I jogged to the center circle with my Yellow Team teammates, the mesh bib feeling foreign against my chest after three years away from organized soccer. The formation Coach Jones had drawn on the track was clear in my mind - I was the attacking midfielder in a 4-4-2 Diamond, the creative link between our midfield and forwards.
"Alright, Yellow!" Carlos called out, his robot-like movements extending to how he positioned himself in defensive midfield. "Let's establish possession early. Keep it simple, find the open man."
Jesus jogged over from his forward position. "Marcus, I'll make runs behind their center backs. Carlos can find me with through balls, but you're the one who's gonna need to thread those final passes."
I nodded, feeling the weight of expectation. The attacking midfielder position meant everything creative had to flow through me. Three years ago, this would've been natural. Today, I wasn't sure if my soccer brain still worked the same way.
FWEEEE!
Coach Jones's whistle echoed across the field.
Jesus touched the ball back to me, and immediately I felt.... disappointed. The pace was slower than I'd expected, the pressure less intense. These guys were moving like they had time to think, when real soccer happened in milliseconds.
I received Jesus's pass with my right foot, cushioning the ball while Patrick O'Connor approached. He was telegraphing his movement from yards away - leaning slightly to his left, preparing to pressure me in that direction. Elementary.
A simple shoulder fake to the right, then I cut the ball left with the outside of my left foot. Patrick bit on the fake completely, stumbling slightly as I glided past him.
"Nice move!" Carlos called out, but I was already thinking three passes ahead.
For the first ten minutes, I barely touched the ball. The other players seemed content to play it safe - sideways passes, backwards passes, nothing that tested the defense. I dropped deeper, trying to get involved, but kept getting passed over for easier options.
This was frustrating. Even at twelve years old, playing against high school kids on the South Side, the tempo had been faster than this. These guys were playing scared.
Finally, around the fifteen-minute mark, David Chen played me a pass under pressure. Patrick O'Connor was closing in again, but this time I decided to show some flair.
As the ball arrived at my feet, I let it roll across my body with my left foot while Patrick charged in. At the last second, I flicked the ball up with my right foot - a simple but effective elastico that sent the ball spinning back in the opposite direction.
Patrick went flying past me, completely wrong-footed.
"Damn!" I heard someone from the sideline shout.
Now I had space and time. I could see the whole field opening up like a tactical board. Their defensive line was flat, unimaginative. Jesus was making a run, but it was too obvious - everyone could see it coming.
Instead, I noticed Roberto Silva drifting into space on the left. I played a forty-yard cross-field pass with my right foot, switching the point of attack with perfect weight and accuracy.
Roberto took a clean first touch but couldn't do much with the chance. Still, I could see Coach Jones making notes.
This was easier than I'd remembered. When I was fourteen, playing against kids with college scholarships and professional training, they moved faster, thought quicker, pressed harder. This felt like playing against statues.
Twenty minutes in, I started to get isolated. Patrick O'Connor and Jason Kim, their attacking midfielder, were both tracking me now whenever I received the ball. The Blue Team had clearly identified me as the main creative threat.
Good. Let them come.
I dropped deep to collect a pass from Miguel Santos, and immediately felt both Patrick and Jason converging on me. They were trying to sandwich me, cut off my passing angles.
I received the ball with my back to goal, Patrick breathing down my neck. He was expecting me to play it simple, back to the center backs or sideways to Carlos.
Instead, I let the ball run across my body with my left foot, spinning away from Patrick's pressure. As I turned, Jason was closing in from my right side.
Lets give em something special.
I pushed the ball forward slightly with my right foot, inviting Jason to commit to the tackle. As he lunged in, I flicked the ball up and over his outstretched leg with a subtle touch from my left foot - a perfect little rainbow flick that sent the ball arcing over his head.
Jason stumbled forward while I collected the ball on the other side of him, now with acres of space in the center of the field.
"Oh shit!" someone called out from the Blue Team. "What was that?"
