VAMOS A JUGAR FUTBOL!

I soak in the early morning breeze, knowing it will disappear shortly, absorbed by the scorching heat. The city is still quiet on this Sunday morning. Even so, wives, girlfriends, children, even the stray dogs come out of hiding to gather around the dirt soccer field.

The players stroll in one by one, stripping down between the trees to change into their uniforms. Even they seem groggy, yet at the same time, the town seems to come to life. Our team slowly begins to form, while the captain frantically collects IDs to finish filling out the team's paperwork for the ref. You can feel their excitement, as it has been months since some of them have played a game. Work and life seems to slip away and there is rarely time to take a minute to simply play. Not today. Everyone leaves their distractions off the field.

As the sun grows warmer, you can sense the energy and perseverance waning. Shouts of encouragement are heard across the field, though half-time is welcomed. I quickly offer water to the panting players coming off the field. I find it amusing as some reach for their cigarettes. Others massage their aching muscles and nurse their oozing blisters. It appears we are in a war zone. The whistle blows, battle resumes.

I can feel my tank top tan forming as my shoulders begin to burn. A man can see the discomfort arising and grabs a four sticks, throws them up in a square, whips out a tarp and forms a tent for those of us sitting on the bench. Pretty impressive. Who knew there would be a magic show as well? I think the other fans are amused at my Spanglish cheers or shouts of disappointment. I'm definitely a spectacle.

As the game ends, still smiling, the guys limp off the field. Sometimes battle is worth the story. However, as I'm admiring their attitudes and energy, I had no preparation for the army that was attacking me. I looked down at my flip-flopped feet, only to find two tiny fire ants--one on each big toe. It burned. I never saw the sneak attack coming.