Soccer participant going through drills. Photo courtesy of Seeds In The Middle

Violence erupts randomly on the streets of Crown Heights.  What has remained consistent is the need for children to get out and play.

The violence has been a subject of recent community board and precinct meetings.  Nancie Katz, however, seeks to remind people about the good things that also happen in the neighborhood.  One of them is the participation by local kids in her soccer program.

This fall, four afternoons a week, just past the gates of Hamilton Metz Field between Albany and Lefferts Avenue, children between the ages of 5 and 11 can be found practicing as part of Brooklyn Crown Heights Soccer Eagles. Homework is put off as the kids focus on teamwork and discipline.

Katz founded the sports program two years ago after seeing how soccer benefited her own children as they went to school in Manhattan.

“I have two daughters, and they both played soccer since they were very young,” said Katz. “It was an important part of [their] life.”

One recent afternoon at Hamilton Metz Field, the kids begin with a running exercise to get their adrenaline up under the direction of a trainer. Next, they are partnered with another kid, and begin passing the ball back and forth. Then they graduate to learning ball control as they run and kick the ball. These activities change weekly to help make the kids become better players. Practice ends each day with a scrimmage.

Katz looks on in satisfaction as she takes pictures. From being a reporter to now running a soccer program, Katz has had a long journey.

Katz worked for 11 years as an investigative reporter for the New York Daily News. It was not until Katz started covering schools in Crown Heights that she realized how different it was for children there compared to what her daughters had. There was a “devastating lack for arts and recreation” in Crown Heights, she said.

Upon leaving the Daily News in 2008, Katz formed a program called Seeds in The Middle, which its goal is to inspire social change through sustainable health in low-income areas in New York. One of the programs Katz wanted to emphasize was the soccer program because it would bring kids from around the neighborhood together. Since then, the program has been a hit, as parents from throughout the area bring their children to play soccer.

“When I found out they had this, I said I had to sign up,” said parent Nigel Shallow, 37, who was cheering for his daughter Taylor, 7, a second grader from P.S. 241 on a weekend afternoon. “It’s in the community, and it’s convenient for me. When she’s at home, she busy.  But at the same time, she needs to be outside.”

“I was so excited that they were offering soccer, because my daughter wanted to do it,” said Colleen Galy, 39, parent of Allycia Austin, 7, from P.S. 22. “She’s a fan of Dora [The Explorer], and she’s always playing soccer, so she took a liking to it. They have another program [like this], but that one is too far.”

With success has come a problem for Katz:  finding the funds to pay coaches.  She charges the children between $50 and $75 each for the season and some come for free. She must pay for coaches, uniforms, and equipment and insurance. Volunteers have stepped up to help back up the coaches, including a new lead soccer director.

Lead coach Joseph Cabral (left) instructing participants. Photo courtesy of Seeds In The Middle

“I see some great potential in them (children). They have a passion for the game and it is crucial to succeed,” said new lead coach Joseph Cabral, who has played professionally in Portugal.

Another season of soccer will begin in December, but indoors. Overall, she wants the soccer program to be fun for both parents and kids—an outlet that was not available before, she said.

“Parents want kids to be healthy,” Katz said. “There were no options for kids. I’m providing options for kids that were never there.”

***

This story was amended 12/1/2011 to correct a discrepancy concerning the hiring of coaches.

Read more stories involving Crown Heights, such as uninsured patients who endure difficulties at Interfaith Medical Center or the latest trends in the Brooklyn’s real estate market

This attack culminates with a long, floating pass into the penalty box. It’s hoofed away into the stratosphere by the New York defense. At Woodwork, the tension eases a bit. A nervous murmur spreads around the room.

“Yes,” the bearded man says softly, at the floor.

Then Woodwork sees just where that clearance is going to land. In haste to find a late equalizer, Dallas has thrown all their players forward, leaving a lone defender behind. But that defender seems to have forgotten that New York striker Thierry Henry, one of the finest goal scorers of his generation, is lurking just behind him. The ball floats over the halfway line, and Henry turns to run on to it.

“Yes…,” the bearded man says, louder this time. The bar patrons push their bar stools back, rising to their feet. Doing this provides no noticeable improvement in viewing angle.

The first touch. It’s one of soccer’s simplest skills – where you put the ball when it comes to you – and also one of the most important. In a developing league like Major League Soccer, a good first touch can separate a great player from a good one.

