Roberto and the Soccer Game
by Bernadine Beatie
Roberto stood close to the front of a long line of people waiting to buy tickets. Though
he had ridden all night on the small bus that traveled from his village to the city, he was
much too excited to be tired. Today Roberto’s dream would come true. At long last he
would see a soccer game between the two finest teams in Brazil! It hadn’t been easy.
First he’d had to persuade his parents that he was old enough to come alone; then he’d
had to earn the money. Roberto grinned and moved a step forward.
“Is it always so hard to get tickets?” Roberto asked the tall man next in line.
“Not always. We are lucky to be so near the head of the line. Many behind us will be
turned away.” The man shrugged. “When Jorge Santos plays, everyone wants to see
him.”
Roberto smiled. He had cut many pictures of Jorge Santos from newspapers.
“Someday,” Roberto said, “I am going to be a soccer player.”
The man’s reply was lost in a burst of cheering. The street was suddenly filled with
young men and boys, shouting and laughing, running beside a long black car.
“Santos! Jorge Santos!” A great shout went up.
Roberto’s heart pounded. Jorge Santos sat, tall and proud, on the back seat of the car.
He was waving and smiling.
Roberto would have dashed forward to join the crowd, but the tall man caught his arm.
“Don’t lose your place. Soon the tickets will be gone.”
As Roberto stepped back into line, he saw that a shabbily dressed old man, leaning
heavily on a cane, was being swept along by the crowd.
“Careful!” Roberto called. But no one heard, and Roberto saw the old man stumble and
fall. Then the crowd surged forward, hiding him from view. Roberto forgot everything.
He left his place in line, squirmed through the crowd, and knelt beside the old man.
“Are you hurt, senhor—?” he asked.
The old man was red faced and angry. “Help me up! Fetch my cane!” he cried crossly.
When Roberto obeyed, instead of thanking him, the old man glared at him. He raised his
cane and shook it at the crowd that followed Jorge Santos.
“Villains! Scoundrels!” he yelled. “Why don’t you look where you’re going?” He leaned
heavily on Roberto’s arm. “There’s a bench at the corner of the stadium,” he said. “Help
me to it.”
“But, senhor—” Roberto looked over his shoulder. The line waiting for tickets was even
longer now.
“You knocked me down,” the old man said impatiently. “The least you can do is take me
someplace where I can rest a moment and get my breath.”
Roberto looked back again. He gave a little cry of dismay as the ticket window slammed
shut and a Sold Out sign flashed on. There were a few scattered boos, and the crowd
started moving away.
“What are you waiting for? Come along,” the old man ordered.
Roberto’s heart was in his stomach. He had given up his chance to see the game just to
help this cross old man. For a moment he thought of running away, of letting the old
man get to the bench the best way he could. Roberto shrugged. That would serve no
purpose now that the tickets were gone. And there was such a crowd about them that
he was afraid the man might fall again. So he walked slowly, keeping his shoulder high
to support the man.
The old man kept up a steady grumbling. “Young people! All they think about is games
and excitement. Think of the money they will waste today on foolishness.”
Roberto noticed again how shabbily he was dressed. He was probably cross because he
had no money. He might even be hungry.
“Here,” Roberto said, thrusting part of his money into the old man’s hand. “I don’t need
it now.”
There was a startled look on the man’s face. “I do not need your money,” he said
gruffly.
The crowd was so thick now that they had to pause. And over the heads of those
nearest to him, Roberto suddenly saw the tall man who had stood next to him in line.
“I told you,” the man cried, “if you lost your place in line you would not get a ticket!”
Then the man was pushed along by the crowd.
“Ha!” said the old man. “So that is why you no longer need your money.” He laughed
softly. “You gave up your place in line to help me, and you have stayed with me even
though I have been cross and unreasonable. Why?”
Roberto searched for words.
“Never mind,” the old man said. “It is enough that you did it.” He chuckled softly.
“Come, follow me. You shall see the game.”
“But the tickets are all gone, senhor!” Roberto cried.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the old man, pushing Roberto toward the entrance of the
stadium. “Who needs tickets?”
The old man must have lost his mind! Roberto tried to pull away, but the man propelled
him forward. And when they walked through the entrance to the stadium, Roberto could
hardly believe his eyes. The uniformed attendants bowed and smiled, clearing a way for
them. The next thing Roberto knew, the old man was steering him through a corridor
that led to the rooms where the players were waiting for the game to start.
“Senhor Gomez!” rang out from all sides.
Roberto swallowed. “Ernesto Gomez?” he asked in a small voice.
“None other!” One of the players came over and gave the old man a hug. “And still
going around dressed like a pauper.”
Roberto gasped. The speaker was Jorge Santos! And Ernesto Gomez, this poor old man,
was the owner of Jorge’s team!
Senhor Gomez laughed. “This way I can find out what people really think of my team.”
He looked down at Roberto. “But today, had it not been for this one, I would have been
trampled on the street. He gave up his chance to get a ticket so that he could help me.”
“You shall have the best seat in the house.” Jorge grinned down at Roberto. “You shall
sit on the bench beside us.”
Roberto’s heart was so full he couldn’t speak. He smiled shyly at Jorge and at Senhor
Gomez. It was not every day that dreams come true!
Which statement summarizes the theme of the selection?
