Ladies and gentlemen, will you please welcome the two teams that have made it to the Street Soccer World Cup final!”
All around me, cheering erupts. We walk out onto the court to face the packed stands. The Brazilian team walks next to us. We line up in the middle of the court and wait for the national anthems to be played. It’s the last game of the tournament. Salie said that we could be world-beaters, and he was right.
“I know some of you can’t believe you are here,” Salie said to us before this game. “Believe it. Now all you have to do is believe that you can be world champions. I believe you can be. But do you?”
The Brazilian national anthem starts to play. I stand with my hand, not on my heart, but on my armband. I am excited but calm. I am bruised and battered all over, but I feel no pain. After playing twenty-two games over six days, I’ve learned a lot about how to control my emotions, how to shut out pain, how to concentrate. I scan the crowd before me, looking up at row after row of faces. In their eyes I see admiration and respect. These people, who normally would look at me with pity or contempt, see me now in a new way. The South African national anthem starts to play, and the sound of thousands of people singing fills the air.
I imagine I see Amai and Grandpa Longdrop in the crowd, watching and waving at me. There is a smile on my mother’s face. I remember it so well. And farther up on the stand, I see the worried face of Captain Washington. He lifts his hands up at me and applauds. One by one, the faces of the people I met on my journey return. I imagine them all looking down on this court and watching me play: Patson and his father; Aziz and Sinbaba at Beitbridge; old Benjamin and his nephew, Philani; my family in the bridge, Catarina, Rais, Angel, Gawalia and his two sons, Rasta and Tsepo; the children from Gutu—Bhuku, Shadrack, Javu, Pelo the Buster, and Lola. Standing right at the back of the stands, I see the huge figure of Mai Maria. She laughs at me, her dreadlocks swirling like snakes. Lennox is there too, clapping.
I realize I am looking for someone else, someone more important than all of these people.
Innocent.
I look carefully from face to face for my brother. I want so bad to see him once more, his radio pressed close to his ear, waving at me, shouting my name. “I need some more batteries, Deo,” my brother said to me on the day that I lost him. The memory makes me smile. Innocent might not be in the crowd, but he is in my heart.
The anthems are over. We jog into our positions. The referee holds the ball up and checks that both teams are ready.
I call Keelan, T-Jay, Godfast, and Jacko to the center of the court. We stand close together, our shoulders touching.
“Now is the time to show them what we are and where we come from,” I shout. “We will win this game.”
I offer my hand. One by one they offer theirs. Our grip is strong, united in purpose.
“Let’s play!” we shout.
The crowd roars for the referee to throw the ball into the court. We begin the game.
How it will end, none of us can know. It does not matter. Together, we play the game of our lives.