Dispatches From a Dilettante Read Free Page A

nominated a man, who he assured Kenneth was a qualified referee on vacation in the area, to control proceedings. He turned out to be a Scottish rugby union player who had seen Partick Thistle play once.
    It has to be remembered that in 1969, way before global TV broadcasts, soccer had zero presence in the States even as a college sport. However my remit was to get a pitch marked out, get goalposts erected and select a team. A team that, I was reminded by Kenneth, was to win him $500 bucks. Getting the pitch sorted turned out to be quite easy and by midday there were posters all round the staff quarters, golf course and swimming areas advertising the ‘Soccer Challenge’ with those interested in playing to ‘come to a meeting with Paul at 7pm in the staff canteen.’
    At this point I hadn’t thought to ask about kit, boots or balls. I was informed by Kenneth that we would be having a ‘time out’ in each half. It made it sound like a cigarette break which it turned out, by and large, to be. Thirty two made the meeting more out or curiosity than a serious bid for a place on the ‘roster’ as Kenneth insisted on calling it. We had our one and only practice the next day.
    Somewhere out in America there exists a silent super eight film of that practice and whoever now has possession of it is sitting on a comedic goldmine. I didn’t even attempt to explain the offside rule but tried to use the three players who had played before, one of whom was a fit and intelligent American student of Puerto Rican background (Edward), to coach the others. This being the days before substitutes I then picked a final eleven who were to carry honour or more likely the burden of representing Lake Minnewaska. Quite intentionally I omitted to inform them of $500 side bet on the basis that if I was sick with worry thinking about it they would feel the same.
    There was a loudspeaker system in the trees all round the resort, a la Butlins, which at times made it seem like a prison camp when announcements were made. However the ‘Soccer Challenge’ was given top billing next morning and guests invited to attend. The result was that at half past two when I went down to the pitch there must have been five hundred people there, which was bigger than any crowd I’d played in front of.
    Lake Mohonk arrived by coach and twenty four ‘players’ got off, clearly under the impression that we were playing an American Football squad rotation system. They also had matching kit and worse still four footballs, which they kicked around during the warm up in a way that suggested they knew what they were doing. I lined the team up in four, three, three formation for kick off which was the only time they stayed in that shape throughout the game. The Scottish barman in the back four had instructions to hoof it to Edward and I up front at any opportunity. The only other ‘tactics’ were to get our other American guys, who included some tough nuts from the ground staff, to be as rough as possible and chase for everything.
    We played in purple sashes, most wore trainers and two wore climbing boots. We kicked off. The crown cheered, and generously cheered again as Lake Mohonk opened the scoring after eight seconds. Strangely that galvanised us as we soon realised that, although they could play a little, they were not fit and crucially lacked spirit. As the game wore on they continually bickered about who was going on or off the field, as we had not contested their squad size or their intent to use all of them. The crowd were on our side even if they did cheer for things like goal kicks. Anything that achieved distance was rewarded with an even bigger cheer. At the first time out I found myself talking to a group who hardly knew each others’ names, were not sure what they were playing, but wanted badly to win.
    Disaster struck just before the interval with a freak own goal and at half time we were 2-0 down. I am not of any religious persuasion, but I’d swear on