Page 100 of Futbolista
I take a minute to edit out the parts of me just sitting and staring at my phone and watch it through one time to make sure I didn’t stumble too hard while talking from the heart on the fly. And, when it looks good, it goes on my Instagram for the entire world to see.
My thumb shakes a little pressing that Post button. What if this is the end? What if I don’t get acceptance? What if, afterall that talk, I realize that there really isn’t a place for me in this game after today?
No.No regrets. Whatever happens, happens. Whatever life I have after today, it’s going to be great, whether on or off a pitch.
But I really hope it’s on.
I copy the link to the post and go into my texts, finding Vale, pasting it and sending it his way.I don’t expect you to watch this. It’s totally fine if you never do. I just want you to know that I finally found the courage to fight for myself, and I’m not looking back. And I’m really grateful for you and everything you’ve done for me. I always will be.
I stare at the text message, letting out a sigh. This isn’t enough. There’s so much I actually want to tell him. So I don’t fight my thumb as it goes to the Record button, and I send a voice text. “I’m so fucking thankful for you, ba— Vale. You changed my life for the better. I … I’m never not going to love you. And I think … you’re right. We don’t have to be endgame. We don’t have to have a happily ever after. It might be a little too early to start imagining that. But, also—and this might be so shitty of me to be doing this on a voice text, but—maybe we could? Maybe we could find out, if you’d be up for giving me another chance. If you’re up for this life, I’ve got you. My heart is yours, if you still want it.”
And then I go to another convo, seeing at the bottom Pops’s text from not even half an hour ago:Whatever happens today, I’m proud of you, boy. Y te quiero. Échale ganas. See you when you get home.
I hope that he’ll still be proud of me after this. That he’ll still love me. That he’ll still see me as his son. That, after I send him this link, I’ll still have a home to go to.
I have to let faith take the wheel here.
“I love you too, Pops. Always.”
I’m going to watch footage of that block later and still not believe I did that. These Indiana boys managed to get me farther out than I should’ve been, perfectly setting themselves up for a goal attempt, a beautiful kick, high and heading for the top center of the goal. I rush back, my body reacting before my brain, jumping as high as I can and then kicking my right leg up, forcing my body to follow it. The other ninety-nine times I’ve tried this, just casually, I’ve fallen on my ass, my foot kicking nothing but air.
This time, as it feels like I’m backflipping in slow motion, my toes tap the top pole of the post pretty hard. And the ball hits the side of my foot, flying through the air, ending up near the touchline and, better, two of my teammates, who take it back to the other side of the pitch while I land Spider-Man style, my heart nearly beating right out of my chest. And it’s only when my feet and gloves touch the grass that I realize my throat hurts a little and I was screaming the entire time.
“Holy—there you go, Piña! There you go!” Pérez calls out, standing nearby with a couple of my other teammates. “That was sexy, papi!”
And I scream again, just to get out the rest of the adrenaline. Ibekwe yells with me, and so much of the audience is yelling with us too. And I don’t feel alone at all. I feel like I belong.
“We got our keeper back,” he says with a big smile, patting my back. “You got to show me how to do that when we get home, yeah?”
I nod, catching my breath. “You got it, Cap,” I tell him, before he starts running toward the other side of the pitch, ready to help us get another point on the board in the last few minutes we have.
My focus switches between the game and the clock. Minutes turn into seconds. Another attempt by my boys gets blocked by their keeper. They take the ball my way, only to get met withsome South Texas, Gulf Coast defense, Nguyen at the front of the line. In the final moments of the game, one of the Indiana boys makes an attempt from his spot pretty far down the pitch, not seeing any way closer. It lands right in my arms, and, ball in my hands, the game ends.
One point, Indiana. Two points, Texas A&M–Corpus Christi.
A team that had never made it past its own conference championships is leaving this stadium as the NCAA Division I National Champions.I’mleaving this stadium as a National Champion.
And, minutes later, I find out that I’m also leaving as the College Cup Defensive Most Outstanding Player. I’m blocking Ahmed’s nut check, unserious motherfucker, when I hear my name, loud and echoing through WakeMed Soccer Park. At first I think it’s because they saw us playing grab ass and we’re about to get in trouble in front of every important person in the NCAA. But then I hear a bunch of “Piña!Go! What are you standing there for?!”
And when I realize what’s happening, I almost faint. No way this is real life.
It takes my entire team pushing me forward for me to finally move, and when I take the trophy, holding it up, crying like a pinche baby, they’re crowding me, chanting my name, chanting“Islanders,”singing “We Are the Champions.”
This is real life. This is me taking control of my life. This is my dream becoming reality.
“You know, I was wondering if you and Vale were secretly getting it on,” Ahmed says, his smile going into a smirk. “He wanted your dickbad, Piña. Respectfully.”
“And he gave it to him. Respectfully and maybe even a little disrespectfully,” Pérez says, going in for a high five that I only shake my head at as I try my best to keep down a laugh.
Hours after the game, back in our hotel, Ahmed, Nguyen, Pérez, and I are lying on my bed, all of us full on the nicest dinner any of us have ever had in our entire lives, in just our chonies because we all continue to be way too comfortable with one another. There’s a lot back in Texas waiting for me. So many uncertainties. But right now, with my boys, soaking in this win, I’m okay. As good as I can hope to be.
“You love him?” Nguyen asks, his head on a pillow, having mostly ignored us until now.
“I … yeah. I do.”
“Then whatever you need, okay? Just let us know.”
I smile, grabbing Nguyen’s shin and shaking it. “Thanks, bro.”