I was thirty-five yards from goal with three defenders backing off, none of them wanting to commit after seeing what I'd just done to their teammates. This was the difference between playing scared and playing with confidence.
I could see Jesus making a run behind their center backs, but the pass was too obvious. Instead, I noticed something else - a tiny pocket of space between their defensive midfielder and center back where Danny Rodriguez could receive the ball and turn.
I played a perfectly weighted pass with the inside of my right foot, threading it through the gap with surgical precision. Danny received it cleanly and immediately laid it back to me as I continued my forward run.
Now I was twenty-five yards from goal with their entire defense scrambling to reorganize. Their center back Antonio Garcia was rushing out to close me down, but he was moving predictably - too upright, weight on his heels.
As he approached, I sold him completely with a stepover. Right foot around the ball, shoulders dropping left, eyes looking in that direction. Antonio shifted his weight to defend against the move to his right.
Then I exploded in the opposite direction, pushing the ball past his left side with the outside of my left foot and accelerating past him with a burst of pace that left him grasping at air.
"Where did that speed come from?" Coach Thompson muttered from the sideline.
I was in the penalty area now, with only Andre Thompson, their goalkeeper, to beat. He was coming off his line, trying to narrow the angle.
This was about composure and technique. I took one more touch with my right foot to set myself, then curled a shot with the inside of my left foot, aiming for the far corner with just enough elevation to clear his outstretched hand.
The ball hit the side netting, and I knew immediately it was in.
1-1.
"Good ball from Danny!" Jesus called out as our team celebrated, acknowledging the assist even though I'd done most of the work.
As we jogged back to the center circle, I could see the Blue Team looking at me differently now. Patrick O'Connor and Jason Kim were talking intently, probably trying to figure out how to contain me.
Twenty-five minutes in, they decided to try a different approach.
Jerome Washington, one of their center backs, started stepping up to pressure me whenever I received the ball in deep positions. He was bigger than Patrick or Jason, probably thinking he could intimidate me with physicality.
Big mistake.
I received a pass from Carlos about forty yards from goal, and immediately felt Jerome charging toward me like a linebacker. He was fast for a center back, but his technique was clumsy - all power, no finesse.
As he closed in, I waited until the last possible moment, then performed a perfect elastico. Right foot pushing the ball to the right, selling the move completely, then snapping it back to the left with the outside of my foot at the exact moment Jerome committed to the tackle.
The skill was so sharp and unexpected that Jerome not only missed the ball completely, but his momentum carried him past me and he stumbled to the ground.
"Folded like an omelet." Roberto called out, laughing at Jerome's embarrassment.
Now I had the ball in space again, with their entire midfield and defense scrambling to cover the gaps Jerome had left behind. This was when the game slowed down for me - I could see every passing angle, every run, every opportunity developing before it happened.
Their left back Marcus Williams was rushing across to cover, but he was moving too aggressively, leaving space behind him. I played a perfectly weighted through ball with my right foot, curling it around Marcus Williams's outstretched leg to find Jamal Johnson making an overlapping run.
Jamal's cross was dangerous, and Jesus got his head to it, but Andre Thompson made an excellent save.
"Good ball, Marcus!" Jesus called out, acknowledging the pass that had created the chance.
Coach Jones was writing furiously on his clipboard now. I could see him stealing glances at me, probably wondering how a kid who'd been away from organized soccer for three years was making their top tryout players look like amateurs.
Thirty minutes in, the Blue Team was getting desperate. They were double-teaming me consistently now, sometimes even bringing a third player over when I received the ball in dangerous areas.
I was loving it. The more attention they paid to me, the more space it created for my teammates.
I received the ball from David Chen with my back to goal, and immediately felt Patrick O'Connor and Jason Kim approaching from both sides. They thought they had me trapped.
I let the ball run across my body with my left foot while turning away from Patrick's pressure. As Jason closed in from the other side, I performed a quick roulette - spinning 360 degrees with the ball while shielding it with my body.
