By Cliff Radel
The Cincinnati Enquirer

Ala Alsheyyab, 13, is surrounded by his Academy of World Languages teammates after scoring a goal against Walnut Hills. (Ernest Coleman photo) | ZOOM |

On any given Saturday, all of Cincinnati is on a soccer field.

Or so it seems.

Kids from every walk of life, from every neighborhood, can be found kicking a ball around, Americanizing a game many saw as a foreign sport just a generation ago.

Parents and grandparents, brothers and sisters, friends and neighbors watch from the sidelines. And cheer. Politely.

As the game unfolds, a fundamental change takes place. Ever so slowly, Cincinnati's deep divisions begin to break down. Barriers separating east siders from west siders, rich from poor, black from white, natives from newcomers, crumble - one kick at a time.

This occurred during a recent Saturday at Lunken Airport Playfield. Morning fog hugged the hills above the river valley.

On the ground, the soccer field accommodated two teams of seventh- and eighth-graders. The Walnut Hills Eagles vs. the Academy of World Languages Boy Kickers.

Among the teams, the players shared a veritable United Nations of birthplaces and hometowns. They hailed from Europe, Africa and the Middle East as well as such exotic spots as Hyde Park and Price Hill.

Mohammed Ali is the father of Sammy Ali, a Boy Kicker goalie. The soccer dad - Central State University's director of assessments and institutional research - sees himself as a chauffeur to the world.

"I drove my van today and picked up players from Senegal, Sudan and Montreal. I'm Jordanian," the Northside man said. "My wife is Palestinian." And his van is a Chevy - Made in the USA.

"It's fun to get to know other people from other cultures," said Babacar Diene. He's a Boy Kicker, along his twin brother, Abdoulaye. They are the sons of the team's assistant coach, Adama Diene. The native of Senegal lives in Pleasant Ridge and teaches math at Northern Kentucky University.

The players went through their warm-ups in earnest. A crowd gathered for their Soccer Association for Youth (SAY) game.

Cincinnati is a SAY hotbed. The recreational soccer program for boys and girls, ages 4-18, began here in 1967. It's headquartered in Sharonville.

The coast-to-coast organization counts 125,000 teammates, including nearly 40,000 from the Queen City. No town has more SAY players than Cincinnati.

The game begins and everyone - players and fans alike - jump into the American melting pot.

"Go Blue! Show 'em what you got!" shouted Brian Barnes of Springfield Township. His son, Julian, wears the Eagles' blue jersey.

"Go Ala! Go! Go! Go!" yelled Mohammed Ali's wife, Amal.

The ball skidded toward the Eagles' goal. A swift kick by Julian Barnes sent play downfield.

"I'm 45," Brian Barnes said as he followed the action. "Soccer was not popular at all when I was Julian's age. Now, it has grown so much. Everybody's playing it."

Harry Talkers remembers the days when Americans shunned soccer. The Cincinnati Kolping Sports Club historian "came to the United States in 1951," just as the German social club was reviving a soccer program mothballed during World War II.

"We had a soccer field. And, we wanted our children to get involved. But as an ethic group, it was hard to start a program. It would automatically be identified as a German sport."

He had to fight that image at his dinner table.

"My own kids would tell me: 'Soccer's a foreign sport.' They didn't want to play it."

Talkers' children and thousands of other Cincinnati youth eventually changed their tune.

"The reason," he said, "was SAY soccer."

Free of being pigeonholed by ethnic ties, SAY started in 1967.

"A group of gentlemen in the St. Bernard area wanted to form a soccer league on a recreational basis," said Sheila Shay, SAY's national executive director.

"Their goal was to allow anyone to play who wanted to. Skill level was not an issue."

SAY's all-inclusive goal provided additional benefits. Such as breaking down social stereotypes.

"For some of our teams," Shay said, "the only likeness they see is the age of the players." They don't go to the same schools, live on the same streets or speak the same languages.

The Eagles did not soar over the Boy Kickers. They lost 3-0.

Both teams shook hands after the game. Then the players ran to the sidelines for refreshments.

Matt Dubin wore the Eagles' blue jersey and blobs of water that dribbled from his bottle as he quaffed its contents.

His parents, Dr. Neil and Laurie Dubin of Hyde Park, stood nearby. They noted how much they appreciate soccer's melting pot appeal.

"That's one of the reasons we're in this league," said Dr. Dubin, a psychiatrist.

"Soccer seems more accessible than other sports," he said. "Fields are easy to come by and equipment doesn't cost $5,000 like hockey. Because it is a thinking game it offers greater opportunities for other kids who may not have the skills for other sports."

That's a grown-up's view.

Matt Dubin provided a teenager's perspective.

"It's cool to play against other people from different cultures," he said between swallows of water.

"You get to see how different and how alike we are."

E-mail cradel@enquirer.com.