CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
If you want to get a taste of what ignorance looks and feels like, read Ann Coulter’s 2014 article “America’s Favorite National Pastime: Hating Soccer.” Based on her writings, this lady has absolutely zero knowledge about this game but nevertheless decides to put down the most popular sport in the world. She attacked the game for being pointless, without understanding that some of the best soccer matches ever played have ended in a 0-0 tie. Yes, scoring goals is important, but the most important thing is actually what takes place on the field. Nevertheless I think she accomplished what she had really intended, which was to get attention for herself during the 2014 World Cup. I believe there is a big political agenda behind her article which I prefer to not discuss.
The beautiful game of futbol has been there for me over three decades in this country, helping me deal with some of the most difficult times in my life. If I had a bad day or was very depressed, usually a soccer practice or game would be right around the corner. Once I put my boots on and set foot on the field, all my worries would disappear, even if only temporarily.
I have been kicking a soccer ball since I was a small child. I got my start out on the asphalt streets where our goals consisted of two large rocks five feet apart, although I played more basketball than soccer in my youth. The scabs on my knees from falling down while playing in the streets seemed to be a permanent fixture of my childhood.
My father was a big Besiktas fan and would take me to soccer games sometimes. It was an intimidating, even frightening environment for a kid, with thousands of people gathered in a stadium shouting chants and at times cursing. I remember sitting behind a guy at one of those soccer games who all of a sudden hit me in the eye while attempting to gesture with his arm. With all the noise in the stadium, nobody had even noticed that I was in severe pain when everything just went dark.
Another time, as my dad, his friend, and I were trying to make our way to the entrance of a stadium where hundreds of fans were shoulder to shoulder, I found my body being squeezed hard. I must have been twelve or thirteen at that time. I couldn’t breathe and couldn’t make a sound. I thought I was going to die that day, standing right next to my dad, who couldn’t see that I was in trouble.
As a teenager I started to attend matches with my friends. We all supported our hometown team, Karsiyaka, also known as KSK. I played soccer for an amateur team, Peacock Bar & Grill, when I was living in Monterey, and I loved the camaraderie we all experienced on the field. It brought people of many different nationalities together with a common goal (no pun intended), and sometimes we played on green grass, something that I never saw as a kid playing in Izmir.
Our captain was a guy named Johann from Romania; he had a van and would give us rides to games out of town. Afterward, we would go to pubs or Mexican restaurants, and laid-back Irish Jimmy would pour a little beer into my glass, since I was still only nineteen at the time. A soft-spoken, easygoing guy from El Salvador named Nahum was one of our defenders. Our highly talented midfielder Beto’s voice shouting “Come on!” as he exhorted us to pass the ball quicker and our tough defender Jose’s ever smiling face and his speed all over the field despite smoking Marlboro Reds at halftime are memories that will never leave me. The friendships I developed with my soccer teammates, so soon after arriving in America, would give me strength and help me deal with many challenges I faced in those days.
Sonora was never short of soccer players, and the field at Columbia College was a joy to play on. My buddy Ken, who I still keep in touch with, was the heart of our defense. Having played for Chico State, he possessed the skill and the speed to play anywhere on the field. But our team needed him the most in defense. I still remember one away game where we kept knocking on the door, but we just couldn’t score. It was near the end of first half and Ken intercepted the ball near our box and dribbled through at least seven players and scored. I think it was his way of saying “this is how it’s done.”
We traveled to nearby towns, too, mostly playing against Mexican teams. In many ways, Mexican and Turkish cultures are very similar, and their passion for soccer has a similar intensity. Most of these guys had families and worked hard during the week, putting in long hours, but when it was game time on Sundays it was like there was no tomorrow, and many of them were willing to risk getting hurt, even though a serious injury could cost them a chunk of their paycheck, if not their job. It was all about being present, enjoying the game, and trying to win without a thought for the consequences. Some of them had played professionally for big teams in Mexico before moving to California.
When I got to Fresno, I started playing for Sassoon, an Armenian team, whose players were very accepting of me and never made me feel different, as I mentioned earlier. Every time I step onto the field at Buchanan High School, even today, memories of our practices from over twenty years ago return to my mind. I vividly remember some of my passes, moves, and the shots on goals from the very spots on that green field in 1998.
One of my Sassoon teammates, Adam, became a good friend of mine. We still hang out regularly and cherish our memories from when we were in our twenties while listening to great tunes and drinking cold beer. He’s an extremely hardworking guy who can fix just about anything. He gave me many tips about fixing cars and things around the house throughout the years.
