PELE’ THE MEXICAN SOCCER PHENOM 2005

In the summer of 2005, shortly after our retirement in Calgary, I receive a call from my friend/associate in Mexico. It had been a while since we had been together, however, we were often in touch. Sale (pronounced Sal e’ Mexican slang for “I’m outta here”), as I liked to call him, was born, raised and worked in Coatzacoalcos Mexico. He was a very successful businessman, from a large family of businessmen and woman. He called to ask a favour. It seems like the time had arrived, for his middle son Pele’, to leave home for a year or two of international education. Their family tradition, was that each and every member of the family would receive some form of education out of country, before being returned home, and unleashed on the Mexican people. He asked if we would host his boy. Deysi and I talked it over and she agreed that this would be a good thing to do.

I will call this boy Pele’ a pseudonym reflecting his own image of his soccer skills. Pele’ was enrolled in a private school in Calgary, not far from where we lived. He was going to study grade 11 in English and had the “full boat” of courses. “Geezus”, I thought. I can only imagine my dad enrolling me in a foreign country, to study in a foreign language, at that age. I just shuddered when I thought of the disaster, that, that would have been. By the time I was in grade eleven, studying in my own language and being at home, with mom protecting me, was hard enough. In any event, I am not sure that poor old Pele’ was given any choice. One day, near the end of August they arrived.

From the minute they arrived, you could see Pele’ was brimming with self confidence. There was not a humble bone in his body. He spoke moderate English, probably about three levels better than my Spanish skills. He was not shy, but still had that aura of tenderness shaped by 15 years of nurturing from his mother. You could just feel his energy. His dad tried to keep him calm, but underneath his nervousness, you could just see an ass kicking, competitive nature, busting to be set free on Canada. At long last, my dreams had come true. For the past 20 or so years, I had been forced to stifle my nurturing tendencies. Deysi, Ange and Ron would not tolerate me guiding them. Not even a tiny bit! They called it “picking on” them. Deysi was the defender of womanhood in our home. Her protection covered all of the female family members. My own boys, were, by this time, too big for me to work on.

I now viewed Pele’ as “fresh meat” and someone in need of my attention. And I might say, he provided me with endless laughter and fun. His presence helped me pass the long hours, when the Canadian climate and bugs kept me indoors. I think that by the time he left, almost a year later, I had managed to thicken his skin a bit. He gave me an outlet to vent my endless teasing on. I had a great time. I’m not sure about Pele’, but he did stick it out. From the first day at school we realized that this young, innocent boy from Mexico would have absolutely no trouble academically or socially amongst his peers. The girls loved him. They saw him as the answer to their Latino dreams. He did nothing to dissuade them. Hell he viewed himself in the same light. He opened those books in English and dove right in. He never missed a beat.

I teased this poor young man, incessantly. I never gave him a break. However, I was not alone in this. Ange had now got a taste of the teasing and she was relentless in her digs at Pele’. An example of this happened, shortly after the start of school in September. It seems that one of the first things the school did, each year, was to gather all the grade 11 students and take them on a retreat into the mountains west of Calgary. Of course, Pele’ did not have any idea of what he was getting into. Hell he had never been in the mountains and forest, even once, in his whole prior life’s experiences. He had no idea. He could not get his mind around travelling 50 miles and going from a warm dry fall into full winter in the mountains. You could not convince him what he was in for.

I believe it was Deysi, that finally convinced him, that he needed a better jacket, hat, gloves and boots. This at the very least. Pele’ was a fashion conscious guy and did not want to be seen, wearing Canadian backwoods clothing and dressed like a fur trapper. Rather, for him, a light, stylish windbreaker, hoody, jeans and high end hiking shoes should be good enough. We had lots of fun with this. I am positive that he was convinced, that everything we told him was bullshit, just meant to scare the new guy in town. Ange gets him all dressed in multiple layers of clothing until he resembles a sherpa guide getting ready to trek through Nepal in winter. She is having a great time. Finally, fully garbed she takes a departing picture of him on our deck.

