Sport: The Fall and Rise of Ittihadi Khouribga

If the posts are increasingly about campus life rather than life in Morocco, then I'm afraid that the following will only contribute to that trend. Ramadan started over ten days ago, and it took me a while to adjust to the schedule. People routinely stay up until 4am and, when not in class, they sleep during the day. What's more, the communal sense from fasting is somewhat fragmented here since students tend to break fast in small groups in each other's dorm rooms. There are, however, plenty of things going on outside of Al Akhawayn so the "A Different World" series will sooner or later come to an end. Recent news includes the discovery of several bodies that were unearthed near a small town east of the Atlas Mountains. These are presumably the remains of political dissidents dating to the 1960's or 70's.

But anyway, one of the main activities that brings students together during Ramadan is an indoor soccer tournament. It's popularity is such that I'd heard about it weeks in advance, and had been told that someone had bribed a referee during last year's playoff. After some harried negotiating that included a failed attempt to recruit a German and Pole onto our side, I joined a team being organized by my friend Wissam. We patched together a squad that included myself, Wissam and his friends, Chris, a sporting fellow from England who looks like he could play rugby or football, and a classmate from my French class named Ahmed, who has a mustache and is a member of the video game club. We were the last entry into the field and, because I was delegated to register the team, and because Wissam is from Khouribga, our team name translates to Khouribga United.

I have a vague memory (or I think I remember, the way I think I saw Peter Dinklage on the streets of Manhattan once, but easily could have imagined it) of going to a soccer tournament during Ramadan in Rabat five years ago. As I remember it, the setting had a gladiator-like feel. Concrete stands surrounded a small gymnasium, echoes flooded the small confines, and netting separated the players from fans. Al Akhawayn's tournament takes place in a similar setting, with certain refinements (i.e.: no netting) befitting a university environment.

The games are played between the hours of 9pm and 2am, and students often pack the stands, particularly around 11pm and midnight. The crowd generally cheers a good move, laughs at mistakes, and will sarcastically mock anyone who looks overmatched. The endlines and the stands are the only out of bounds, meaning players can bounce passes of the wall, and the action is frenetic. Shots - from far or near, on or wide of goal - generally receive applause.

My goal was to have fun by avoiding embarrassment. In our first match, against a team with the inscrutable name of Khiz-Khiz, we barely held our own, losing 2-1, but giving up at least five times the number of shots that we took. Khiz-Khiz was supposed to be a real contender, though, so the team took heart.

Our second match ended in disaster. We lost 2-0 to a team with no substitutes and our inability to create an attack became painfully obvious. One of Wissam's friends, who clearly prefers swimming and tennis, became the target of the crowd's taunts. After the game, Ahmed's friend Eyman, our goalkeeper, announced that he wouldn't play with us any longer. This was particularly disheartening given the number of shots that we allow each game. Save Wissam, we were never from Khouribga, and now we were no longer ittihadi.

Last night we were scheduled to play at midnight. As of ten o'clock, Eyman was still holding out, but on our way to the gym we found him playing video games in Ahmed's room, and he agreed to join us. I still don't know why he quit or why he came back. Anyhow, the game started, against All-Stars, and we were lucky enough to convert a penalty for our second goal of the tournament. By halftime we led 2-1, but the pattern of giving up a startling number of shots continued.

Then, near the start of the second half, Eyman was given a red card for reasons that I think could have involved the exchange of money. I became impromptu goalkeeper, and the rest of the match was essentially target practice for All-Stars. At one point, we were down two men because Zakariya was penalized for leaving the field at the wrong time.

Remarkably, however, we played with a desperation and focus that brought the crowd to our side. They booed All-Stars like they were the evil empire (and they were, in the sense that they all wore Juventus jerseys), and chanted and clapped every time we stymied their attack. We stopped shot after shot, Ahmed converted our only shot of the half on a slow, a knuckling take from near mid-court, and we won, 3-2.

Our chances for advancing are still slim, particularly since Eyman is suspended for the next game, but regardless I will take the euphoria from this one match. However superficial, it's a wonderfully galvanizing feeling, as much to be cheered and carried by the fans' sentiment as to actually win.

Now, hopefully by next time I will have traveled some or studied more and thereby have some "real news," but for now it's Khouribga, ittihadi again.