The Toronto Maple Leaf soccer centre is hosting a six and under tournament this week. The stated goal is to help encourage enthusiastic involvement with the community through sport. The actual goal is to allow Leaf scouts an early chance to see some young talent.

Scouting is hard work and serious business. No scout works harder or takes the business more seriously than Mark Hunter. His role as Toronto Maple Leaf director of player personnel has given Mark access to more resources than he knows what to do with. Instead of getting carried away with wild and extravagant scouting ventures, Mark is saving his surplus budget for a rainy day. That is why he only has one crate of pistachio nuts in his luxury box today.

Mark stares intently at the field below him. Six-year-olds run amok chasing the ball in an amorphous pack of small humanity. Mark throws nuts in his mouth ten at a time. He chews up the nuts still enshelled and swallows the jagged paste thus produced. The shell shards tear at his digestive tract delightfully. Mark has the toughest colon in the Northern hemisphere largely due to this practice.

“Just watching you eat those hurts my mouth.” Toronto Maple Leaf assistant general manager Kyle Dubas is sitting beside Mark trying not to listen to the sound of pistachio shells crunching. “Can’t you just buy the shelled kind?”

Mark stares at Kyle. He wants to tell him about how pre-shelled pistachios are for the weak. He also wants to explain that his bulk supplier doesn’t have access to shell-less nuts. Add in that without the shell he is looking at an extra eight cents per gram at the more reputable wholesalers. And even though he doesn’t think it necessary, Mark would remind Kyle that he was not invited to this event anyway.

These thoughts war in Marks head, each one eager to be the first point argued. His cold stare never wavers from Kyle’s eye.

“Well I’m sorry.” Kyle answers the stare. “I thought you might like a little company is all. If you really want me to leave, say so. I just miss you is all, buddy. We haven’t hung out since the draft.”

Mark would say he is sorry and also that he misses his little friend. Mark would say that he has been super busy getting ready for the upcoming draft which is barely ten months away. Mark would ask Kyle if they could go to the peelers after the soccer. Mark would say all these things, but he doesn’t.

“That’s really nice of you pal.” Kyle says. “I would love to hang out after the match.”

Mark’s eyebrow raises one centimetre.

“After the tournament?” Kyle gasps. “I don’t know if I can watch this for that long. What are we even doing here?”

Mark turns his attention back to the game in front of him. The coaches have changed their line-ups, which they do every five minutes, so that every child has a chance to play. Number four on the green and navy team stands a full head shorter than his peers. He also stands several feet away from the rest of the group.

The ball is placed in the centre of the field. The yellow and white team is given possession. A whistle blows and the pack is unleashed. The children chase the ball, only ever kicking it accidentally. The yellow team has gotten confused and they play the ball toward their own net. Green four stands still at the centre line. As the ball slowly traverses to the left corner, green four shifts just a few steps to the left. The yellow team manages to boot the ball out of the corner toward centre. Green four takes two quick steps forward and pounds the ball back into the yellow zone.

“Tell me that kid is playing actual defence.” Kyle exclaims.

Mark smiles.

“Yeah but he’s tiny.” Kyle says.

Mark nods and smiles wider.

“No way.” Kyle doesn’t try to mask his shock. “You mean to tell me that kid is only four years old?”

Mark has turned his attention back to the game. Yellow is streaking up the field with control. With no hesitation green four runs straight at the ball carrier. As green four approaches, the other child braces for an impact. Green four deftly taps the balls to his right and dodges the impending hit. The pack of children have failed to notice the ball. Alone, green four carries the ball on the attack.

The yellow coach bellows at her team to turn around. They do but it is too late. With stellar ball skills green four approaches the yellow net straight on. The little boy is poised for his shot, his leg pulls back, then drops.

The yellow goalie is sitting with tears in her eyes. She hates soccer and hates her mom for making her play and hates the little boy who is about to score a goal on her. Then, strangely, he does not. He slows down, puts his foot on the ball to stop it, then gently rolls the ball into the yellow goalies legs. He smiles his toothiest smile then turns and runs back to his spot in the middle of the field.

“I don’t believe it.” Kyle says. “I just don’t believe it. How can a four year old be so much better than everyone else, and not love to beat them? I don’t think I’ve ever seen such sportsmanship. Look at the goalie, she looked like she wanted to run away a second ago, now she’s smiling.”

Mark chews a hand full of pistachios.

“I get why you wanted this. If all that happens is that we get to watch this one kid grow into a fine athlete than it was worth it. If we can convince his parents to try hockey than all the better, who knows he could grow up to be the next Aust…”

Mark puts a finger on Kyle’s lips and shakes his head.

“Oh come on.” Kyle says. “Who cares if I say his name? It’s just us in here, no one will know. Watch. Aust…Ouch”

Mark gently pokes Kyle’s ribs, fracturing three of them.