Deysi had a heck of a time trying to get him to pack warm clothes and take everything he was going to need for 4 days in the mountains. When it came to food, Pele’ explained that their class was broken into two person “teams” for the trip. One member of each team was in charge of the food. He explained to us that his partner was packing the food for his team, so that his trip allowance was free to buy them candies and snacks. I guess that sounded reasonable. Knowing that his partner was his friend from nearby, we were confident the boy’s mother would make sure they had sufficient food. The problem was, that his friend told his mother the same bullshit and said Pele’ was in charge of food. Both of the little buggers then took their travel allowance and bought sweets and chocolates with it. Off they went for a four day hike, with nothing to eat except some candy.

We did not hear about the NO FOOD part until after they returned from their retreat. Apparently the girls, once they noticed those two fools starving to death, and sick of candy, took pity on them and shared their food with them. OMG did we tease him about that. Additionally his clothes were totally inadequate, and someone else had to give him a plastic poncho to keep him dry and a little bit warm. It proved very lucky for him, that the girls took pity on him, or he might well have had to come home. You can just imagine how we would have rode him if had to be evacuated from his first campout.

Another first for Pele’ on this outing was sleeping outside in a tent, in a snow storm. Hell most Canadians have never had that experience. He had only been with us a month, and already was sent out into the frozen frontier, armed only with a bag of candy. At the end of it, he was unimpressed. He said that they almost froze and did not sleep much, the whole time. Funny thing was, he was rather silent about this near death experience. He could not see the humour of it all, as we did. When they finally arrived home on the Friday, his ass was dragging the ground. He wasn’t jumping around and telling me how badly he was going to kick my butt on the pool table that night. Nor was he too concerned for what his dinner contained. He just gulped it and headed for bed. He might, even, have cried into his pillow that night. NNNaaaaaahhhhh!

One thing we noticed about Pele’, very early on. it was that he had some definite opinions and very set ideas of what was acceptable or not. One way it manifested itself, was in his view of food. Pele’ was 100% Mexican, through and through. What he couldn’t accept were fake Mexicans from Texas (read Texmex) or their food. To him, no self righteous Mexican would ever put their lips around the pretend food, invented by Texans, to be fed to Gringo’s, and represented as Mexican food. To him, things like Chili con carne, tacos, burritos, or huevos rancheros were all inventions of Texans, not Mexicans. He declared, loudly, that he would eat none of it! A visit to Taco Bell, “out of the question!” That meant we had to be pretty creative in our menu choices. After all we didn’t want the poor little guy to starve on our shift.

One day, Chili Con Carne Day, on the menu, arrived. Knowing our guest was not going to enjoy anything with a perceived, Texmex ring to it, I had to change our dish. As those of you that know me, will understand, even with my tender and caring nature, it was going to be hard for me to mess with the menu. So I compromised! I made a big old pot of “full on” Texmex Chili. Deysi added some red pepper to it, threw a few leaves of cilantro on top and changed the beans from Kidney style to Romano beans. I have this steaming away on the stove, when Pele’ comes bopping in from school. He says, “JimboRed what do you have cooking for dinner.” With as straight a face as I can muster, I reply, “this is called Caribbean Delight” and add, “I hope you like it”. I must say he dug right in, chomping and smacking, and over the months put down a serious pile of Caribbean Delight. Much to our delight.

Another innovation that we had to come up with was our use of leftovers, from previous meals. It was very clear that at home Pele’s family never ate leftovers. I don’t think they even had a name for that situation. The maids made Pele’ and his brothers, fresh food whenever they felt peckish. I hate to say, but in our household, leftovers were a way of life. Especially when I cooked. I never did have the ability to gauge how much we were going to eat at a meal. So, I always doubled my estimates to make sure we had enough. And we always did. Which meant food spilling over into the next day. One day, after a major evening BBQ, I am faced with a pile of leftover burgers. My plan was to use them in my breakfast. I set about making, my version of, Huevos Rancheros. I knew for sure that he was not eating anything Texmex, called Huevos Rancheros.

I gathered up the onions, mushrooms, leftover potatoes and meat. I chopped it all up, dumped in some ketchup, and added some jalapeño to the mix. This I fried, stirred around and just before Pele’ came swooping in, looking for his brekkie, I cracked about a dozen eggs into this mess. I then took an equal amount of cheese and covered the whole thing. I gathered up the leftover hamburger buns from the previous night and threw them into the oven to toast. Of course, as soon as he arrived to the kitchen, he inquired as to what I was cooking. I had to be quick, and blurted out, “this is called Cheeseburger Eggs,” and added, “I made them specially for you”. I piled a large scoop onto a toasted bun and set it in front of him. Once again he dove in. Many’s the time, over the next few months, when he wanted, his now favorite dish! I was always happy to oblige. I just needed a couple of days to whip up some leftovers.

