Multi-national soccer at Robb Field

It is 10 a.m. and miraculously the match is about to begin on time. The sky is clear, the air crisp and breezy. A few seagulls, in search of a little warmth, circle the field looking for bits of picnic leftovers. The players are ready — United Iraqis in red, Panamerica in green — prancing in place, impatiently waiting for the toss of the coin. An athlete jokes with friends in Arabic and tells a dark-haired woman how many goals he’s going to score for her.

The referee, in judicial black, flips the coin. It goes to Panamerica. Their center-forward takes the ball, dribbles a few unhurried steps, and passes it to the right-forward. Both teams start moving en masse toward the Iraqi goal, where their goalie tenses into a crouch, hands outstretched, daring the ball to enter his domain. The green forward hesitates, checking for someone to unload the ball on as the opposition defenders close in. He tries to maneuver around the guard; a lateral kick is intercepted. The players reverse directions and begin to run to the opposite side of the field.

The small number of fans are scattered on the grass of Robb Field, behind the sidelines. Most are wives, children, parents, and friends of the athletes. In between swigs of Coke, young men shout encouragement to the straining, sweating players: “Eso, Roberto, eso.” Big-eyed children chase each other, struggling with regulation-size soccer balls, while their mothers occasionally lure them back with offers of oranges and other goodies. Young girls try to tempt the seagulls to land by holding up apple cores and potato chips. Here and there a kerchiefed grandmother reminds us that the Old World is not so far away.

When the ball isn't in his possession, the Iraqis' player-coach, a longish-haired Austrian, yells instructions and encouragement in guttural tones, accompanied by emphatic gestures. “Abdullah, up, up!” with a large sweep of the arms; "David, back!” plus a motion pointing out the proper position. His Panamerican counterpart paces fretfully on the sideline, trailed by an entourage of substitutes and enthusiastic fans, all offering comments in Spanish that the players are too excited to heed.

The United Iraqis and Panamerica are both members of the San Diego County Soccer Association, a non-profit organization, staffed by volunteers, that has grown from six teams in 1964 to its present twenty-three teams and two divisions. The top eleven teams are in the major division; the remainder make up the first division. At the end of the season, which lasts from October through March, the top two teams from the first division move up to the majors, while the two with the worst records from the latter drop back.

According to Dieter Steinrichter, Secretary of the Soccer Association, sixty percent of the teams are sponsored by social clubs, such as the German-Americans, Italia-America, and United Iraqis. The remaining forty percent are backed by small businesses: Sparta is the Athens West restaurant's team, while Solunto is sponsored by the downtown bakery of the same name. Sponsors provide funds for Association fees, player registration, uniforms, laundry, refreshments, and an occasional victory treat. The cost of having a soccer team used to average around $100 for the year but, like the price of everything else, has gone up to about $600, with referees the most expensive item.

Although this is an amateur league, competition can become intense; the players sometimes forget that they are in suburban San Diego and begin to imagine themselves in the final game of the World Cup.

The press toward the Panamerican goal is on. No one is tired yet and the action is swift. The Iraqi center-halfback kicks a long, high one. A red and a green leap simultaneously in the air; red heads the ball. A teammate runs to retrieve it. using his body to prevent his opponent from getting too near. He feints right, thrusts the ball around the Panamerican fullback and meeting it on the other side without missing a step, delivers it to the Iraqi right-forward. There is a hurried, diagonal shot at the goal — into the arms of the plunging goalie. The spectators sigh, some in relief, others in pain.

The ball arches high and deep into Iraqi territory. Two fullbacks race for it, bodies lunging, muscles striving — trying to edge each other out. The small Panamerican controls it. Using his body as a shield, he pivots and laterals to his teammate, who starts forward blindly and crashes into his guard. The Iraqi goes down, turning a fall into a graceful somersault. (Although soccer is not a contact sport, an injured player has to practically be writhing on the ground, gushing blood, to earn a time out.) The referee whistles; a penalty kick is awarded to United Iraqi. The greens line up in front of their goal. The free kick sails over their heads and just misses the goal — no score.

Panamerica, to the attack, relays the ball down to the other side. The linesman’s flag jerks up; the whistle blows. Offsides. Ball to United Iraqis, quickly intercepted by a Panamerican, who dribbles to the left and lets loose with a strong kick to the right corner of the goal. The goalie dives desperately and misses — score. Panamerica 1, United Iraqis 0.

Halftime. The teams amble off the field and gather around their respective picnic jugs. They are hot and tired and seem grateful for the halftime respite. Some men take off their shirts and wring the liquid out of them. They gulp down bottles of soda and juice and exchange heated observations about the first half.

“We gotta pass more, man. Give me the ball when I’m wide open.”

“I wish I’d gotten more sleep last night; then I’d outrun that guy”

One of the fathers has brought oranges fresh from his El Cajon grove. He distributes them to participant and observer alike, laughingly overriding the latter’s weak protests that they aren't playing and don't deserve any. The oranges are sweet and good, not having made the trek from farm to central receiving to supermarket.

Teams tend to form along ethnic lines, reflecting the cultural composition of San Diego — Italian-, Greek-, Arab-, Mexican-, Yugoslavian-. English-, and all-American - but there is a lot of intermingling. For instance, the United Iraqis have an Austrian coach, Chicano and Greek forwards, a Chinese halfback, and a couple of Americans among its Arab majority.

Participants range in age from high school through middle age. Some of the fifty-year-olds look like they spend most of their afternoons in the neighborhood gym, and what they lack in movement, they make up in savvy. They seem to know instinctively where the ball is going, so don't have to chase around so much.

Steinrichter said that the emphasis of the Soccer Association is on participation, and that the interest in soccer has grown so much in the past two years, especially with the arrival of Pele, that the league expects thirty teams to sign up next year. There are more American players now, and both Mesa College and UCSD field teams in the major division. Steinrichter added that they’d like to see more spectators at the matches, which are usually played on Sundays at Robb Field and other community colleges.

The athletes enjoy having people besides their families watching them play.

One last swallow, one last pull on their knee socks and the players jog out for the second half, with determined expressions. There is one point separating the two teams, which Panamerica is resolved to defend, and United Iraqis to overcome.

The men are tired – the previous night's activities are beginning to tell — and the action is slower. There is more trotting than running, and tempers are short. The atmosphere tightens up; several fans stand up to get a better view. The Iraqis control the ball deep in Panamerican territory. The red left-forward dribbles toward the goal; a green moves to the defense. There’s a whistle blocking or pushing? The ref rules pushing, and the Iraqis surround him voicing disagreement. Some argue, others supplicate; the coach stands in front of him. arms outstretched, palms upward. Voices are raised. Suddenly the referee whips out a yellow card and takes down the name of a player a warning for yelling. One more offense and the player will be suspended for two games. His teammates pat him on the shoulders to calm him down and push him away from the referee. Everyone settles down to business and play resumes.