When I returned to Fresno from Kansas, I started playing with a group of Iranian guys, including some quality players, one of whom had played for Fresno State when he was younger. We had some intense moments and even arguments on the field, but that was just part of the game. This was a passionate group of players with a tremendous amount of love for the game. I met a lot of good people during my years of kicking the ball with them at Valley Oak Elementary in Fresno on Sundays.
I started playing with a Laotian and Hmong group around 2009. I saw them play at Bullard High School one day, and the team organizer, Scott, let me join them. Scott was one of those players you enjoy kicking the ball with on a soccer field. His great ball control and precise passing ability combined with quick decision-making and game intelligence made him a valuable midfielder. If you made a run and there was enough space for the soccer ball to fit through or if he had to chip it, Scott would make sure to deliver nine out of ten times.
All of them were good players, passing the ball around well, and I played every Sunday with them for over a decade. This group of quality, college-level players was very consistent, and they placed a high value on sharing the ball and overall quality of the game. Playing with them for over twelve years contributed a great deal to not only my game knowledge but also to my growth as an individual. The group, mainly made up of Laotian and Hmong players, would set an example of respect, hard work, teamwork, and patience on the field that would give me a taste of their culture, which I respected and learned much from.
A few years ago, I found out one of our players lost his young son to a traffic accident, which broke my heart. Not long before the tragic accident I remember us talking about our kids as we put our boots on and stretched at Tice Park, getting ready for a scrimmage on a warm Sunday afternoon. RIP, little brother!
In 2010 I was invited to an annual soccer tournament in honor of Martin Luther King Jr. by some Fresno firefighter friends in Las Vegas. We were joined by a couple of guys from Los Angeles, and I remember one of them, originally from England, being an exceptional player. This tournament brought many good teams from different states to Las Vegas to compete.
We faced a tough team from Texas in the semifinals — they were the defending champions of the past two years. After a tough battle on the field, we went to penalty kicks and we must have taken close to fifteen kicks. We finally beat them, and then we beat another strong team from Colorado 1-0 in the final to win the tournament.
Anytime you play against a tough opponent, soccer will always put your physical abilities, fitness level, decision-making skills, and overall game intelligence to the test. If you don’t get out there regularly, even after playing for many years, the game can turn its back on you in a heartbeat.
As my game experience increased and my game matured, I found it very frustrating to play with teammates who were selfish and immature. Some never improved, still focusing on dribbling, taking joy in scoring goals that didn’t seem to come as a result of organized soccer, keeping possession of the ball for too long, and rarely lifting their heads up to find a player who was in the best position to receive it. I have seen way too many players with speed and strength wasting many opportunities and losing possession because their main focus was on always going forward rather than passing the ball. I always respected players who had the right idea on the field, but for whatever reason failed to execute, more than the ones who had great abilities but made poor decisions, often losing the ball and acting selfishly, testing their own individual skills while disregarding the fact that it was a team sport and every decision they made affected the outcome of the game. This is true during scrimmages and friendly games. Up at a higher level there is no room for either type of player.
The game may seem simple because having good control of the ball and having good passing skills can take you a long way, but as any competitive player will tell you, it’s also complicated, because it requires great awareness of where all of the players are on the field and quick decision-making. At a very competitive level, soccer demands everything you have: fitness, muscle strength, skill level, game intelligence, maturity, and experience are all important components of being a good soccer player. Professional soccer players might have a career of about ten or maybe fifteen years, and then eventually they will get less and less playing time and be replaced with fitter and stronger younger players. At a professional level the competition is fierce, and the game always has high demands.
One of the people who was most frustrating to me on the field was me. I only felt satisfied about one game out of four, on average, that I had exercised good pass accuracy, good decision-making, and generally been a strong presence on the field. I was hard on myself and I was usually not satisfied with my play unless I made very few mistakes on the field. Age also becomes a bigger obstacle as the years go by and the body gets beat up, slowing you down and limiting your abilities. Things you have been doing naturally and easily for many years on the field become harder to execute.
While I didn’t grow up playing baseball or football (two major sports in America), I have a lot of respect for both games, as I do for all sports. I’ve enjoyed watching many World Series and Super Bowl games with friends, sharing their excitement and passion despite not always fully understanding all the rules and details. I recognize and respect the hard work, the skill level, and the strategy required to achieve victory in all team and individual sports.
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