By Alex Zielinski, Staff Writer
It’s early evening at Northeast Portland’s Fernhill Park and the manicured soccer fields are swarming with cleat-clad players. As the hot summer sun lowers to a tolerable temperature, young boys, assembled as a team, lace up their matching Nike cleats, watching a nearby group of teenage girls juggle a soccer ball while checking their smart phones.
In the middle of the hoard of minivan-escorted athletes, squeezed onto half a field, one group stands out from the rest. With an average age of 25 to 30, these older players may appear less equipped for the game: Some wear beat-up sneakers without shin guards; others are dragged onto the field to scrimmage wearing jeans. But their enthusiasm is infectious.
“Buenos días!” the players shout at other teammates as they arrive, somehow bursting with energy after long days of physical work or waiting in long lines for unattained work. Neighborhood friends bring their families to watch, carting water coolers and lawn chairs, cheering and joking with the group. On the field, some players dribble the ball easily around the defense, while others stumble with their footwork. Regardless of talent, these guys are clearly having the most fun of any team at the park.
This loosely formed team of Mexican and South American immigrants is just one of the estimated 16 teams preparing to play in Portland’s newest, least-known, but most diverse soccer tournament: The Portland World Cup.
Started by the VOZ Workers’ Rights Education Project, a local organization with a focus on empowering immigrants and day laborers, the PWC draws immigrants from across the region — with home countries spanning from Ethiopia to Honduras — together to play in a yearly competition and multicultural festival.
With a booming first year, backed by generous grants and sponsorships, the PWC quickly gained popularity in a community of stress-ridden day laborers searching for work in a new part of the world. But the event’s structure and financial support has recently become uncertain. Now, approaching its third year, the volunteer-fueled event has supporters crossing their fingers for the stamina to make it big in a soccer-crazed city.
Despite its obvious façade, the PWC is not just about soccer. VOZ has found the game a comfortable, common platform for immigrants who wouldn’t usually attend the organization’s meetings to talk about issues in the community.
“It’s an incredible tool for organizing,” says Paul Reik, the VOZ staff member tasked with PWC outreach. “Folks aren’t tense here, they’re enjoying themselves and relaxing. It’s a perfect environment to have a casual discussion.”
Reik — who had never played soccer before becoming involved in the PWC — recalls airing the World Cup on the TV at VOZ’s worker’s center downtown. One day laborer in particular was glued to the set, quietly following the match from the corner of the room.
“He was never interested in our advocacy work. But I could tell he loved soccer, so I told him about the cup,” says Reik. “Now he’s one of our anchor goalies.”
Fernando Ramos, a Guatemalan immigrant who moved to Portland first for work, now for school, echoes Reik’s sentiments.
“It’s fun to let steam off in the evenings here. A lot of these guys have stressful days, this helps us relax — just talk and play,” says Ramos, waving to a teammate as he tightens his cleats. “We would do this all day if we could.”
For other teams, focusing immigrantss efforts toward the PWC is a replacement for other options. Pupsa Sharma, the coach of the local Bhutanese team, says he works hard to keep his players away from drugs and gang violence. “I let my team play soccer and organize some cultural program (for the PWC event) yearly,” says Sharma. “This makes them a dynamic, friendly and well-rounded group in the community. Soccer helps them focus.”
Even the final PWC tournament is not solely soccer-centric. As with the practices, VOZ uses the September event as an organizing tool as well as a cultural festival. Families and friends of players cook traditional food and entertain the crowd with cultural performances between matches. Unlike most traditional soccer events in the States, this tournament is a blend of both competition and community festivities.
But the event is not entirely trouble-free to everyone involved. Althea Mickiewicz, 24, found herself behind the wheel of this year’s PWC event and the coach of the Mexicos Jornoleros after applying for an internship at VOZ. Interested in social justice work, Mickiewicz took her background in soccer and rusty knowledge of Spanish to the field for the first time this past September. Within weeks, she was the head of the event.
“It takes a source of undying commitment,” Mickewicz says with a large grin. “But it’s so worth it.”
With little information about the past years’ structure, and with the previous event staff lost to funding cuts, Mickiewicz as thrown together her own guidebook.
“I had to rethink how we did everything: finding sponsors, finding teams, finding a spot to play. Thankfully this community is receptive,” she says. Mickiewicz found financial sponsors in a range of local non-profits, including Causa Oregon and the Cascade Aids Project, and even worked with Concordia University to use their brand-new athletic center to hold the tournament’s final games.
As for the structure of the event, Mickiewicz has added a few new components. This year, the PWC will welcome its first female league along with opening the door for co-ed groups. And, in the future, Mickiewicz says, she hopes to start a youth league.
Despite the hectic nature of planning the event, Mickiewicz says she’s involved for the long run. She says she wants to see the PWC round the corner into becoming a key part of the region’s culture.
“In 10 years, I see the Portland World Cup standing on its own as an independent organization,” she says.
But how can it reach that stage?
In a city recently swept off its feet by the Timbers’ jump to major league status, it’s hard to see why the PWC can’t draw an equally passionate crowd. According to Timbers Army co-founder and PWC “uber” volunteer Eric Berg, this kind of following takes more than just a T-shirt gun.
“Trying to link soccer supporters to the cup is what really attracted me to the event,” says Berg. “If we can bridge this traditional Anglo-Saxon, hipster culture with the immigrant community, then wow. We’ve done it. It’s so much more than a game.”
Berg has been vital in connecting immigrant players to the event, simply through soccer-centric word-of-mouth. From chatting at a sports bar while watching the Olympic soccer matches to stumbling upon a scrimmage in a nearby park, Berg has recruited a wide variety of teams. While he hopes to see the PWC someday as successful as Seattle’s equivalent, the All Nation’s Cup, Berg says he’s unsure what popularity could do to the event.
“Once you jump into a bigger role, it could take on an entirely different feel,” says Berg. “I mean, we need funding and sponsorships, but big sponsors could change the way it runs. A victim of success. It may not be the cultural community organization it currently is.”
But, he adds, there’s something irreplaceable in bringing a city together through the sport.
“There’s something about soccer that brings people together, making it a great organizing tool for any group,” says Berg. “And in Portland, it’s hard to say if we have a culture supporting soccer or if soccer supports our culture. It’s a blurred line.”
At Fernhill Park, Mickiewicz struggles to attach a ripped soccer net to the field’s goal posts in preparation for a scrimmage. “Here, wait!” shouts a neighborhood man, emerging from his car with his young daughter and a stuffed bag. “I’ve got a better one.”
He helps Mickiewicz attach the new net and kicks a soccer ball around with his young daughter on the sidelines, only stopping to watch Mickiewicz’s team play. From surrounding fields, the other young players stop mid-field to watch the team’s tricky maneuvers and boisterous scuffles, awed.
But not all observers are taken by the lighthearted team. An older white coach, sunglassed and stern, walks by the group as they share jokes and stretch before practice. “Buenos dias, Hello!” one player says cheerfully to the man. Despite his obvious recognition, the coach stoically passes without a mere nod.
The player shrugs, but returns to his teammates’ lively conversation with a smile. “I’m not sure why people do that. Ignore us,” he says, furrowing his sweaty brow. “We’re both enjoying the same game. If people here are going to support our league, they’ve got to see that. It’s what counts.”
The Portland World Cup tournament is free and open to the public.
To find out more visit the Portland World Cup on the web.
Photo by Ken Hawkins