EDITORS NOTE: Young Pele’, being a “chip off the old block”, like his dad, was always looking for business opportunities. Even at this age his mind was always trying to find an angle to make a breakthrough in business. One morning, while on his second plate of Cheeseburger Eggs, he declared that if I would give him my recipe, he was going to set up a Cheeseburger Egg Stand, along the Malecon, by the beach in his home town. He said, “I will make a lot of money selling this at home.”

After Pele’ had been to school for a few weeks, it was announced that his school was now holding tryouts for the soccer team. Because there were only two boys in the grade 11 level and a couple more in grade 10, their team competed in a co-ed school league. He was so excited, his time was now arriving. He could test his soccer skills against Canadian players his own age. I might say, that he immediately became the hero of the school. He was the only one, with even marginal soccer skills. I think on the first day of practice they made him captain and coach of the team. He told me, “man they are bad!” And then added, “don’t you guys even know how to play this game in Canada”. And then with a slumping of his shoulders, he just shook his head and said, “I can’t believe it”.

Well needless to say, I don’t believe his school had ever won a soccer game, ever, in their history. In fact I don’t think they ever scored a goal in a competitive soccer game. Pele’ arrives and he is far, far superior to anyone on his school’s team. Not only that, he was far better than anyone on any of the teams that they competed against. He scored a couple of goals in their first game, setting a new school record. Then they won the second game. To them it was like winning the World Cup. The school’s sports history, now had to be re-written. Pele’ was immediately seen as a legend and superstar. Again he did nothing to dispel this worship. Their vision of him, indeed, very much mirrored his vision of himself. Deysi and I took him and some of his teammates to a few of their games. They would drop the ball and basically everyone (on both teams) would chase Pele’ around trying to get the ball away from him.

Eventually, winter set in and outdoor soccer was shelved for another year. However, at that time in Calgary, they had set some of the indoor arenas aside for indoor soccer. Five players, and a goalie, on each side. He had joined a league of players of about his same age. The skill level was better than his school team. But even then Pele’ was the star of his team. I remember going to one of his games in a big, empty arena. There may have been 50 people there, in a 1000 seat arena. If you dropped a pin, you could hear it echo all around this cavernous place. Well the game starts and as usual, everyone is pretty much chasing Pele’ around. The crowd, us and a few others, is going wild. Suddenly, Pele’ collapses in the middle of the floor and goes into convulsions, while holding his leg. Deysi is screaming at me to call 911, “he might be mortally injured”.

By now his teammates have gathered around, in a concerned circle. At the most grave time, Ange jumps to her feet and yells, at the top of her lungs, “PELE’ YOU PUSSY GET UP AND PLAY!” Well this noise reverberates thru and around the arena. Everyone within miles heard it. The gathered crowd parts, Pele’ stands up and slinks back to their box, tail between his legs and ears bright red. Oh, how we laughed. A minute later he returns to the game, running even faster now. Apparently the major trauma had passed and he was not going to die from a soccer injury, after all.

As I have said earlier, studying in English and adapting to the Canadian system, as well as finding new friends was easy for Pele’. Even in a foreign language, he was top of his class in all subjects. This boy was smart. He could conquer anything. Well almost, that is. What he struggled with, was giving old JimboRed, an ass kicking on the pool table. “A good butt kicking”, he had loudly promised me, within seconds of seeing my table crouched in the basement, just waiting for victims. His dad just rolled his eyes, on Pele’s announcement, somehow instinctively knowing, that this table was in JimboRed’s basement for something other than looks. You could see a shudder run down his spine. As for myself, it had been a long time since anyone had thrown out a serious, competitive challenge. Years earlier D2 had given up trying for the ass kicking, and now had only his bruised memory to say that he might have even won, one game, at some vague time in the past.

