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My Streetskillz by lordvibe: 12:10pm On May 23, 2017 |
About:
Victor is a soccer-
crazy sixteen-year-old
from Du Noon township in
Cape Town. He wants only
two things - to play soccer
and to win the heart of
Rose, a beautiful tomboy in
his soccer team. |
Re: My Streetskillz by lordvibe: 12:17pm On May 23, 2017 |
CHAPTER 1
My team squares off
against our opposition for
the start of the second half
of the game. We’re playing
on a stretch of dusty road
and I can smell the salty
tang of the sea and the
bitter scent of the oil
refinery on Koeberg Road.
It’s the smell of my
hometown, Du Noon
township in Cape Town.
I wipe the sweat from my
brow and push my short
dreadlocks out of my face.
My eyes, are totally
focused on the action that’s
about to begin. The
holidays are here - there’s
no more school for the
whole of the World Cup -
but relaxation is the last
thing on my mind right
now. With the holidays
have come Streetskillz, the
greatest thing to happen to
Du Noon since Ma Lettie
hooked up satellite TV in
her shebeen.
Streetskillz is a street
soccer tournament like no
other. A local businessman
has sponsored the event,
creating a street pitch
outside the local shebeen.
At each end, the goal posts
are wrapped in the flags of
the countries participating
in the World Cup, and the
neighbourhood kids have
taken to writing messages
on them in marker pen.
There is even talk of
soccer talent scouts being
here for the final game!
The rules are simple: four
neighbourhood teams play
games against each other
throughout the duration of
the World Cup, with the top
two competing for the title
of Streetskillz Champions.
Right now the only skill my
team - The Dynamites - is
showing, is in being beaten.
The score is 2-0 to our
opponents, The Leopards.
Khaya, the tall and
muscular Leopard’s captain
is a lethal striker. He has
his hair pulled back into
cornrows and shiny
earrings gleam in both
ears. He grins at me
menacingly. Khaya knows
his team is going to win. |
Re: My Streetskillz by lordvibe: 12:20pm On May 23, 2017 |
pls your comments will be greaty appreciated |
Re: My Streetskillz by lordvibe: 5:40pm On May 24, 2017 |
The whistle blows and
Khaya comes racing down
the pitch. I’m standing
ready to tackle, but Khaya
is too quick and sidesteps
me easily. He blasts his
shot in. 3-0 to The
Leopards.
“Hey Benni McCarthy,”
Khaya shouts at me, “you
must stop eating all that
chicken your mother sells
or you’re going to be
dropped from your team
too, Big Mac.”
I feel my face flush with
anger. I was a bit chubby as
a younger boy and even
though my body has since
slimmed down as I’ve
grown taller Khaya never
lets me forget it.
Rose, a team mate I
secretly have a huge crush
on, takes the kick off and
dazzles The Leopards
midfielders taking a long
shot on goal, but the goalie
punches it over the bar for
a corner kick.
Khaya grins at Rose. She’s
a tomboy, but is very
pretty with curly brown
hair, light brown eyes and
an explosion of freckles
across the bridge of her
nose.
“Are you called Rose
because you smell so
nice?” he says standing
close behind her.
“How nice of you to think
so,” Rose says smiling, “but
no, it’s not because of
that.”
“Then why is it?” Khaya
asks as the corner kick
sails over the box.
“It’s because I have
thorns,” Rose says,
elbowing him hard in the
stomach as she jumps to
head the ball to me.
I stop the ball with my
chest. Finally here is my
chance. The ball drops to
the ground and I kick. |
Re: My Streetskillz by lordvibe: 5:44pm On May 24, 2017 |
CHAPTER 2
The ball misses the goal by
a mile. The Leopards laugh
so hard they can barely
stand.
“I hope you don’t try score
like that with girls,” Khaya
shouts.
I feel so humiliated I can
barely move. My little dog,
Ronaldo, barks on the
sidelines.
