time while we're training. If they make us run—we have our gloves on, if they make us do crunches, push-ups, planks—we have our gloves on. They get super sweaty, but I'm used to it now. Weirdly, I kind of like the smell of sweaty gloves. 

The coaches did a lot of drills with us goalies, and time flew by. Before I knew it we were done for the day. That day, we got to see the real eagles that they house at the facility. They have a handler that exercises them, feeds them and trains them. Their cage must have been bigger than our house back home! The eagles, Celeste, and Zeus were huge! 

I knew that these tryouts were special. At home, in my city, I was great. But these kids—at this event were something else. The next day, we continued training as we had, with the goalies working with the goalie coaches and the others in their groups. I was learning a lot about stances, blocking, setting up, and coming out to defend—it was very informative and hands-on.

After the practice on the second day we were able to go into the news conference/meeting room. There was a hall that housed all the trophies that Club America had won. They were huge, and some looked very old, others very shiny and probably new. 

On the third day of the training, they had all the goalies join the groups that had been scrimmaging. Two to three goalies were added to each team. Now we had been thrown in with the others and were going to put our skills to the test. 

I was beyond nervous; I was barely getting used to the group of goalies that I had been training with, and now I was being added to another group of 10 to 15 kids. I was first up. I set up in the goal—I always have this ritual: when I set up in the goal, I make a big jump and try to touch the top of the goalpost. I put my feet on the goal line and waited for the trainer to ask me if I was ready. He looked at me, and I gave him a thumbs-up. My heart was pounding. 

These scrimmages were tough; some of the other team's kids were really good. I would try stopping some of the shots, but some were way too good. It also didn't help that I didn't know any of these kids’ names or how they played. My defense kept letting the forwards through. I was getting frustrated; I knew my parents were watching, and I was trying my best. The whistle blew, and the next team jumped onto the field.  We were alternating between four teams on one field. I walked off with the team after just being the goalie. Some kids had a look of frustration; others knew they had messed up and were looking around, waiting for someone to tell them what to do. One boy, a real chatty one, started talking about the game we played. “Los que están de defensa, bajen para ayudarle al arquero—hay un niño del otro equipo que es muy rápido.” He looked at me as if to say, “I've got your back.” He said, “Oye, tu playera dice ‘San Francisco,' ¿vienes de allá?” I replied, “Sí, soy de California.” All the others looked amazed; some started asking if I spoke English, some if I’d seen the Golden Gate Bridge, some asked if my team back home was good. 

All eyes were on me. I wanted to talk about the mistakes we’d made on the field, but they wanted me to translate Spanish into English. They kept asking me, “¿Cómo se dice esto?” I couldn't translate fast enough. They threw out one word and another, and I translated as fast as I could. They tried saying the words with me. And just like that, they blew the whistle, and it was our turn on the field again. I learned a couple of the boy's names. Now that the tension between us had been broken, we started talking more, and it was easier to play. When we left that evening, the chatty boy looked at me and said, “Adios, USA.”

On our last day, my dad told us the coaches were going to make their final picks. This was it, make it or break it. Some kids were really good; there was no doubt they would get a call. There was a boy on my team from Medellin, Colombia–he was taller than me and fast. He was playing mid, and he dropped to help the defense. The boy could move. He scored many of our team's goals. The chatty one, he wasn’t part of a Nido yet, since he was wearing all white, but he had the heart of a leader, he was talkative on the field, and he was moving. I didn't know if he'd make the team, but I liked being paired up with him. 

We started as a big group and stretched out. Then they split us back up into the teams we had been in the day before. I headed over to the field we had played on the day before. Some boys were already huddled up. The chatty boy saw me and started chanting, “USA, USA, USA!” The others chimed in and did the same. They made me laugh; they were goofballs. The sky was dark, and it looked like it was going to rain, but we set up to start our first match. 

It started sprinkling during our second match, and the ball became wet and slippery. I made a couple of good saves. Suddenly, there was a huge burst from the sky—the whole field brightened for a second, and then came the thunder. Coaches blew their whistles and urged kids off the synthetic fields. We grabbed our things and headed to the bleachers. Mom and Dad were under there, so I made my way over to them. My dad said, “They're probably going to have to cancel the tryouts for today if the lightning continues.” We stayed under the bleachers for a while, and then the main coach came out and told everyone to go home. Kids would be contacted on Monday if they had made the team. I felt like I hadn't shown my full potential. I was barely getting used to playing with the boys and learning their names, and it was over.

I didn't think I'd get a call; I hadn't played as well as I’d wanted. I took off my cleats, I put away my soccer gloves, and I put on my rain jacket. As families and players walked off the field in the rain, I looked for a couple of the kids from the team to say goodbye and good luck. We picked up a Domino's Pizza for dinner at Soriana, right outside the COAPA training center. That day, the drive back to the hotel was quiet. I had a great opportunity, but also there were so many kids, I didn't think I’d stood out from the crowd. I told my parents I've been really happy to have been given this opportunity and admitted I didn't think we'd get a call.  My parents said they were proud of my sister and me.  

We didn't get a call after the tryouts, but it had been a great experience. I was happy to have trained at the COAPA facility and to have my parents give us this opportunity. I feel a little more confident after that training, and every time I put on my gloves and get that sweaty-hand smell, I feel the excitement for the game.