Ninety Minutes of Freedom
by Felix Fausto
It all started one Saturday at twelve in the afternoon, when the guys from H-unit are permitted to come through the gate. Just like every Saturday at noon and Tuesdays at six in the evening, the field fills with anticipation as the whole team gets ready and waits for the opponent to arrive. Everybody in my team looks forward to the ninety minutes of freedom we get every time we play soccer against a team from the outside world. The teams from the outside come to give us a taste of the freedom all of us have lost and we feel while we play the sport we love.
It takes about an hour for three or four guys to line the field and no less than nine guys to move the goals into position. These goals are heavier than the previous goals we used, which were made out of two inch round, thin wall tubing and had been broken and welded so many times that the maintenance guy finally decided to make a new set. The field we play in isn’t intended for soccer. In fact it’s a baseball field, which naturally, about a quarter of it is red sand. Sometimes players trip over second base or the pitcher’s mound and depending on the severity, it’s sometimes funny. But even though it’s a baseball field we are able to chalk the lines for a soccer field. It’s much better than the dirt fields I played on when I was a kid in Mexico. The field is about a third smaller than the official size and despite the opposition Coach Campbell has managed to get us time to use it. Football and baseball coaches wish they didn’t have to share the field with us. It may be because the team is made up of mainly Hispanics and in the U.S. soccer is not as popular as it is in the rest of the world.
It’s almost one in the afternoon, the field chalked from the day before, the goals in place and the whole team is in shorts and cleats. I periodically look toward the spot where the team from the outside normally emerges. We don’t even have a ball to warm up with because the guard doesn’t open the box with the soccer equipment unless the coach is present. At about five minutes to one, Santana, the tallest guy in our team, noticed the team emerging and like a kid who hasn’t seen his father for a while, excitedly says, “Here they come, but they’re only ten of them.” The coach is leading them as a commander leads his army. They have two nice balls and even though the balls look used they are still in good shape. The black and white ball felt good when I kicked it, unlike the cheaper version balls the coach brings in for us to practice.
The outside team was wearing maroon T-shirts and shorts of different colors, just like us, except our shorts are of some cheap brand name. Everyone in their team is taller than Santana and looks fit. They went straight to the field and started warming up and kicking the ball while the coach rounds up every one of us to make the line up. Coach stared at me and said, “The three guys who helped line the field, grab a shirt and stand over here” as he points to his left. “There were four of us,” I said to him because he was leaving out Moreno, the new guy on the team. Moreno had been of great help the day before, when Parcasio, Camargo, Moreno and I lined the field. “Fine,” said the coach and continued calling names and positions.
After Coach Campbell made the line up he asked Johnny, a Filipino guy, to help the other team so we wouldn’t have a man more than them. Johnny is kind of short with long hair, but his skill makes up for his lack of height. The outside team had a shirt for Johnny to use, but it was red instead. Within ten minutes of the team’s arrival the game began. My team is nervous at first because it’s our first game of the season. Right after kick off, I made a mistake and the opponent took possession of the ball. It’s no big deal because, as in basketball, possession of the ball is constantly changing.
About five minutes into the first half the other team scored on us. Our mistakes are their accomplishments and inevitably some of my teammates began to get frustrated. As I’m returning the ball to the center of the field to continue the game, I’m talking to the rest of the team with words of encouragement. “Hey guys, relax, pass the ball before they’re on you. That was a lucky shot, we can take them. Come on.” The words of encouragement paid off because soon after the restart of the game, we made a play that landed the ball at Moreno’s feet. He took the shot from two yards outside the eighteen yard box and despite his lack of angle and the goalkeeper’s blocking position, he is able to put the ball in the goal. By now all members, except the goalkeepers, are sweaty because of the intensity of the game. Many shots have been taken by both teams, some blocked by the goalkeepers and others missed. There are inmates on the sidelines cheering for both teams and the game continues with the intensity that characterizes soccer.
The game continued as intense for the rest of the first half and after we score to tie the game my team relaxed a bit and eventually the nervousness went away. Soccer is characterized for the intensity it takes to play and the good physical condition the players must have to play competitive. Even the most boring game requires a lot of energy to run the two forty-five minute halves. The coach has made some substitutions in our team and since the outside team doesn’t have any extra men they continue to play with the same players. We are blessed to have Coach Campbell helping make the soccer program possible. Without him there wouldn’t be teams coming in to play and the program would be nonexistent.
