Who Runs the World? Girls.

To say that I’m good at soccer would be a bold face lie. But Anna’s really good at soccer. I mean really good. They asked her to start a girls’ team here and I jumped on the bandwagon. I’ll admit I’m a groupie, but I’ll take what I can get. And what I can get are the M1’s, equivalent to U.S. seventh graders. Anywhere from 5 to 15 of them show up from 4:30 to 5:30 after school Monday through Thursday. They come equipped with either comically oversized jerseys or their school uniforms, plus cleats, school shoes, or no shoes at all. “Ooh” plays goalie most of the time and lays along the goal line in a model pose when she’s not getting any action. We have a special mid-air double-high-five routine that we do whenever our team scores a goal. “Noi” is adorable and spastic. I’ve recently discovered that she has a budding relationship with one of the M1 soccer boys who always tries to crash our practice. She comes every day without fail. “Nong” is a gem, but took a while to open up. She was quiet and passive at first, but has blossomed into the bubbly, steady, skillful kid that I now know her as. “Naam” gets back on defense with the consistency of a trained professional. She’s kind, soft-spoken, and wonderful. “Lim” is a powerhouse and a total sass. One time she ran full speed into the fence at the end of the futsal court trying to save a ball from going over the end line. I like her style. “Bee 1” kicked my bare shin so hard on day one of practice that it was bruised for a week. She kicked a ball at my face on day two. She’s tenacious. She brings a bag of Pepsi to practice every day and ties it to my water bottle before grabbing a ball and heading out to the field. Once the Pepsi’s gone, I’ll inevitably hear, “Teacher?” across the field as she holds up my brimming bottle. She has a face you can’t say no to. “Bee 2” is a total giggle monster. She’s constantly colliding with people and bursting into hysterics at the pile-ups that result. “Na” screams more often than she speaks. Somehow she spends half the time sitting in the middle of field and puts half the goals in the back of the net. “Gahn” is incredibly athletic, wiry and speedy with a shot like a laser beam. She’s also a total hot dog. She can’t stay on her feet for more than two minutes. One day after practice, she set up four balls in a line and started doing footwork through them, totally unprompted, most likely an inspiration from the boys’ drills that had been going on alongside our field earlier. I watched her dance her way through the balls, thinking back to days that I’d griped my way through those same drills in college, unable to fully grasp what a privilege it was to be competing at that level, to be training as an athlete. I’ll never be pushed that hard again. Gahn will most likely never be pushed that hard. Ever. That was a tough pill to swallow, one I’m still trying to stomach. These girls are the core of our football club. And I’m the ring leader: under-qualified and overly enthusiastic. I make teams, declare water breaks, shag balls and go with the flow. It’s a dream.

Last week we had midterms so I figured practice would be cancelled for the week, at least for the girly goon squad. I was so wrong. The students got dismissed early, so instead of 4:30-5:30, we practiced from 3:00 until whenever the girls got picked up, which ended up being around 6:00. Gives you a glimpse into the strenuousness of exams in Thailand. On Wednesday I hit the futsal court with five girls and eight balls. The court’s located directly adjacent to the school dump, where stray dogs roam and piles of smoking trash leave a haze overhead. Wednesday was rainy, not in the typical torrential kind of way, but drizzly and wonderfully refreshing. A gaggle of M1 boys graced us with their presence for the first hour, dominating the game with the kind of foot skills that come only from growing up in a nation so enamored with the world’s game. They are a blast to play with. They see lanes, make runs, shout “Teacher!” and play like experienced athletes in the unintimidating forms of little boys. Just before 4:00, their coach pulled them away from our lighthearted pick-up game to get down to business. And then there were six.

Two hours of barefoot 3 v 3 futsal ensued. Two hours of bliss. There was so much laughter, so many break aways, massive puddles, and pure fun. Noi kept score diligently. We ended up somewhere around 27-29. I’m not sure who won, but you can imagine how many mid-air double-high-fives Ooh and I performed. I think that was the day we perfected our technique. Midway through “practice,” Dao, the lone M4 among the M1’s, went for water. I was instructed by the remaining girls to sit out until she returned to keep the teams even. I obliged. Dao returned with a mini can of Coke for me, two bottles of water and six lollipops. I politely declined the Coke, miming “drink,” then “run,” then “puke,” but took the lollipop appreciatively. Nong put a straw in one of the two communal water bottles and extended it toward me. I took a sip and passed it around. Once we were all appropriately hydrated, the game continued, communication slightly hindered by the lollipops in each of our mouths. Our practice started before the boys’ and ended after. The girls walked me home a little after 6:00, Nong lugging the massive bag of balls to save me the trouble. I love coming home sweaty and smelly, coated in the clay-like dirt that lies beneath our patchy grass field. This day, hair soaked in rain, feet raw from hours on the blacktop, I reveled in the oncoming soreness and current contentment as the girls said goodbye and headed back toward school.

Athletics are powerful. They can bring people together in unique and intense ways. They yield fellowship, build character, demand respect. To slip a jersey over my head, to squat a bar across my shoulders, to will myself down and back one more time, to sink into a frigid ice bath, to embrace a teammate in ecstatic celebration, to share headphones on the bus, to hear the click of turfs upon the sidewalk, to tape the blisters, ice the bruises, bear the pain – every moment was a gift, but only now do I have the perspective to fully grasp that. The opportunities for girls to pursue athletics in the States are matchless. Most girls in Thailand dance and sing. They wear dresses and are beautiful. The soccer field is largely reserved for the boys. But no longer at Banharnjamsaiwittaya 1. Our ragtag girls team is proving that to be athletic and to be feminine are not mutually exclusive. I’ve traded my hockey stick for a soccer ball, my honed skills for utter clumsiness, a brand new turf for 30 square yards of unkempt grass, accomplished teammates for spastic middle schoolers, and an inadvertent air of entitlement for an overwhelming appreciation of women’s athletics. Fair trade.

Noi, Bee 2, Dao, & Teacher Kelsey