Last week America’s FIFA World Cup soccer team played in Seattle and defeated Australia 2-0. The crowds and excitement exceeded Seattle’s run through the NFL playoffs and Super Bowl title last winter.

I learned to play soccer while living in Nigeria. I had minimal foot dexterity compared to any African player. But I was quick and sure-handed from decades of playing basketball. I made a decent goalkeeper.

The Nigerian city where I lived had a semi-professional team. As a water engineer, I worked with some of the players. The entire town looked forward to their men playing a German team at the stadium. As a courtesy, some Nigerians invited me to join their team. I surprised them by taking the goalkeeper position.

The match started in front of a filled stadium. Nigerians are “dribblers.” That is individuals trying skillful foot maneuvers to penetrate the defense. Germans are passers and thereby confused the Nigerians. Almost immediately, they passed their way through all the Nigerian defenders. Three attackers had the ball in the penalty box with me alone. No goal could be easier.

On the next German attack, the referee called one of our players for a hand ball inside our penalty box. That gave the Germans a penalty kick from twelve yards. Another easy goal against me.

Desperate to score, our Nigerians all pressed too far forward. The best German intercepted the ball and charged down the field alone. He looked like a freight train coming at me. But I knew what to try and rushed out of the goal-mouth to cut down his angle to the net. As I dove for the ball, the German chipped the ball over my head. On the ground, I looked back to see the ball roll slowly into the net. Only ten minutes of the match had elapsed.

The Nigerians pulled me out of the game while the large crowd jeered and shouted. Afterwards, I accepted the blame for the loss and a lot of mostly good-natured ribbing. But how many people can say they played, albeit briefly, in an international soccer match?

As a post note, several years later I played soccer in Bolivia with all “futbol” crazy South Americans. I had improved and acquitted myself reasonably well. Such was my popularity that both sides rejoiced when El Gringo scored a nice goal.

Both experiences are fond memories. If I could only retain one, I would keep the humiliation. It reminds me of my young hubris.

Drew