No Surprises (Racing Club v X. Tijuana)

November 23, 2011

NADII: Yashin
Club Tijuana Xoloitzcuintles de Caliente v Racing Club Haïtien, Estadio Caliente
X. Tijuana 3 (Alejandro Leyva 1 50, Carlos Reyes 30) – Racing Club 0
MoM: Leyva (8.8) Best Old Lion: Philbert Wilson (7.2)
Attendance: 9276. Referee: Kieran Casey.

Even when Kieran Casey blew for the final whistle, we didn’t know our fate: we started the day one point ahead of Jamaican club Harbour View FC, who were up against the league leaders, Zacatepec. We knew that Harbour View’s Congolese striker, Rudy Bhebey-Ndey, had scored in the second half to give them the lead, and we knew that Zacatepec had equalized through the veteran from New Zealand, Nathan Knox.

But we hadn’t heard anything about how it ended: if Zacatepec ended up on top, we would be in the playoffs, despite our difficulties in Mexico against Los Cholos. We just weren’t very good today. I mean, it wasn’t bad for a bunch of kids playing a game like this for the first time, but … well, we just weren’t very good.

I looked around for our coaches and saw Benjamin Jack hunched over, his arms tight against his body, fingers moving across the screen of his phone. He frowned and looked up, catching my eye, and shook his head.

I grabbed Dayán and gave him the news. His eyes flicked towards Jack and back to me. “Guete.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Now what?”

I laughed. I didn’t really mean to, but the pain in his voice seemed so incongruous with what we had accomplished. “D, it was a fucking great year. Great.” I nodded with my head towards the field. “Today wasn’t so good. But come on. We can’t be sad about this.”

We headed into the locker room, where I continued in the same vein: “What you did this year surprised everyone outside of this room. Nobody thought you could do it, and you did. We have a ways to go—we still struggle when a team has a single great player. That’s what Leyva did to us today, it’s what a couple others have done in the past. We’re still learning how to play as a complete unit. And you’re still learning what it takes to be professionals.” I turn towards McNulty. “And for some of you I don’t hold out much hope.”

I waited for the noise to quiet down. “Here’s your challenge. Here’s what I want from you over the next few months. Next year, we deserve to be here. This year was a surprise. Next year.” I shake my head. “Next year, no surprises. No surprises. Now get dressed, get packed. Bus leaves in forty.”

We’re delayed at the airport for a few hours, and by the time we’re on the plane, the mood is anxious and tired, and more than a little grumpy. Dayán has his eyes closed but I suspect he’s not actually asleep, but instead is rather trying to ignore the noise around him—three of our coaches are arguing about something that I cannot quite catch, and I hear McNulty begging for a beer behind me. I turn around and glare at our teenage star and he settles down, the attendant mouthing “thank you” to me as she disappears further down the aisle.

I take out a pad and start scribbling on it.

“Ki sa yo ou ap fè?” asks Dayán.

I’m surprised, and the words are unfamiliar for a moment. “Oh. Not asleep, huh? Why do you always do that?”

“What?”

“Talk to me in Kreyòl on airplanes?”

“Do I?”

I nod and he doesn’t reply, looking instead at the paper in front of me. “Already?”

“Already,” I say, tapping the paper where I’ve begun to list out the players we’ll depend on next season.

“What are the numbers?”

“Age.”

“Age?”

I nod and smile. “You know what I like about it? Most of them start with two.”

I turn the pad so it faces him and he traces his finger down the list—only McNulty and Ian Fuller look to be regulars next year as teenagers, although both Hayden Zurinaga and Alberto Morrison will continue to see time with the first time—as will a few others. But Frederick, Lawler, Fouad Guichard, Kwame Charles, even Parmentier and Luccioni all join Chery and Azor as being over twenty years old.

I order a beer for both of us and after we touch dark plastic together with a soft knock, I say, “To experience.”

Dayán laughs. “They’re twenty. Not exactly seasoned veterans.”

I take a drink. “We’ll take what we can get, D. We’ll take what we can get.”