When we arrived, a group of girls was already waiting outside the Palais. We weren't allowed to go in, because the person that's responsible for unlocking the door wouldn't come until 3, but everyone was told to come at 2. For some reason. Or something. I couldn't really understand the woman very well.
The same woman explained to me that there were supposed to be three matches that day: one boys' match, one 17-and-under girls' match, and one 14-and-under girls' match (the one my host sisters were to play in). Then, she told me that the matches might not even happen if the other teams didn't show up. Apparently this kind of thing happens all the time, the other team just up and deciding it doesn't feel like playing today, sorry. They can't even call? I asked. Well, sometimes they do, but most of the time, you just have to wait around until the match is supposed to start and see what happens.
I had a sudden flashback to France, when the grève against the education reform was in full swing and we never knew if the professors were going to come to school or not. We'd sit in the classrooms waiting, sometimes for close to an hour, before giving up and leaving. They couldn't be bothered even to leave a note on the chalkboard telling us there'd be no class that day, and that the hourlong commute to the university was for nothing.
It turned out that one of the three teams didn't show up -- the 14-and-under team from Sainte-Marie, the team that my host sisters were supposed to play against. Apparently, it was decided that they would play on Saturday instead. But my host sisters stayed anyway, to watch the other matches, and so I did too.
The 17-and-under girls' game was first. My host sisters' coach was refereeing the match, which seemed a bit unethical because, though he wasn't the coach of the 17-and-under team from Trinité, all the teams practice in the same stadium and so he must know the girls and, subconsciously or not, be biased in their favor.
I was also struck by how low-tech everything was. There was a light-up scoreboard on the wall of the gymnasium, but it wasn't being used. Instead, every time a goal was scored, the referee took out a notebook and made a check mark. I didn't figure out the score until the woman next to me told me (who'd heard it from the woman next to her). And no one had any idea how much time was left.
I also noticed how enthusiastic everyone was. Every goal scored, every good play, was met with earsplitting screams. Everyone was shouting, "Allez, les blancs!" because the Trinité girls' jerseys were white. There must have been fewer than a hundred spectators, but man, could they make noise. In retrospect, perhaps the infectious enthusiasm and enjoyment of the game was because of the lack of scoreboard and timer. People were less focused on the quantitative stuff and more focused on the game and how it was played.
The Trinité girls ended up winning the match, and at the end, they all came out, joined hands and ran towards the audience to thunderous applause. Here's a picture of them in action.
The boys' match was next. The boys on the Trinité team seemed to be a lot smaller than the boys on the opposing team; the woman next to me told me that the Trinité boys were twelve, but the boys from the opposing team were fourteen or fifteen. Also, the Trinité boys had a team of five, sometimes six (they seemed to be bringing in the sixth player as necessary, I couldn't really keep track of it), and the opponents had a team of four. The goalie from the opponents' team would periodically run over to the other side of the stadium to provide offensive support. The woman told me that their team didn't have enough players (regulation is six), but they were still allowed to play anyway.
The opposing team ended up winning the second match, and I left thinking the game hadn't been entirely fair. Nevertheless it was moving to see the crowds' support for the boys, even though they'd lost.
All in all, an interesting night. Sorry if I've bored you...
