Sand, soccer a perfect spring break combo

When 12 Princeton spring breakers day-tripped to a deserted Panamanian island in search of a white-sand beach, clear-blue waters and enough sun to turn their pasty hides into beautifully bronzed skin, they found exactly what they were looking for — and a soccer game.

It wasn’t the 11-on-11 seen at Lourie-Love Field, but instead a three-on-three game played with local Panamanian teenagers. The island had what appeared to be an abandoned resort — a few small picnic shelters, some random concrete patios and a small building that in a past life was a bar. The rest of the island was covered in dense jungle and volcanic rock, constantly thrashed by the windy Caribbean Sea.

After a few minutes on the beach, three teenage Panamanians and one middle-aged American appeared from a trail in the jungle. One of the Panamanians produced a soccer ball, a friend and I joined in, and we decided to play a little three-on-three.

All three Panamanians were in their late teens — one was very tall with long legs, another clearly younger but also tall and a third who was stocky but still fit, the star of the three. All three were ripped. I don’t know why the older guy was with them, but he spoke with a strong southern accent and we chatted briefly about NASCAR.

We played on a small pitch of short, moss-like grass, about 40 feet long and 20 feet wide. For goals we used two stumps about three feet apart at each end of the field. The teams were Tall Guy, Young Guy and me versus the Star, Old Guy and the other Princeton student.

My years as central midfielder for a traveling soccer team did not prepare me for this game. There were no long passes or runs into space. My usual instinct to pass first and look for an open option wouldn’t cut it — there were no open options. In this tight space, it was about footwork, creativity, backheels, clever touches and stepovers. The Panamanians were adept at this style. I played like I was wearing cement boots.

The Star gave the other team an early lead after a few defensive miscues by my team. Tall Guy and Young Guy worked well together, but neither was as quick or as tough on the ball as the Star.

Goals were surprisingly hard to come by — it was three feet wide with foot-wide posts, and no one scored from more than a yard out. Throw-ins were unorthodox — sometimes underhanded, one-handed or simply kicked in.

After trailing early “cinco a dos” in a game played to “diez,” my team finally got it together. I started to play in their style. Previously contested balls were magically corralled by Tall Guy’s Go-Go-Gadget Legs. Even I got a couple tap-in goals.

Finally, up 9-8, Star hit the post (and by post, I mean stump), and my team returned with two quick tap-in goals.

By the end, I had dirt-covered calves and two bleeding toenails, as the de facto dress code was no shoes, no shirt and just shorts, except for Old Guy, who wore a sleeveless T-shirt, baseball cap and jorts.

All of us were sweaty, and the middle-aged white guy, who mostly just stood around, was somehow wheezing loudly. We shook hands, I exchanged a few words in broken Spanish, and they boated off, leaving me with nothing to do but tan with my fellow Princetonians. Back to spring break.