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that covered the barren pitch. Such a tackle would have earned a penalty on any other soccer pitch in the world. Not at Colva Village, where the referee feared for his safety too much to award a penalty to the opposition. Not to mention the wager he'd placed on the local team.

Jose picked himself up and caught his breath in preparation for one last effort. He walked toward center field and noticed other player's heads were lowered; both teams appeared resigned to a one all result. Jose had other ideas.

He received a pass from his right winger, Farley. Jose turned to face his goal; three Colva players converged on him like vultures to a carcass. With only a split second to think he threaded the ball through one of the defenders legs, and ran around the others to the right, leaving their vicious tackles swinging at thin air as they anticipated him running toward the direction the ball was played. All that remained were two defenders coming in from the right and the goalkeeper. Jose re-gathered the ball and continued down-field. He feigned left, wrong footing his assailant's frantic attempt to stop an attack that could steal the game away. At the precise moment Jose sensed the Colva players were committed to his movement, he tapped the ball with the outside of his right foot and sprinted toward center field. The two defenders were left clutching at air and pointing at each other in a desperate endeavor to apportion blame. The goalkeeper stood his ground, noticeably gulping for air and wishing he were anywhere else on earth. As with every goal Jose scored, he could see the ball in the back of the net before he kicked it. Unaware this was a mysterious power; Jose just did what came natural. He loved soccer and loved winning. The goalkeeper made the right move and dived impressively to his left. Unfortunately for him the ball was already tangled in the goal netting, Jose's kick had whistled by well before the goalkeeper's muscles twitched. Two one!

The Margao City players mobbed Jose, who, with eyes closed pictured himself winning the FA Cup at Wembly. He liked to put himself at a different European stadium every time his players celebrated with him. He visualized the perfectly manicured green grass beneath his feet, the roar of the crowd and respect from the best soccer players in the world. When he opened his eyes, he couldn't see anything through the dust whipped up by his exuberant team mates. He enjoyed the moment knowing that one day he would mix it with the games finest. He had dreamed it so intensely, he knew it would happen, he just wasn't sure how.

Learn more about this author, Peter Robertson.
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