Every day I left the office at five.
On my way home there was a school.
The playground was full of kids—players and spectators.
A soccer match was in progress.
During my school days, I played soccer.
I was not very talented and only got into
the school team while my talented
friends went on to play for the nation.
I still loved the sport and watched it often.
I stopped my car by the roadside and got out.
I watched the kids, leaning on my car.
One boy was exceptionally good—
dribbled like Messi and scored like Ronaldo.
I watched him dribble past the defenders
with ease and score goal after goal.
It was as if the defenders didn’t exist.
His footwork and balance were remarkable.
I cheered for him along with the spectators.
It brought back a lot of memories—
like a walk down memory lane.
I watched them play, until the game was over.
I felt as if I had been transported
back in time to my school days.
The child in me cheered for the
kid with magical skills.
I was sure that he would go far and
said a silent prayer for him.
At home, the Argentina-Brazil match was on.
I watched the TV, drinking chilled beer.