Henry is a great player. With the defender in hot pursuit, Henry allows the ball to bounce once before gracefully nudging it forward with his head, on the run. The velocity and placement is such that the defender becomes a non-factor, and the goalkeeper is stuck in no-man’s land. Woodwork realizes this, and volume rises. Nobody sits. The faint murmur that greeted the defensive clearance has developed into a frenzied cacophony of imploring cries. In the middle of it, the bearded man sets his beer on the table, and yells loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

“YES!!!”

The goal that would clinch a place in the MLS playoffs’ second round is at Henry’s feet. With signature nonchalance, he attempts to thread the needle between the goalkeeper’s arm and torso on as he slides to the ground to block the shot. The goalkeeper’s left hand flails outward, slapping the ball off its path.

“NO!!!!,” the bearded man yells.

There is frustration in his voice, but a smile on his face. After all, time is almost up. New York is probably going to win anyways. But, man, a second goal would have been nice.

Just then, Henry races in from off screen. The goalkeeper had saved his initial shot, but the ball still trickles towards the goalmouth. The Dallas defender and goalkeeper lay out on the ground, spectators. Henry sprints past them, tapping the ball over the goal line. In celebration, he holds a finger to his lips, shushing the Dallas fans.

Woodwork, just seconds ago hanging on Henry’s every movement, ignores this command.

A group of high school students was walking home along Bay Ridge Avenue this afternoon wearing sweatpants and shirts in the same shade of red, the color of Egypt’s national soccer team. Today was Egypt’s big matchup against Algeria, and the winner, they all knew, would advance to the qualifying round of the 2010 World Cup.

As they reached the corner of Bay Ridge and Ovington, a crowd flooded out of a café across the road. The men were belting out the song happy soccer fans sing the world over, even if they aren’t Spanish-speakers: “Olé, olé, olé, olé.” Some of the men ran down the sidewalk, flags unfurling behind them. Others rolled in the middle of the road, or knelt down and kissed the concrete.

No one shouted out the score or mentioned which team had won, but the high schoolers knew. The happy crowd was wearing white and green, not red like they were.

“Oh shit,” one said in disbelief. “We lost.”

*

Somewhere at the top of the list of soccer’s blood curdling, red-face inducing, vein popping feuds sits the rivalry between Egypt and Algeria, the Pharaohs and the Desert Foxes.

The bad blood began over 20 years ago, when Egypt and Algeria faced off in a match similar to today’s—one that would determine which team would move onto the next year’s World Cup and which would return home, humiliated. Egypt topped Algeria 1-0 that day, but that’s not really when the rivalry began in earnest. After all, soccer games are won and lost all the time.

What made this match different, what set it apart from a mere contest, was what happened after the game in a Cairo hotel. That’s where Interpol arrested Algerian soccer player Lakhdar Belloumi after a fight broke out and an Egyptian fan, a doctor, was stabbed in the face with a broken bottle. He lost an eye.

Belloumi claimed innocence, and his countrymen believed him. Unsurprisingly, the Egyptians were less willing to take Belloumi at his word. Ever since, matches between the two countries have been watched closely,  the tension barely simmering below the surface.

Things boiled over this week, starting even before the two teams first met on the pitch this Saturday. Egyptian fans allegedly attacked the Algerian team by hurling rocks at the windows of their bus as they drove into Cairo. According to some news reports, three of the team members arrived at their hotel covered in blood.

Egypt won that game 2-0, which is why the teams faced each other again today to finally decide who would make it to the World Cup next year. The game was billed as “a match of hate,” and this time they met on what both teams considered neutral territory: Sudan.

Only within the context of a bitter rivalry such as this could Khartoum—the home of some of the world’s most notorious genocidaires—ever be considered safe ground.

*

It comes as no surprise that New York’s North African soccer fans filled cafes in Bay Ridge this afternoon to watch the match. The rival crowds followed the game from separate establishments, with just one block between them. By 2 in the afternoon, about 80 Egyptian fans had gathered in the Meena House Café. From the back of the room, it almost looked as if they were engaged in some sort of religious ceremony. The lights were off, and you could make out only the back of men’s heads through the sweet smelling haze of hookah pipes. No one spoke, their eyes fixed on the flat screen TV at the front of the room.

