What do you do with a bunch of adolescent (or near-adolescent) boys who don’t have classes? You put them in soccer camp. You pay extra for the coach to run them around the park a few times before the class and a few times after—just to make sure they are exhausted from two hours of drills through cones, from two hours of trying to keep up with each other.

As a person intent on daily walking the park’s track to think, this team is a distraction due to their bursts of spontaneity and violence. One minute they are walking because they believe the coach can’t see them, the next they are attempting to kick each other’s shoes untied, and then there’s a spurt of running like mad because they are visible again to this coach who knows their game and patiently waits for them to finish choking and punching and kicking each other.

Maybe it is because he was a boy not so long ago that he knows how long this part of the lesson takes for them to fight each other and then become a team.


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