hashamaki!

        Mango gimped along on his club foot. His running game was nil. Yet within his zone of influence he was invincible at play. Fierce as a gamecock. And it wounded his pride never to be invited to play socially sanctioned soccer. So he developed body and mind in seclusion. Like that of a samurai warrior his mind was steely, and multifaceted as a gemstone. In physical training his spirit guide was Tarzan. He climbed banyan trees, he stood waist deep in the sea and practised standing jumps, and swam alongside the riptide. His daily jog up the piedmont to Spyglass Hill tightened muscles, improved breathing, and added stamina.
         At age fifteen he was a marvel.
         That was when he discovered Japan. He read of the Divine Wind.
         He would play soccer not as a game. It would be a form of meditation.
         And like the brave Kamakazi pilots of old, he tied a hashamaki around his head.


                                                                                *


        The Deadknockers were outcasts, misfits, criminals, and they loved combat.
        To join them you had to have the balls to ask. To boldly go where you have never been before.
        "You want to play ball with us?" The blockheaded boy named Gigante sneered down at Mango. Then he thumped the soccer ball off the head of a ga-ga teammate.
        Mango stood, arms akimbo. Legs wide apart. His center of gravity exactly where it should be.
        A strip of white cloth with chicken blood caligraphy was tied around his buzzcut.
        "Try me," Mango leveled. "I'm full of surprises."
        Gigante placed his enormous hands upon Mango's hard little shoulders. "Who are you supposed to be? The Karate Kid?"
        Confident, relaxed, and ready for anything, Mango's eyes glittered with anticipation. He taunted Gigante: "Don't push me."
        The gentle giant guffawed. And pushed the little blighter with all of his might. Next thing he knew, he was sitting on his duff.
        "Ha ha ha ha hah! Good one, Nagasaki! Help me up."
        Mango gave his new friend a hand.  "I told you I'm full of surprises."
        "Yes, you did. Ha ha ha hah!"


                                                                                       *


        Their fierce play could hardly be called soccer. Rules of engagement allowed them to advance the ball in any manner short of killing an opponent. The big difference from rugby was they were not permitted to carry the ball.
        The arena was called "sticker stadium." Sandspurs and fireants. Perhaps a coral snake.
        One Saturday afternoon they pooled enough money to buy theatre tickets and attended the Bay Theatre, a converted dance hall at the end of a dark alley. The movie was "Braveheart."
        Ever after, these hooligans painted themselves blue.
        And "sticker stadium" would resound with a clamor harkening back to the Battle of Stirling.