The Algerians were just down the block, but as soon as the game was over, the crowds met at the corner of Bay Ridge and Fifth Avenues. The Egyptians took the south side of the street, the Algerians the north. Each began chanting in Arabic and English.

“Where were you when Egypt won?” one Egyptian fan shouted, referring back to the 1989 match that started the rivalry in the first place.

“Kiss my Algerian ass,” a supporter from the other side shouted back.

As expected, the Algerian side was the more cheerful of the two. Men wrapped in Algerian flags jumped around and sat on each others’ shoulders. They sang and chanted, “One, two, three, viva L’Algerie.”

“It is like a big, big holiday for all Algerians today,” said Mo Chittah, who was wearing an Algerian jersey. “We make the Egyptians cry today.”

The Egyptian side was chanting, too, but they were also banging their hands against metal grates, which gave their side a more ominous feeling. “Go home,” some yelled to the Algerians across the street.

Ibrahim Mansour watched the crowds from inside the 5^th Ave Kings grocery store, where he has been a butcher for ten years. He said this was the second time the groups had gathered this week. The first was Saturday, after Egypt forced Algeria into the final matchup. But before this week, Mansour said, he had never seen anything like this in Bay Ridge.

Gus Niamonitis agreed. He works at a donut shop on the same corner, and witnessed both rallies. He said today’s was the same size as last weekend’s. The only difference was that today the roles were reversed. “Last time the Egyptians were happy,” he said. “Now the Algerians are getting back at them.”

The New York Police Department had expected confrontation, and within minutes of the match ending around 40 officers separated the crowds on opposite sides of the streets.

After about 45 minutes, a young man on the Egyptian side who looked to be in his twenties hurled two eggs at the Algerian fans. The police didn’t see him, but they did notice the flying eggs, so they moved in to break up the crowds.  “Ok, time to go home,” one officer said as he shoved his way through the Egyptian fans. “You’ll get another chance in four years.”

After the groups broke up, smaller cliques formed. Nora Silme taped an Algerian flag to the hood of his friend’s gray Ford Mustang, and they drove up and down Bay Ridge Avenue blasting music and waving out the windows.

The only people who remained at Bay Ridge and Fifth were some young Egyptians. “We have pride for our country,” said 17-year old Jenna Eldib.  Although she was born in America, she said, she considers Egypt her home.

Perhaps because of this, or because she wasn’t alive when the rivalry between Algeria and Egypt first began, she was the only one who brushed off the countries’ 20-year-old feud. “No one was talking about that stuff today,” she said. “It was just this one game. Today was just about today. “

Just then, some Algerians were gathering across the street. They hugged each other and waved at cars driving by. Unlike the group of Egyptians, they were older. One was missing his front teeth. And you didn’t have to ask them. It was clear that today was certainly not just about today.

A Brooklyn schoolyard. Photo courtesy of Flickr.com

The husky captain adjusts his scraggly ponytail, hocks a wad of spit onto the sparse concrete playground of PS 192, and calls the game back to order.

A group of nine middle schoolers–only two of whom are girls–are the only kids on this playground.  As there is no jungle gym, or even swings, the small group of kids has settled for a makeshift game of soccer on a slab of concrete that, along with the ratty soccer ball, suffices as their recreational recess equipment.

The supervisor shows little interest in the game, so the captain, who towers over the other kids, assumes responsibility. The three chosen boys on his team appear alert and eager to follow instructions. The five kids on the other team, including two very petite girls, appear beyond alert; they are terrified.

A lean, athletic boy throws the ball from out of bounds in the direction of the captain, who grabs it, kicking it back and forth between his feet.  No one is making any effort to steal the ball from him, but he is still far back from the goal. Another teammate downfield calls for him to pass. This appears to be the most practical and judicious move he could make. But, there’s no way the captain is giving up his ball. So, instead, he drives down the field.

When he runs into the midfield defense he still does not make a pass. Rather, to advance the ball down the field, he kicks it hard against an opposing concrete wall. As it ricochets off the wall he runs to catch up with it. But, then an obstacle: one of the small girls from the opposing team has captured the ball. No matter. The captain easily swipes it back from the girl, who is a quarter of his size, and in the process she is toppled squarely onto her butt.

Without looking back he heaves himself forward toward the goal and kicks the ball into the fence, which serves as the makeshift net. His teammates cheer as do his deferential opponents. The captain–now sweating profusely and dangerously out of breath–raises his fist in the air in triumph.