The Ucal McKenzie Breakaway Foundation

It was my senior season at Cambridge Rindge & Latin High School, my third year within Ucal’s system since he had taken over as Varsity head coach my sophomore year. It was a special year. My class was pretty much the first crop that Ucal had raised and nurtured as high school players. That bond was enough for him to break out of his reputation amongst ourselves as a reserved, and a business-only approach as coach when we joined him on the varsity squad my junior year. The chemistry on the team my junior year was special, and Ucal knew it. He knew that in order to get through to us he had to show us that he was human. You could tell he gave up trying to not be our friend when time after time he would break out of his game face and just laugh so hard at whatever jokes or conversations we had going on. Ucal then became like our older brother; fun, easy-going, guidance, yet respected, and superior. How he could pull off both is beyond me. It’s genius.

My senior year, our goal the whole season had been to place first after seasons of dominance at the first place spot from our biggest rival in the Greater Boston League, Medford. We made the playoffs that year, but failed to clinch the division. Medford once again prevailed. However, we were left in the predicament for our last game of the season that if we lose, we would finish fourth in the GBL. A win would place us right below Medford at a respectable second place. Also, if we win, we get a by in the first round of the playoffs. There was a lot on the line for us in this game, we had to win, not even tie. We were playing Somerville, a team with strong players that couldn’t find a way to mesh together as a team. They were also an aggressive team, like us, and like every other team in the GBL. That’s just how city kids play the game. Somerville had not made the playoffs. Their one mission was simple; destroy Cambridge at all costs. Ours was simple; win. Immediately, they came out with dangerous plays, dirty tactics, and hard runs up the field. At least they found a way to finally work as a team. Ucal’s message was always simple without even having to say it, “give them hustle and heart right back.” If there was one thing that irked Ucal, it would be us not having the heart and passion to stand up to a challenge. He would say, “How are you guys going to let them do that to you? You didn’t fight all season long to be knocked around. Play the game. Lead this game by example, and have them follow your lead. Don’t give in to their head games. Is this Cambridge soccer?”

The game went on, it was a battlefield. Extra spectators started to pour in, as passers-by were sucked into watching a classic in the making. Friends were calling friends. These fans were not afraid to show you their colors. They were taunting us, calling us names, laughing if one of us were fouled. It was dark out, the weather was cold. Everything seemed to have an orange glow from the streetlights, cars, and dimly lit and broken field lights around us. I hadn’t played much of the game; I wanted to get in so bad because the game was being played right at my liking. I felt like Ucal’s caged up tiger, he knew that I liked to get on the field and bang, and he knew that I was always quick to stand up for my teammates and for myself on the field.

Both teams scored early, working to break the 1-1 tie for a good remainder of the game. As the game reached the 60th minute of out 80 minutes of regulation I noticed Ucal looking over my way more and more. I could feel my name getting called any second, I was praying for it. With ten minutes left in the game, without taking his eyes off of the action, Ucal quipped, “Luis. Tucker.” Tucker and I were over there to him within a blink of an eye. “Are you warm?” Ucal asks, “Yes.” We replied. “OK…take out Tedi and Flavio at forward,” he said calmly. “This is your moment, make it count,” he advised. I remember thinking to myself at the half-line while I waited for the referee to allow the substitution, “What is Ucal doing? I want to go in, but why are Tucker and I subbing our two best players and leading scorers in a critical game we can’t tie or lose, with 10 minutes left, with a tie score?” I was blown away.

The subs were made, and there I was on the pitch feeling out the situation and looking at what players were around me. The whistle blows, and on my very first touch I get tripped up from behind and tumble face first to the ground. I took that as a “welcome to the game” message and it really knocked some sense and motivation into me. I got back up and pushed up the field for the free kick. These guys playing for Somerville were ruthless; especially the seniors that knew their high school playing careers were dwindling down to an end. They were now just focusing on hurting people and playing selfishly amongst themselves. Tucker had a few great opportunities to score, including some breakaways he created for himself. We always appreciated Tucker’s long legs when it came to breakaways. Still 1-1, we all knew that the final whistle was upon us. It was the 80th minute. I was at the half line on the right side; I received my pass on the rocky, patchy-grass field. I used the outside of my foot to derail the ball forward to begin my approach towards their defense. I made a speedy run at them down the line, which shagged off any lazy Somerville players that didn’t wish to chase. All of a sudden, something to took over in me. I had three defenders in front of me before I could go 1 on 1 with the goalie, which was not my intention. I was looking to give the ball off to somebody, perhaps Tucker. I had already dribbled myself into a 3 on 1 right outside the corner of the box. Whatever that power that struck me was, it was able to turn me into Ronaldinho for a good 3 seconds of my soccer career. I amazed myself by managing to get through, but I couldn’t stop. I remember looking down at my feet as I dribbled after completely shredding up those defenders. When I looked up, I was right in front of the net at the penalty mark and the goalie was making a break towards me. The thoughts in my head were completely blank. I let my senses take over. I knew that there was no way that I could dribble past a laid out goalie by the time he would have reached me, so I had to unload. To deliver a balanced shot, I had to use my left, so I did. He read me, so he dropped down to the ground in an effort to stop it and it snuck right under him. The ball tucked into the right corner of the net.

I took a few extra steps forward before I turned around to celebrate. I just looked at the ball come to a complete stop, again, with blank thoughts in my head and emotionless just to grasp what had just happened. I finally turned around to see my on-field teammates sprinting at me to hug me, I moved my eyes a little to the right to see my teammates on the bench screaming at me in joy and holding each other, then I looked a little to my left to see Ucal, an image that has been the representative image in my head when I think about this whole moment in my soccer career; Ucal at the half-line jumping up and down like a little kid, maybe six feet in the air, holding his marker and dry erase clipboard in each hand. It was dark, and he was dressed in our Cambridge black, as everybody. I started my celebration run by sprinting to our bench while I held my Cambridge jersey out in display to make sure that every single person there read what was on the front. I had a half suprised/half happy look on my face the whole time. The game briefly started back up, and once the whistle put a seal on this battle, I was done for. Still with my smile, I look up and see my whole team charging at me and instantly, my smile turned into a straight face. Only God knew what was coming my way. I stood there and waited. Let me tell you, being at the bottom of a pig pile is no fun. I couldn’t breathe, I came out with bruises and sore spots, and my head was being squished against the ground. They were nice enough to help me off the field, where I was met up by Ucal. He took my hand and gave me the half hug and just said, “I told you.”

I thought that would be the end of it. The next day, I was late to our night practice under the lights. As I was coming up the hill I noticed that the team was working out in the center circle on the field. I threw on my cleats and walked over. As I approached the center circle everybody just came to a complete stop, turned to me, and applauded. Instead of running laps for being late, Ucal took it upon himself to make sure that the team recognized the previous night’s feat. A move orchestrated by the man himself, Ucal McKenzie.