Futbol con Peruanos

It's no secret to anyone who has seen me exercise that I am sorely out of shape.  Six hard Chicago winters and heaps of great international food have joined forces to render me pretty much worthless on a soccer field (or a tennis court converted to a soccer court).

Just keep that in mind as I unfold this here tale I'm about to tell. 

You see, I was never great at soccer, but I used to be able to run around in 100 degree heat and have a pretty good time. That is not the case today.  In preparation for a 5-mile run around Stone Mountain, a confederate version of Mount Rushmore, Eric and I went to the park for a quick jog.  It did not go very well.

As we finished our second mile, Eric bounding around the last curve with his hair streaming behind him like a mane, and me staggering in an odd gasp-hop-fall-forward-style run, we heard the sounds of soccer coming from the tennis courts at the back of our apartment complex.  All the complexes in this city once catered to the tennis-playing set, but the demographics have changed a little since those days.  Now the courts have no poles or nets, and weird PVC rectangles are strapped to the fence to serve as goals for the latino tenants.

I had a stupid idea.  Why not play with them?  My brother and I used to stomp opponents back in the old days.  So we stretched out and went.  After watching for a few minutes, the guys worked us into teams and we got going.  My teammates were stout, potbellied construction worker types, and they immediately saw that Eric's team got the better deal.

Anyway, you can imagine how it went.  Eric dancing around the court, nailing shots from deep in his own zone.  Me staggering around, a little late for everything, getting yelled at by my middle aged teammates.  At half time, we all sat down and got to talking.  Apparently, Fridays are Peru day at the court. I told them I had been to their country, and we knew enough of each others' languages to string a good conversation together.  The break ended with me inviting all eight of them over for fish on Wednesday.

Also, I offered to start teaching them English, which I haven't the faintest idea how to do.  But these days, I'm pretty much in "what the heck? Let's give it a shot" mode.  So now our ministry with the men in the place is up and running.  

Not that I was up and running for much of the rest of the game, although I played smarter, nailed a couple of goals, and our team came out on top. Eat it, Eric.

Now, as I type, my arms have disturbing discolored splotches on them and I feel a bit like my nerve endings are all loose wires, sparking, I'm on my second gallon of water, and it feels great, to tell you the truth.