June fragments

This is what’s been happening in June:

My mom has been visiting from Ecuador. A couple of hours ago she boarded a train to go to Kansas City. Who knows whether she’ll arrive there; she called to say that the train was moving at 15 m.p.h. and she was worried about missing her connection in Chicago.

Ooh, she just texted to say that she’s in LaPorte (one county away from South Bend). Go, Mom, go!

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At the church, it’s Kids’ Week. I’ve volunteered to help lead the second-graders. I try not to breathe on them. I’ve been sick.

On Monday I especially enjoyed the fierce game of noodle ball (similar to field hockey; the sticks are polyethylene foam noodles — you know, what you’d play with in a swimming pool). And I enjoyed making and eating the snack. The kids also enjoyed those things.

On Tuesday I didn’t participate because I was coughing a lot. Today I’m trying to be well enough to participate. I bought a cough suppressant.

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Other weeks, I’ve been in the church nursery watching the babies and toddlers so that their mothers can attend a prayer meeting.

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On Sunday afternoons I’ve been playing soccer at Clay Township Park. The fields there are terrible — sloped; potholed; with long grass. Still, I’ve made a few golazos.

I bought a lovely soccer ball, but it got kicked out of bounds and then a car ran over it. The car was going in the wrong direction on a one-way street.

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This coming Sunday, I’ll be a groomsman in the wedding of Kenny & Lara.

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And then there’s work, of course, but I don’t have anything to say about that.

Copa Confederaciones

Pre-match:

Respetamos a Tahití como a cualquiera.
[Andrés Iniesta]

Germany, Peru, Argentina

Katrina, my old friend, kindly writes:

When are you gonna post something about [the] Ecuador vs. Peru game? Will you post anything about [the] Ecuador vs. Argentina game? I always look to YOUR blog for informed commentary =)

This hurts to think about. Even so:

What afflicts us is temperamental immoderation: extreme cockiness, extreme pessimism. We really do think we can outplay anyone. And yet we can’t help but throw our games away.

For Ecuadorians this is old news:

We’re ranked 10th in the world, the highest we’ve ever been. We deserve it. Licking our chops, we schedule a “test” match in Florida against Germany, No. 2 in the world.

On the eve of this match we broadcast one of our team showers (PG-13). Very cocky.

During the match, on the first play, Gabriel Achilier tries to dribble around Lukas Podolski — very cocky! — and gets his pocket picked: nine seconds in, we’re down 0 to 1. Soon, it’s 0 to 4, thanks to more errors by Achilier and other demoralized defenders.

Around minute 30, we wake up and decide to pin the Germans in their own box; we do this for the rest of the game. It’s clear that Joachim Löw, the German coach, is suffering. Still, the German players are good, and so we manage just two goals against them. What we gain from this “test” is the feeling that even though we can dominate anyone, we’re still prone to losing through sheer carelessness.

This feeling persists into the Peru qualifier. In Lima, we’re a bundle of nerves. Once again we concede an early goal. Then the Peruvians pack their own box for the rest of the game. From watching the Germans, they’ve learned to try to score quickly and then concentrate on defending.

And so ends our unbeaten streak against Peru in tournaments. Our previous defeat was in 1977.

Next, in Quito, it’s Argentina, No. 3 in the world. By this time we’re nervous as hell. Right away we give up a silly penalty, and it’s 0 to 1. Another hill to climb.

We assault them with everything. The Argentinians are punch-drunk. At minute 16, it’s 1 to 1.

Not only are the Argentinians desperate, we’re dribbling past them at will. And this is when we regain our cockiness. Our play is downright disrespectful. Never have we been so dominant against anyone so good. Again and again, the Argentinians can do nothing but kick the ball out of bounds. We earn twenty-two corner kicks. TWENTY-TWO. Oh, it’s breathtaking … but it’s ineffective. The game ends, a stalemate.

This is our soccer team; this is our nation; this is John-Paul. Humility, that delicate balance, is so difficult to achieve.

Portage

On the 3A and the 3B, the Portage Avenue routes, the bus makes many stops. Some are planned; others occur when necessary, e.g. when there’s too much swearing. “Profanity is not acceptable,” says the driver into his microphone.

Grizzled men protest their innocence.

“My bad,” says an old lady. “I said fuck.”

The bus starts up again; the bantering is resumed; the bus stops. “If you continue using that language,” says the driver, “I’ll throw you off the bus.” The crowd giggles. Camaraderie.

Two men sit down next to me. “Relax,” says one. “It’s OK to be seated next to a black man.” (On the bus I’m not unused to this sort of challenge.) I glare. They laugh. “Just messin’,” they say. We fist-bump.

“I don’t care if you make fun of me,” I tell them. They pretend not to hear.

“What are you reading?” they ask. I show them An Experiment in Love by Hilary Mantel, who’s twice won the Man Booker.

Solemnly, they nod. Respect.

Some drivers are less patient than others, and so I always make sure to thank them; this has put me into their good graces. Still, it’s not surprising that the driver who’s kindest to me is another puny white guy. When I disembark, I thank him, and he warmly says: “Take care.”

As I step out onto the pavement, I have a vision: a banquet hall (a warehouse) with many tables at which are seated the passengers and drivers. I hear my name called out: I’m summoned to the podium. I’ve been chosen as the MVP. The MVP of riding the bus.

The end? pt. 2

If Xanga is shut down, or if I must pay to keep on using it, I’ll switch over to Blogger. I’ve created this site:

JUANPUEBLO 2

(How’s the layout? I’m trying to maintain some semblance to the old blog.)

Until further notice, please continue commenting on Xanga. Gradually I’ll upload a lot of my old entries to Blogger. Not that they do me any great credit; still, I think they’re worth preserving so that interested people can have a record of how, for better or worse, one life is being changed.

The end?

The end of Xanga? That would make me sad.

Stay tuned.