Pipo jogged across the sun-warmed grass. His eyes locked on the big Paraguayan flag snapping above the goalposts. 'One day, I'll wear those red and white stripes,' he whispered.
He set up three plastic bottles as defenders. Swish — first bottle down! Swish — second bottle down! Then CLANG! The ball bounced away into a cloud of dust.
He tried again alone, but the ball kept going the wrong way. Past the goal, past the fence, past a barking dog — it stopped near a group of older kids playing a real match. They waved him over.
The bigger kids passed the ball fast — whoosh, whoosh — GOAL! Pipo tried to join but tripped over his own feet and tumbled into the grass. He lay there for a second, then curled his fingers into fists and stared at the flag.
Pipo got up, walked to the edge of their game, and held out his hand. 'Pass me the ball.' The oldest kid tossed it to him.
Pipo didn't shoot. He passed back. The kids surprised each other with quick passes — pass, pass, pass — until the ball landed right at Pipo's feet again.
He took one step, two steps, then kicked the ball hard across the field. It flew straight and true, bumping the net with a loud WHOOSH.
The flag flapped wildly in the wind behind him, as if cheering too. Pipo stood tall, chest out, a big grin on his face.