“Shut that mutt of yours
up,” Khaya shouts.
I barely notice as the game
restarts. The Dynamites
best defender stops the
Leopard’s play, but he hits
the ground hard as Khaya
takes him down with a
crushing tackle. “Get up,”
says Khaya, “this isn’t
Uruguay and you aren’t
Suarez. You can’t just roll
around on the ground and
hope for a free kick.”
I can see our defender isn’t
faking. His ankle is already
swollen as my teammates
help him off the pitch. One
of the ladies who sells
cooldrinks at the nearby
taxi rank gives him some
ice from her bucket to help
bring down the swelling.
Rose’s younger brother is
brought on as a substitute
and the game continues.
Eventually the final whistle
blows with the result at
5-0.
I look over to where an old
man is standing leaning
against a lamppost
watching. He’s dressed
smartly with an old-
fashioned hat perched on
top of his grey hair. His
face is craggy and lined,
but his mouth is curled in a
smile as he hums along to
the music that is playing
from the small radio that
he carries in one hand.
I groan out loud. If there’s
one person I wish hadn’t
seen me miss, it’s the
Professor. Rumour has it
that he’d played for the
Amakhosi when he was
younger. He always
watches when the kids play
soccer, but he never says
anything. Khaya says it’s
because he missed a big
penalty when he was
younger and had gone
crazy.
“I can’t believe we lost our
first game” Chippa says,
slumping to the ground.
“We’d better improve or
we’re not going to make
the final,” snaps Rose,
kicking a cooldrink tin.
“Well, I’m the captain and I
say we have to drop the
players that can’t play,”
Chippa announces. |
Re: My Streetskillz by lordvibe: 5:52pm On May 24, 2017 |
He turns to look at me. “Sorry, but you’re just not good enough. We have to drop you.” CHAPTER 3 I look up at the large scoreboard that has been erected next to the street- soccer pitch outside Ma Lettie’s shebeen for the Streetskillz tournament. I’m still giving myself a hard time for missing that easy goal in the opening game and the scoreboard makes me feel even worse. It shows the four teams and their points, plus the top goal scorers for the tournament. Unsurprisingly Khaya ‘Young Star’ is at the top. I sigh. I would love to be a real soccer player and have a nickname. Khaya is called “Young Star” because he started playing when he was really little and his natural talent shone through from the beginning. Chippa is called “Masterpiece” because he’s an artist with a soccer ball. But I don’t have one. Sometimes I wonder whether anybody even knows my real name. I trudge home along the litter-strewn edges of Potsdam road with Ronaldo running happily along next to me. Trucks carrying equipment for farms trundle past and large military vehicles rumble through on their way to their base at Ysterplaat. I reach the corner of Dumasani Road where Mr. Isaac sells appliances out of a large shipping container. Right now he’s sitting on an old lawn chair smoking his tobacco pipe. “Hey victor,” he shouts, “Portugal is giving North Korea a hiding, come and watch.” Mr. Isaac has balanced an old TV on a broken washing machine. He adjusts the TV aerial and the picture flickers to reveal Ronaldo passing the Korean defense and touching in an easy goal. “Look, it’s you, Ronaldo. Although you’re much better looking than he is.” Mr. Isaac pats Ronaldo, who rolls over and lies waiting to be tickled. “Just like his namesake,” Mr. Isaac says, “always looking for attention. Oh yes, how did your game go Victor?” I sigh and shake my head. “Ag, never mind, you must be like Bafana and keep on trying.” I watch until the end of the game, with Portugal hammering home an amazing seven goals, and then make my way home. “Did you see their pro boots?” I ask Ronaldo. The little dog barks and I laugh. “It’s ok, I’ve got the new Barefoot Pro’s,” I say, picking up a stone with my toes and kicking it into the bushes, “so comfortable you feel like you’re hardly wearing anything.” “Talking to yourself now?” a voice says from behind me. I turn to see Rose cycling up behind me. |
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