Futbol Mundial con Grev

El Centro de Idiomas Oxford 5 - 15 Some Guatemaltecos

Well, it is the global game I suppose, but still I was surprised and delighted to discover that the language school had a football team - and not the American kind either. Having been handed my kit I headed for the mall with my extremely limited Spanish to try to buy a pair of football trainers. Guatemalan people are on average smaller than the average westener and the lady in the shoe shop looked at me mystified when I asked for a pair of US size 12's. After about ten minutes rummaging in the back of the shop she finally came back with what may be the only pair of size 11.5 trainers in Guatemala. With little choice, reader, I bought them.

Early signs for the game weren't good. We had 5 definites for a 7-a-side game, with two Guatemalan possibles (that's pretty much a definite no show in any other country). One of the 5, Ben, had never played football before either. Our chances of improving our 1-21 record were not looking great.

Still, I kitted up and went around to our team meeting point, the house of team stalwarts Hergil (GK) and Joe (DF). "You'd better have a drink then," said Joe, handing me a tot of white rum. "Sorry, it's not very nice and we usually try to have more. It tends to numb the pain of defeat though." Well, it beats stretching and running I guess. By this point one of the Guatemalans has shown up, but the mood is still not hopeful.

We wound out to the south of Guatemala City up the kind of road usually seen leading to Alpine passes. Climbing ever higher out of the city I begin to wonder whether this is a good idea. Even down in the city centre we're 1,502m above sea level (that's more than Ben Nevis is) and we're adding another couple of hundred here I'm sure. That, allied to the fact that I've been violently ill and haven't eaten a square meal in two days makes me wonder whether I'll be able to keep the pace.

Still, we pile out of the cars and onto the pitch. The Guatemalans are already there, taking great pleasure in hitting the ball with supreme power and no accuracy whatsover into the advertising hoarding above the goal. A ball rolls to my feet. Time to demonstrate a bit of European sophistication I figure, picking out a spot in the top corner and plotting the precise, graceful curve that will take it there. Naturally, the ball slices high and wide nowhere near the net. I jog over to retrieve it and find myself breathless and sweating. Oh dear.

So the game kicks off and it feels like thousands of tiny Guatemalans swarm around my ankles, much like the thousands of tiny dots swarming in front of my eyes. I'm going to claim the altitude and the illness and not the fact that I haven't broken out of a waddle for about two months, save to dash for my life across Guate's highways. Within a few minutes we are three nil down, and lucky it's only that. Then I get booked for the tiniest clip on an opposition shin (seriously, I really didn't deserve this) which angers me sufficiently to rob one of the midfielders and run half the length of the pitch to score our opening goal. Sadly, this feat renders me inoperative for the rest of the half and we go in 8-1 down.

The second half is markedly better though. Some rugged defending from debutant (in football, ever) Ben makes the oppo think twice about coming anywhere near him. I score again on a rare foray upfield before director Scott slams in a long range hat-trick. Sadly, the goals have been trickling in at the other end and the oppositions never ending supply of substitutes sashay onto the pitch poised and ready. Eventually, the end comes at 15-5 against us.

The overall feeling was not too bad, a bit fitter and with some key players back we might be able to make a bit of a go of it. I promise that I will do some running and possibly climb a volcano before the next time that we play. Oh, and if you're looking for a football team in Guatemala, please give us a call, yeah?