This was mainly written for Zu's team mates and their parents in Monmouth. Skip to the other posts below if not interested.
On our third day here we were down at Pisac, a small town about 40 minutes away from
Cuzco. We saw about 20 teenagers being
trained on a beautiful pitch beside the hotel. It was all being taken very
seriously. By chance we then bumped into
the coach as we were about to return to Cuzco. I asked about training for 9
year olds. He scribbled down the address
of a monastery and the name ‘Stephen’, English Soccer School.
We found the run-down old monastery and on the gate was a
sign for English Soccer School with telephone number but on the pitch there was
another club training – Alianza Junior.
They were very welcoming and we took down their details. Then friends took us to another school run by
Martin Garcia, who won the Copa de Libertadores with Cienciano, the only Cuzco
team to have won it. There was no one
there but the pitch they train on looked awful – large patches of bare mud. We also felt little intimidated by the
area; it was something of a no-man’s
land. (Martha’s handbag has already been stolen and we are perhaps a little jittery).
A fourth option was put to us by a taxi driver: the Alianza Lima – Cuzco. They were a little gruff on the phone but
said Zu could join.
All this was right at the end of their long summer holidays
and almost all the clubs were still running their holiday sessions – three
hours a day, five days a week! We waited to see the term-time timetable (starting
on March 1st). In the end we
plumped for English Soccer School who train 3.30 to 6.00 on Tuesdays and
Thursdays and from 9.00 to 12.00 on Saturdays, largely because this timing
suits us. For this we pay about
£11/month. This helps to pay the
assistant coaches, probably at a reasonable rate for Peru. I think it also
subsidises the boys with promise whose parents can’t afford to pay.
The chief coach, Stephen, is a missionary from Bristol. He does the organising but doesn’t do much
coaching. In fact, on most of the
occasions we’ve been there, he has spent the majority of the session jawing with
me. He’s been here seven or eight years
and is married to a Peruvian but I think he’s a bit homesick. The two men who do the actual coaching are
Michel and Miguel, cousins, and are excellent. Although called ‘English Soccer
School’ there is not an English voice to be heard except Stephen’s.
All this is probably making it sound as though the football
scene is quite organised. It isn’t. Training nominally begins at 3.30 but if you
turn up at that time you’ll be guaranteed a good long wait for the first coach
or boy. Turn up at 4.00 and they might
just be thinking of fetching the balls from the lock-up. Nor can you guarantee
a good turn-out. If it looks rainy or
cold (and now is the end of the rainy season) only five or six might turn up.
The training itself is good.
There is a surprising amount of emphasis on physical fitness. The boys have to run round the pitch with the
ball, without the ball, then walk round to recover. Zu was a little breathless at first but is
now fine. Then the exercises themselves
involve more running. But of course
individual skills aren’t neglected. They
have to dance their way through cones or sticks with the ball, forwards and
backwards, with right foot, with left foot.
And they are taught to curl the ball when shooting, both with the inside
and outside of the foot. Zu loves the
shooting sessions – the ball whistles through the air with delicious speed at
11,000 feet.
We get to training in a mini-bus colectivo. Luckily the route
begins near our house and we get a seat. However, it fills up rapidly and after
five minutes all the 14 seats are full.
But they still stop merrily at bus stops and try to entice more
passengers on. We’ve had 26 before,
which inevitably means someone almost sitting on my knee and a fight to get
off. Luckily the conductors tend to be
very bossy and force the other passengers to make way. Strangely this means of
transport feels much safer than going by taxi; the taxi drivers like to weave
their way through the traffic but anticipation is rarely a strong point. The
cost for the half journey is another advantage – 20p for the two of us.
At the first session most of the better players were away
playing in the semi-final of a tournament.
But there were still twelve or so at the training so a game could be
played. It soon became apparent that Zu
was the best player on the pitch and his side were soon five or six up. One rather loud-mouthed boy on the other
side, who obviously fancied himself,
took exception to this. When Zu next took the ball off him he suddenly
let out a shriek. “He pinched me! He
pinched me!” he shouted to the ref, Michel.
The ref, with a slight grin, walked up to him while all the other
players crowded round. “Show me the mark” he said. Of course there was none and all the other
boys gave him a good ribbing. His tussles
with Zu remained equally competitive but he did not resort to foul play again. I was amused to see that this boy put on a
top after the game with ‘Alemania’ on the back.
The first team won their semi-final and we went along to the
final. This was played on the artificial
grass training pitch of Garcilaso, one of the two first division clubs in
Cuzco. The opponents were the Academy
boys from Cienciano, the other big team.
Before the match, ‘English’ went into a huddle which took rather a long
time. The ref became impatient and blew
his whistle a few times. I suddenly
realised that Stephen was leading them in prayer. Alas, it did not help. Cienciano were better and more physical. They had a centre half and midfielder who
were like young Kray twins and the little ‘English’ flies were pushed off the
ball time and time again. The ‘English’
supporters were incensed by this and shouted all sorts of rude things at the
ref, albeit in very good humour. In
between they chanted (in thick Spanish accents) “Ingleesh, ingleesh, ingleesh”. In the end Cienciano won 3-0. Zu of course was itching to play and could
possibly have made a difference. The
coaches are keen to know if he will be available for the next tournament in
April, so they obviously think he can make the team.
Of course this is not all the
football Zu plays. Just up the hill from
us is a concrete football –come– basketball pitch. He loiters there after school and has
inveigled himself into several games. We have been hoping he would learn some
more Spanish doing this but if the language of football is universal it isn’t
sophisticated: aca, aca, aca (here,
here, here) is about all they seem to shout except gooooool!
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