Both Patrick and Jason crashed into each other as I emerged from the turn with possession and space. The skill had been so smooth and unexpected that it left them both on the ground while I dribbled away.
"Nasty!" Carlos shouted from behind me. "That was filthy!"
Now I was in acres of space, thirty yards from goal, with their entire defense backing off because they'd seen what happened to their teammates who tried to pressure me.
I could see Jesus making another run behind their center backs, and this time the timing was perfect. I waited for him to get level with Antonio Garcia, then played a through ball with the outside of my right foot - a technique that added curve to the pass and made it impossible for the defender to intercept.
The ball curved around Antonio Garcia and found Jesus in stride. He was clean through on goal with only Andre Thompson to beat.
Jesus rounded the goalkeeper and slotted the ball toward the empty net, but Jerome Washington had recovered from his earlier embarrassment and made a desperate goal-line clearance.
"Good ball!" Jesus called out, even though he'd been denied by the clearance.
Forty minutes in, I was completely dominating now. Every time I touched the ball, something dangerous happened. The Blue Team looked scared to press me, and their defensive shape was constantly being pulled apart by my movement and passing.
I received the ball in the center circle and immediately saw the space opening up. Roberto Silva was making a run down the left flank, but their right back Luis Hernandez was tracking him closely.
Instead of the obvious pass, I noticed that Jesus had dropped deeper to collect the ball, which had dragged Antonio Garcia out of position. That left a gap between their center backs that Danny Rodriguez could exploit.
I played a disguised pass with the inside of my left foot - looking toward Roberto to sell the fake, then playing it into the space behind their defensive line where Danny was making his run.
Danny latched onto the pass and was through on goal, but his shot was saved by Andre Thompson's outstretched leg.
"Unlucky finish, but what a ball from Marcus!" Carlos called out.
As we approached halftime, I was starting to feel like I was playing a different sport than everyone else. These kids were good, but they were predictable. Their movements were telegraphed, their decision-making was slow, and their technique was ordinary.
When I was twelve years old, playing pickup games against grown men on the South Side, they moved faster and thought quicker than this. When I was fourteen, playing against high school varsity players in organized leagues, the pressure was more intense and the skill level was higher.
This was supposed to be high school soccer in Chicago, but it felt like I was playing against kids who were still learning the game.
Forty-five minutes in, I decided to make one final statement before halftime.
The Blue Team won a corner kick and committed players forward, trying desperately to score before the break. When Roberto Silva cleared the ball away from our penalty area, it fell to me about forty yards from their goal.
I could see their entire team was caught upfield - only Jerome Washington and Andre Thompson were back to defend. Jesus and Danny Rodriguez were already sprinting toward their goal.
This was about execution under pressure and the intelligence to see the opportunity developing.
I took one touch with my right foot to control the clearance, then immediately looked up to assess the situation. Jerome Washington was backpedaling desperately, trying to cover both of our forwards.
I played the ball into space behind their defensive line with my left foot - not directly to Jesus or Danny, but into the area where either of them could reach it first. The weight and placement were perfect, curling the ball away from Andre Thompson's reach while giving our forwards the best chance to score.
Jesus reached the ball first and rounded Andre Thompson, but his shot hit the post and bounced across the goal line before being cleared.
FWEEEE!
Coach Jones blew his whistle for halftime.
"That's thirty minutes, gentlemen! Five-minute break, then we play the second half!"
As both teams jogged toward the sideline, I felt completely relaxed despite the intensity of the game. My touch was sharp, my vision was clear, and I was reading the game like I'd never left.
1-1 at halftime, but I'd shown everyone on this field exactly what level I was operating at. The three-year gap didn't matter. If anything, playing at a lower level was making this feel easy.
Coach Jones was looking at me with something approaching awe. The other players - both teammates and opponents - were stealing glances at me like they were trying to figure out what they'd just witnessed.
The second half was going to be snoozefest.