January 18, 2010

Little did I know that a simple soccer game played in a small town in Honduras could be such a cross cultural experience. Apparently nearly five months (though not without a return trip) outside of Honduras was enough to allow me to experience some culture shock in my return her. Let me try to paint a picture of yesterday's soccer game.

Picture a small town, set in the countryside, just below the mountains. There is one paved street that runs through the center of town. This is Pinalejo. Like every small town in Honduras, Pinalejo has its soccer fields. The soccer fields are used almost exclusively for "futbol" (soccer) unlike the basketball court which becomes both a place to play soccer and a place to dry coffee beans. These fields are littered with trash and cow patties, the latter of which you try to avoid when running around.

Yesterday I joined my friend Evelin and her team in a game against another local team, the latter of which was composed of primarily high school age girls. I was given a uniform and the opportunity to jump in the game, no questions asked. The first real culture shock came when I approached the goal my team was trying to score in. There was no net to stop the ball which is a non-essential anyway. The distracting part was that no less than a dozen persons stood within the goal posts (some even leaning on the front posts)watching the game. There was no concern that an attempted goal might hit one of them in the face. I suppose that they were all prepared and alert. (At least I would hope so). Nonetheless there is something a bit awkward with shooting at a dozen people, among whom the goalie blends in. Boundary lines were non-existent but somehow the referee knew when to blow the whistle. I certainly did not know when to stop running.

I really am not that great a soccer player but I know how to run and so I ran and had wonderfull missed shots on goal. I prefer to pass rather than shoot which probably frustrated the majority of players who are more accustomed to the latter. Supposedly the two halves of the game were 45 minutes but the coach seemed think that the ref was not actually keeping time. It seemed that way to me, both as I played and then stood on the sideline. The team I played with won 8-0. We definitely had more passion for the game and quite a few of the girls had some good skills. At one point I saw one of the other team's players looking at her cell phone, hopefully only reading a text message and not sending one, during the middle of the game.

I enjoyed the game and the opportunity to see a bit of the life in Pinalejo that I had not glimpsed before when I was in Honduras. Though there were differences in the structure of the game and the rules, the heart of the game of soccer in Honduras is the same. I was honored to be able to step into their world for a few moments and participate with them.