Garden of The Humbled Gods

King of The Cancha

Jose stands on the wing of the brightly lit soccer pitch. The tangerine sun burns out over the rows of white sheet-metal buildings. A mural of Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo adorns the entryway. The place is a multi-cultural buzz of players of all levels facing off against one another. Jose and his five-man pickup squad are two games deep into their King of The Cancha reign— Hugo, Carlos, and Hector are Mexican, but Brayan is from Honduras. Using the bottom of his worn-out Rafa Marquez jersey, Jose wipes the sweat off his forehead. It's the second half, and they're tied 2-2— his legs started wobbling a bit ago. His ribs hurt in the spot where they were broken, but he doesn't want to be subbed out. The bright green artificial turf field is his blue sky. On the pitch, he's free from kickoff to the final whistle. His chest burns from the fresh air. He clashes shoulder to shoulders with his opponents. In the game, everyone is equal. He forbids his legs from giving out. Placing a hand on his side, he orders his lungs to keep sucking fire. Timing his run perfectly down the flank, Brayan's sends a deftly paced through ball that splits the defenders. Jose sprints after it— sliding, he saves it just before it goes out of bounds. Popping up, he cuts on a dime, letting the defender over pursue and fly past him. Slipping past the backline undetected, Hector makes a slick run into the box, just barely managing to stay on side just long enough for Jose to cross the ball into the box. Hector tries to catch it on the volley, but wrong-foots it by an inch, sending his shot wide— "Fuck!"

The team they are playing against is made up mostly of UT frat boys, except for one Brazilian guy that they just subbed in. He's easily in his 50's with a stomach that's stressing the fibers on his kit— but even at this age and form, he's clearly a ringer. A few of the older people in the stands start whispering back and forth like they recognize him. You can tell by how natural he moves on the field, that he's somebody. The back of his jersey reads Kazinho. People pull out their phones to Google him. Sure enough, this Brasileiro was a member of the 1994 National Team. Kazinho lays the ball off to a slight framed blond kid and makes a run down the middle of the field. Seeing Kazinho call for the ball back, Jose races to intercept it, but he comes up just short on his slide, leaving him scrambling to catch back up to the former pro. Kazinho pushes forward into the box, joined by a teammate who comes in as a late runner, nimbly playing the ball off the outside of his foot to the striker, the blond kid one times the pass, putting his laces clean through it. Hugo dives to save the shot, but the ball is already in the back of the net. Just like that, their down 3-2. The kid celebrates the goal with his fellow UT teammates, purposely leaving Kazinho outside of their huddle. Heading back to midfield to restart, the goal scorer bumps into Jose as he runs by, "MAGA motherfucker!"

"Excuse me?"

The kid stops in his tracks and walks back to Jose, "You heard me wetback."

Seeing the confrontation brewing from the stands, Rosa jumps to her feet to intervene, "Jose!"

Elena's watching too. Her big brown eyes are locked on her father's every move— unknowingly learning a valuable lesson. Jose looks over and sees Rosa shaking her head no at him. He knows he should walk away— but it's more than that. It's navigating the political ocean of social engineering. Plus, this guy is an asshole.

The kid continues to taunt him, "If you got something to say, then say it."

Jose pushes the kid. Brayan and Carlos jump in to break them up. The kid pushes him back. Teammates from both sides do their best to separate the scuffle. Both men shrug free from their handlers to go back at each other—

pulling him back again, Carlos presses him to chill out, "Jose— stop! Do you want them to call the cops? Elena is watching."

Hearing his daughter's name takes the red out of Jose's eyes, but the other kid is still flipping shit, "Fuck you bitch. I hope someone calls ICE on your ass!"