Coach Campbell is also the referee and with his makeshift whistle he signaled the end of the first half with the score tied at three to three. The whistle is one of those whistles given to kids at birthday parties. The whole idea is not to confuse it with the whistle the guards use to signal a fight or a medical code. The outside team brought bottled water, which they left at the end of the field and as soon as the whistle was blown to mark the half time they headed to get some needed rest and drink some water. They are showing signs of fatigue, more than we are, but they are still playing very well. We don’t have access to bottled water but we have a water fountain on the side of the field. Right next to the water fountain the Native American Indians have a place to hold their ritual ceremonies and sometimes they let us use the water hose to drink from or cool ourselves.
Once we’ve gotten a drink Coach Campbell called everyone in to give us a few words of encouragement in his own unique way. “You guys are out of shape and your passing is terrible. You have the talent to win this game but you lack the conditioning.” Coach has always told us that, “You may play ninety nine percent well the whole time, but I’m always going to make remarks on the one percent.”
After giving us his words of encouragement, Coach sends the new line up to the field. Once both teams are ready he whistled the beginning of the second half. It’s their turn to kick off since we kicked off at the start of the game. The few minutes of the rest and the drink of water have helped both teams greatly.
Twenty minutes into the second half, we are still tied three to three. The intensity of the game has diminished a little because all the running, jumping and kicking has taken its toll on all the players. Both teams have made numerous amounts of good plays, but neither team has been able to score. We have our best defenders in the line up and they have been doing a great job. The same could have been said about the opponent until a ball was kicked up the field by our defenders. But it wasn’t pure luck that I was in the right place. Like in any sport, position, timing, and the application of the right move can be fatal for the opponent. I didn’t let the ball bounce off the grass, instead I yelled “Moreno,” who was standing behind, in line with the opponent’s defense. I head butted the ball over the defender and landed about three yards in front of Moreno. My scream was his signal to start running and when the ball hit the ground he was all alone in front of the goalkeeper. It seemed like one of those plays you see in a World Cup game and the guys in the side lines cheered as Moreno scored the tie breaker.
Not having made any substitutions hurt the other team and the results showed. We kept pushing to score again and again, but they weren’t easy prey. But our perseverance finally paid off at about five minutes before the end of the game. This time I sent a ball from the right side of the field, which landed about six yards outside the eighteen yard box. George caught that ball in the air with his right foot and gave it a kick with such effect that it kept moving toward the outside of the goal, as if it was going to miss, but it went in exactly at the left top corner of the goal. It was amazing. The goalkeeper couldn’t believe his eyes and by the time he tried to prevent that ball from going into the goal, it was too late.
We kept pressing and so did the other team, but it was too late for them to recover from the type of advantage in goals we had and the game ended with the score at five to three.
This is my second season with the team and the guys who have been in the longest appreciate my addition to the team. It has been the best thing that has happened to me in sports since I’ve been down.
It’s remarkable that for the last ninety minutes the alarm hasn’t sounded. It normally sounds every time there is a fight or a medical emergency, but today has been silent. It’s perhaps why during those ninety minutes I’ve felt away from this place, away from the noise of the keys on the correctional officer’s waist. During all this time I haven’t noticed the barbed wire on top of the fence, ten yards behind the south goal, the fifteen foot wall on the north end or the five gun towers that surround the whole lower yard. It’s as if I’ve been dreaming or I’m back in high school hearing Mr. Cavender’s deep, loud voice cheering from the bleachers on the side of the field. He was always there to support the team. During all this time, I’ve been transported to a different world where there are no problems, no violence, no law, and no prison.
Both teams gathered at the center of the field for the hand shake and as I started to thank Alex and Rogelio for coming, coach interrupted me to say some words of appreciation followed by a round of applause from the whole team.
The outside team followed Coach Campbell to leave and we gathered our stuff to return to our building and head for the shower. As Moreno and I are walking up the stairs and celebrating our victory the most amazing thing happened when Moreno said, “SHIT.” He looked me straight in the eyes, “I had forgotten I was in prison.” Just then I realized that I wasn’t the only inmate who felt that way.
Soccer means something different to everyone. For the baseball and football teams in here, soccer takes away field time they could use to play or practice. For Coach Campbell soccer is sometimes a pain in the butt because he has to leave the comfort of his home to come deal with us. At times he has to deal with all those opposed to the soccer team using the field. Yet, to others, soccer is a wonderful way to make a living, 24 million Euros for Ronaldinho, the best paid player in the world. But for inmates in San Quentin, soccer means ninety minutes of freedom every time a team from the outside comes to play against us.
