By Dariotelli

Let's talk about Sunday soccer games.

It starts in the group chat. Somebody sends a "who's in?" It gets copied and pasted in WhatsApp 11 more times until we have a full team, hopefully. It’s usually during work, or when you least expect it, then there’s 40 notifications, while I am just trying to place my mobile coffee order. Three guys are “probably” in. One guy is "I'll see." Everybody knows the guy who says "I'll see" is going to show up late with a perfect excuse and still start. Me? I’m still the last to reply, I wait for that special text from the coach, ‘yooo we need you to ball tomorrow’ then I still confirm 2 hours later :)

Then comes the wait, the anticipation. To ball is no longer optional, not negotiable. You do not flake out on your team any longer, unless, unless, unless, there is that hangover or special reason that will not let you play. Next day first thin is that first cup of coffee, something light for breakfast, I’m usually running late, then I’m ready to drive to the field and have everyone look at me as I pull up. That’s when I run to the circle of where the tactics get decided, the coach is already looking at you, points at me and says get ready to start. Snap, that’s when I see some players that have been there earlier and warming up, but knowing they’re not going to start, in the starting 11. 'The credenciales (ID’s) Are laid out and I pick mine up and run over to the ref and hand it to him with grin on my face.

Then the everyone runs to their position —- the pitch is shitty, the grass uneven, its a park - what did I expect. Then the first whistle blows and all is forgotten, here we go. Sunday league kicks off. Here's what the blog can’t capture and feel:

• The ref who is also somebody's cousin or dad.
• The offside call that you know damn well wouldn’t be offside if there were 3 refs instead of the 1 that the league provides. Lol.
• The one tackle that was clean, in the tackler's honest opinion, and a dirty AF in everyone else’s mind. Now everyone is rushing the ref, or on the sidelines yelling.
• The golazo that nobody filmed, but everyone took mental notes of the baller who scored it.
• The ref fees that almost no-one paid, but the coach sure did.

The cleats are dusty and full of old mud by the time we finish, but we balled.

I believe that's the best part. Everybody's got a good pass, shot, dribble, steal, run, header or at least a good laugh , to take home and a replay in their head, and nobody agrees on what happened. You'll find the whole squad standing or sitting on the grass or benches, tired and sunburned, arguing about a substitute that didn’t happen from forty minutes ago. That's the football life, and no scoreboard can tell you what it's worth. It means the world to me.

So here's my Sunday morning for the past 20 years, short version.

See you Sunday.

Cafecito first. Fútbol always.

— Dariotelli