Now, had old Pele’ just been a little more humble. Had he just recognized me as his pool sensei, then I most probably would have let him win once or twice during his stay with us. But not Pele’, he was up in my face, jumping around begging to get his ass kicked. I can honestly say, that for as long as he remained with us, I never let him win even once. Now most people, after a few hundred, ass kickings, would change their tact, and look for another approach. However, not Pele’. Each and every day he remained with us, he was up in my face, confident that today was the day he would bring me to my knees. Each and every day ended the same way. Most of them with him slinking away, while mouthing promises of revenge in the coming day. I remember one time when D2 came over. Pele’ was in my face. “JimboRed”, he asks, “do you think I can whip D2”? I just had to tell him, “not a chance in hell Pele'”. This did not deter him. When D2 arrived he immediately started to talk “smack” until D2 took him down and crushed him.

His spirit was unbroken. Even with Deysi begging me to, “just let him win once”, I could not do it. If even, one time, he had said, “JimboRed you are better than me, can you teach me”? I would have eased up on him a little. But he never broke, he remained “cocky” to the very end. At some point in the mid fall, he started to invite his friend, and only other male, in his class, over for games of pool after school and on the weekends. Once in a while he would bring over a few of his female friends. He would take them downstairs and give them a good trouncing on the pool table. His buddy suffered many bad beatings by Pele’ over the next few months. I am sure that each time Pele’ beat one of his friends, he had an image of beating me in his mind.

Pele’ provided us with no end of entertainment. By this time of our life, even Ange, had grown out of our field trips and family adventures. Now the new guy, in our home, had to become our “family” during the numerous weekend trips we had. He never complained, although I expect that his mom and dad had instructed him to do whatever we wanted and pretend that he liked it. We took him to see, almost everything that we could think of. I must say, looking back, there were not many fun things for young people on our itinerary. But he came along, pretended to be interested and listened to my unending teasing. By now he could give out, as much as he received, in the way of verbal banter. He was very smart and quick of wit. He knew how to hurt a guy.

I remember one time, Deysi and I, taking him to Drumheller to see the dinosaurs. I guess that was about the most fun thing we could think of for a young guy. Probably, in his mind, he was like, “Geezus, not another museum!” We walked the Badlands and prowled the exhibits. Deysi and I had great fun. Poor Pele’ probably had much less fun than us, however, he put on a good face and walked around with us until we were sated. I guess if any good ever came from our unending day trips, it was that Pele’ had a very good understanding of Calgary and what it held. By the time of his departure he had seen everything. And his Canadian English was flawless. He was completely fluent.

I know this post is getting long, however I wanted to write enough to keep the memories of this visit and this friend, in our thoughts. One last memory I am going to add and then wrap up our adventures with our student. It goes like this; One evening shortly after dinner, Deysi and I had to go out for a while. Ange was already out doing something, maybe still at the university studying. Anyway, we leave Pele’ curled up in the armchair, studying and watching TV out of one eye. He is very relaxed and purring like a cat. All of the sudden, the front door crashes open. A big old, unshaven 6’3″ leather clad, outlaw biker wannabe was suddenly standing over Pele’. He says, “What The F…”, in his toughest sounding voice. I am not positive, but I do believe, Pele’s heart missed a couple of beats at this point. He might even have fainted a little bit.

He thought that the motorcycle outlaws had broken in and he was about to be severely beaten and otherwise abused. In fact, what had just happened, was that D1, my oldest son had arrived on his chopper. Clad in full leathers he climbed down off his hog and barged into the house. D1 was a big man, about 250 pounds, shaggy and somewhat scary looking, especially to a 130 pound boy. In actual fact D1 was a big ol’ pussycat, who wouldn’t hurt a horsefly. I might say, he was as surprised as Pele’, when he encountered him in our house, staring up at him with eyes as big a saucers. That moment must have been priceless. D1 then explained who he was. When we got home, a very pale and subdued Pele’, told us what had happened. I cannot say for sure, but I believe Pele’s heart beat a little faster after that.

All too soon, Pele’s grade 11 year was finished. As expected he aced all of his courses. He had made many friends and had become a latino Soccer legend in his school. He had provided Deysi and I with many, many days of fun and laughter. I expect his “all in” introduction and inclusion into our family of teasers, might have been a little traumatizing. He neither asked, nor was given any quarter. He gave out as much as he took. However, he survived it all. We will remember our times with him forever. And off he went, back to take on Mexico and all it had to give. His parting words, “JimboRed, I would have kicked you ass tomorrow, if I didn’t have to go home!” And he meant it.