The Field

The architectural design is by all means irrelevant to its exclusiveness: any toddler with a straight edge, a writing utensil, and a slight familiarity with shapes could effortlessly duplicate its original construction plans. From the very first blueprints ever developed by the city council, to the costly renovation in the summer of 2009, the four cornered rectangular design has forever maintained its simplicity. The variety of buildings that neighbor the field on all four sides, confirm its location subsequently ideal; there is a hospital to the north, a local youth center to the south, a vast shopping plaza to the west, and a religious community center to the east. A midst all the diverse activities constantly in action—ambulances shrieking, kids yelling, and cars bustling—Luchessi Field lies silently, and motionless in the center of it all. To the flocks of geese that regularly soar above, the field is nothing but a splotch of color, to the hasty people who unconsciously drive by, the field is neglected and barely even noticed, but to the many people that regularly utilize its surface, the field has become a place of escape.

The main field itself is 120 yards in length and 80 yards in width, like any official soccer field, and although it might have the same texture of grass, and the same color of grass, and the same feeling of grass, it isn’t grass, but instead an expansive sheet of synthetic turf which originally was meant to resemble grass. When examining closely the all-weather artificial surface, one will discover the millions of small black specks of turf, which judging by their diminutive size rationally seem harmless, but when they astonishingly manage to crawl into one’s eyelid, their potential is deadly. Initially, the color coordinated lines that slice through the field in all directions were specifically meant to segregate the boundaries between the two individual sports played on the turf, but with the excessive overlapping of white, blue, and yellow lines it makes it difficult to distinguish where the soccer boundaries end and the lacrosse margins begin. There is a three foot high fence which borders the spacious green carpet, separating it from its individual parking lot which is only but a small fraction of the field. Naked in the winter, blooming in the spring and breathtaking in the fall, an army of trees encase the small fence, and bestow additional protection. Incandescent, towering, slender—the eight light poles, each pertaining a set of four vivid bulbs, encircle the field, and automatically turn on after every sunset, illuminating every sector of the field throughout the night. Underneath the intense beam of light, after every exhale, one can clearly see their own breath drifting out of their mouth and evaporating into the cold and bitter atmosphere, and leaving not a single trace behind.

Surrounded by a great community of athletes, Luchessi Field is never desolate; at every moment, of everyday it is being occupied by a soccer club, a lacrosse team, or a T-ball squad. Some days are much more hectic than others; there are nights where up to five different teams are practicing all at once. Lacrosse balls are hit by baseball bats, soccer balls are picked up by lacrosse sticks, baseballs are plunged into soccer nets. To resolve the problem of space, each team is granted a certain portion of the field, but most of the time the sections are divided unequally, and although individual coaches might not agree with the divisions they attempt to keep the arguments to a minimum. Because of the vast number of people, and the scarce amount of space, Luchessi quickly becomes an extremely vociferous field; all the individual tones eventually join together to form a single thunderous disembodied voice, which everyone can hear, but not a single person can understand. Despite the extremity of the noise, one never fails to recognize the earsplitting shrieks and quacks of the ferocious mob of ducks loitering in the nearby pond. They yell at us, while we yell at them.

Besides the fluorescent lights, the constant crowding, the harsh-sounding ducks, and every other aspect that embraces Luchessi Field, there is one certain individual that obtains a significant importance to the field itself, and his name is Danny. He persists of Vietnamese background, speaks flawless English, and has the complexion and body of a 30 year old, but the mind and attributes of a teenager. It was after the tenth time I saw him, when I actually began paying awareness to what he did, to what he said, to who he was. Every time I had practice at Luchessi, he was present, and always doing the same thing; he was running around the field, juggling his same soccer ball, or shooting aimlessly at an empty goal. Even when the entire field was occupied, and every goal was in use, Danny was still there, and so was his soccer ball at his feet. I did not consider it odd that he had memorized all my teammate’s names, it was obvious he would after attending more practices than I had attended, and although it was strange how he would constantly converse with himself, I did not judge, because I had a feeling that Danny was just like the rest of us; he was in love with the sport of soccer, and came to Luchessi to allow the light’s strong beams evaporate his troubles.

Luchessi’s architectural design is simple, just like the people who go there, they are simple. It consists of a variety of people, with different personalities, who perform a variety of sports, with different reasons. The value of one person’s lacrosse stick holds the same value of another person’s soccer ball. Day or night, the field is used, with lights or without, people still come out. A sports complex might certainly be much better than this simple field, but this simple field is what makes its significance so much more complex.

--Paco V.