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The universal sounds of soccer

From my vantage point several stories above them, I looked down at what seemed to me to be a rousing game of what I would refer to as soccer — or what they would call football.

At first, there was just one boy, probably in his early teens, dribbling the ball with his feet and then firing off a shot against the back side of a shed that obviously was falling apart. I suspect that it wasn’t just the force of the soccer ball contributing to the shed’s condition, but, then again, the kid had a hard kick.

My guess is it was the sound of each thud the ball made as it struck the shed that awakened the rest of the neighborhood.

Soon one, then two, then three boys of the same age joined in the action. It was as if the original youth was the pied piper of St. Maarten.

Mind you, that was not a regular soccer field — or pitch — as we would watch our children and grandchildren play on.

Their field — if you could really call it that — was a mixture of grass, rocks and dirt. There was lots of dirt. Although I could not tell for sure from my vantage point, I suspect the field also had lots of holes and divets. The grass was of varying lengths in height, as if some areas were exposed to more sun than others.

Honestly, though, as hot as it was that day, I expect a lack of sun was not much of a contributing factor to the growth of the grass.

A chain-link fence surrounded the playing field on three sides. The fourth side was bordered by a five-story cement apartment complex, where I suspect most of the youth hailed from.

I mention the fence as it was an important saving grace many a time, keeping the ball in the field of play rather than ending up in the water of the port.

Only an 18-foot strip of sidewalk and narrow path of dirt separated the fence from the water.

There were no nets, nor goalies. On one side, two trees seemed to be the boundaries of a makeshift net, while, on the other, two sticks pounded next to the fence seemed to be their other markers.

It was obvious the game being played did not occur randomly. I would guess it was a daily ritual, as the boys were talented, both in their dribbling skills but also in the velocity of their shots.

And, like in any other country around the world, soon, the sounds from the field must have drifted up and through the neighborhood, as it wasn’t too long before a group of girls wandered over and watched the action.

I share that because some of us would believe the world is large and foreign places seem remote and strange.

I would contend that, instead, the world is small and foreign places aren’t that much different than here at home.

The difference between here and there is opportunity, wealth, and privilege.

I understand my wife and I were blessed to be on the cruise ship that was in port at St. Maarten that afternoon. We were part of a trip of travelers cruising through the Caribbean recently.

I understand that, as I had a hundred choices from a buffet that evening, many of those youths may only have had fish and rice for dinner.

I understand what a privilege it was for me to be where I was at that moment.

And I thanked God for that opportunity.

But, just as some viewed the world as flat hundreds of years ago, I was reminded that no, the world is indeed round. It matters not whether you are a young teenager in Alpena or a young teenager in Philipsburg or St. Maarten, much of life’s experiences are fairly similar.

The sound of a soccer ball is universal wherever we find ourselves, whatever our circumstances.

Bill Speer retired in 2021 as the publisher and editor of The News. He can be reached at bspeer@thealpenanews.com.

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