Siberian Soccer

 The Great Patriotic  War  soccer game

These stirring events took place on Olkon Island, in Lake Baikal, Siberia, sometime in June 2005. 

Late one afternoon, Masumi and I were playing Ping-Pong in the island village's wooden barn/makeshift gym. Three blonde guys walked in, and nodding at us casually, began playing on the free table. We asked if they would like to play against us, which they did, quickly beating both of us soundly. They told us they were Germans who were visiting Irkutsk, as the father of two of them was engaged to a woman from there. They had come from Irkutsk to spend a few days relaxing on the lake. The third was a friend who tagged along. All three were in high school football teams. Shortly their father joined them. "Do you know how to play football" he asked in serious tones. "Yes, but I'm not very good" I offerd. "We are going to play later, and we need a goal keeper" he explained. "He's a good goalie" I said pointing at Masumi. "Good, good."

Twenty minutes later we were standing in the football court. It belonged to the village school, but rather than students we had expected, our opponents were from the local army garrison. I'm fairly tall, slightly over six feet, but even so nearly every member of the opposing team was taller than me, some by quite a bit. The court was the mini football kind, enclosed by high walls made of wooden slats in the shape of a large oval. The wooden enclosure and the nature of our opponents gave me the odd sensation that we were playing in some kind of gladiatorial arena. A number of villagers and tourists had come to watch, and were sitting in the wooden stands or perched on top of the oval wall. The sun was now entering its long twilight phase, painting the sky with blood red streaks, adding to the climactic nature of the setting. There were six players per team (as this was mini-football). On one side were the four Germans, Masumi and I; while on the other were six giant Russian soldiers, who looked formidable indeed. Our main weakness, besides perhaps the smaller size of our players, was that the Russians had reserves, and could trade out tired team members, while we could not.

"Germans versus Russians, huh?" I remarked to the father, eliciting a grimace. The Russians were obviously thinking a similar thing, and were talking in low excited voices on the other end of the field. I heard the term "deutsche" (German) mentioned a few times in their hurried conversation. Then the game began. It was immediately apparent that while the Germans were the more skilled of the two groups, the Russians were simply better at playing the way they did. The clever footwork of the German high school kids would avail little when they were slammed into by a towering Russian.

At first I thought the Russians were playing dirty on purpose, but I soon realized that this was just the way they played. The Russians also had greater experience in playing as a team, and their passing was superior to ours. Soon the Russians had scored three goals despite Masumi's nearly suicidal attempts to stop them, and my questionable defensive efforts. The father was getting annoyed, and was yelling loudly at all of us in German. The curt sharp sounds of his voice were in strange contrast to the smoother Russian that the soldiers called out in.

sunset on the island

By now the sun had begun to sink under the lake, complicating things for us by shining directly in our eyes. I was exasperated with our lack of progress, and decided to play the way I traditionally played, and perhaps even step it up a notch. In former days, I had occasionally played football, and while I was too slow on my feet to play skillfully, I compensated by using my greater height to shove opponents away and mess up their plays. This was exactly the way these Russians played. I now decided to give these soldiers a taste of their own tactics.

The next time they came loping down the field towards the goal, I deliberately lunged into the first attacker and managed to knock him over. He seemed surprised, but leaped up immediately. I now had control (in the loosest sense of the word) of the ball and was heading down the field towards the German forwards, with the fallen soldier in pursuit. My way was suddenly blocked by another colossal Siberian. Thinking quickly, I decided to resort to another asinine tactic. In the past, I could often cow opponents by pretending to kick the ball right at their faces, hard. As I performed an exaggerated swing towards the ball, I realized my error.

The soldier paused for a split second and then continued towards me, looking completely unperturbed at the prospect of a broken nose. These weren't Japanese I was dealing with. Braking noses was how these men had fun. Deciding to see how tough this bastard really was, I kicked with all my might and the ball hit his face with a satisfying smack. I had expected him to duck, or at least try to head it. Instead he literally caught it with his face, and proceeded away from me to the goal, where, with the help of a hefty Buryat he scored, knocking Masumi to the ground.

The Germans were unimpressed by my tactical efforts and as it was getting too dark to play anyway, soon called the game to a close. The soldiers came over to shake our hands and slap us on the back, no doubt adding to the German father's annoyance.

On the walk back to the compound the Germans walked sullenly, obviously taking their defeat to heart. The following evening I was playing ping-pong with some kids when Masumi showed up. "Well, we finally beat those soldiers" he remarked. "It probably helped that you weren't there." I thanked him for his delicacy.

the ping-pong barn