July 26, 2005

A VERY BRANDI DAY!

As co-author and friend of Brandi, I thought I had seen everything--including the extent of her joy and passion for her can't-live-without-it game of soccer.

But on Monday, July 25, 2005, a swelteringly hot day in Manhattan, the girl proved me wrong.

Brandi always fits in her soccer, that’s for sure. Sandwiched between her meetings and an evening speaking engagement, she intended to get in a bit of training. So, when I agreed to meet her in the city, she asked me to bring along one of my daughters’ soccer balls. OK, I thought, shoving the coveted item in my backpack, which now made me look pregnant from behind.

When I met up with her at a renowned midtown restaurant following her luncheon, Brandi looked down at my feet and said, “What? You didn’t wear sneakers to play?”

Now, dear reader, let’s just say charitably that I’m a “middle aged” mother of two, and while I pride myself on being physically fit, the mere thought that I could play any kind of soccer with one of the best woman players in the world is beyond comprehension.

I couldn’t believe she would expect that.

But then, Brandi is a great believer in all possibilities, which is exactly why when the first patch of Manhattan grass she hoped to play on was blocked off, she hustled back to her hotel to change her clothes, and head to Central Park—a mere mile walk that she did in a pace akin to most runners. I struggled to keep up.

We reached the fields in the Park, where I found my calling as ball server, chaser, goalie and general water girl for Brandi. When I shed my sandals for the job, she set them up as markers for me to toss her balls. Sweating, juggling, her touch as exquisite as any player you’ll ever see, it didn’t take long for a fan to recognize her, and come by for a quick photo. At that point, the homeless man sleeping nearby raised his head, and with his single-tooth smile said, “I thought she looked professional.”

After nearly an hour of work, we headed back toward Brandi’s hotel. But she wasn’t done yet. “Let me take the ball,” she volunteered, which she kept at her feet, dribbling, while she made a necessary call on her cell phone. A pack of young women looked over, clearly recognizing her. They smiled shyly; their body language asking, “Should we approach her?”

But it was too late; Brandi was on the move. We exited the park, she in shorts and a crop top, picking up the dribbling pace. Down Seventh Avenue she traveled, adding a bevy of tricks: a stepover here, a give-and-go with a street seller there. At one point, she threw in a pasa de vaca, too quick for her victim to register his embarrassment at the ball going by him. If you’ve ever seen the Nike commercial with Ronaldo & Co. dribbling through an airport, you’ll know how Brandi dazzled the pedestrians, except this was no act!! She scooted around deftly, evading the kind of crowds that only Manhattan can draw.

She kept it up—weaving in and out the poles of metal construction barriers, kicking the ball off the wall of a Citibank branch. “This is a good workout,” she called out. But more, it was some of the best fun and entertainment you could imagine. People along the street smiled, a few turned their heads, one tried to photograph her. “You have to practice a lot to be that good,” one mother bent down to tell her young son. And remarkably enough, only in New York, a few people who watched her looked unfazed.

Not me. I marveled. The irony did not escape me that we had arrived at the heart of the theatre district—the home of the great Broadway shows. Because that’s what Brandi had put on, a great show. And not for the sake of performing, but as yet another opportunity to explore the eternal love of her game. It was just further proof that love is as enduring and as fresh as the day she headed to the field as a six-year-old, holding her mom’s and dad’s hand, and kicked a soccer ball for the very first time.

And by the way, next time I'll bring my sneakers.

Gloria Averbuch