Author’s Note: As told to me by my father.

On Sunday, June 21, 1970, my neighbors on Bancroft in South St. Louis—an Italian immigrant named Angelo and his son Butch — saw me and my brother Earl walking home from Sunday School on Brannon. Butch told me to run home and change my clothes because we were going to go watch a soccer game. They would wait. Angelo said hurry.

Well, Butch and I had gone to lots of soccer games down at Mullaly Field, the soccer field across Kingshighway Blvd. from St. Mary Magdalene parish, but why was Angelo—his dad—with us? And this was summer and there were no leagues playing on Sundays in summer. And the fence gates to Mullally Field were locked if there was no game.

But I ran home and got my soccer ball and caught up to them at Kingshighway, but instead of crossing the street, we turned left and went two blocks to the Avalon Theater.

“I thought we were going to soccer, not a movie,” I asked.

Butch turned and said “they’re showing TV at the theater, Ricky — a soccer game at the movies! It’s the World Cup Final!”

At that time in the U.S., I believe that soccer was only shown on TV once a year — a segment on ABC’s Wild World of Sports that showed highlights of the European Cup Final. But I never saw it before that year, so I had never seen a movie or video of soccer being played.

Ever.

Soccer was only something we did in the alley, at the Buder schoolyard on blacktop, at Busch school at recess, and Francis Park. We saw black and white pictures in library books of soccer players, but no video. And the words “live closed circuit TV” were something none of us had ever heard before or really understood. Everybody knows: there are only four TV channels 2, 4, 5, and 11.

Inside the normally quiet theater, there was a sea of Italian men of all ages and sizes from the Hill, all singing and laughing and a few of them waving Italian flags. These were the somber, serious young men that I usually saw boarding buses and talking in groups on street corners and smoking behind restaurant kitchens. These were the old men that sat on porches that seemed to nothing ever but take slow walks with their hands behind them. These were the tough Italian men of the Hill that never seemed to smile but today they were all singing Italian songs and laughing. I remember clearly that a Switzer licorice ad was up on the screen and it suddenly went blank and the entire theater went silent. A test pattern came up, followed by the most beautiful soccer field I had ever seen — the entire field covered in the most beautiful green grass. No field in St. Louis looked like this. And on the field were tiny men in blue and yellow. Italy v. Brazil.

We saw black and white pictures in library books of soccer players, but no video. And the words “live closed circuit TV” were something none of us had ever heard before or really understood. Everybody knows: there are only four TV channels 2, 4, 5, and 11.

The entire theater erupted into a cheer—a cheer unlike anything I had ever heard coming out of nearby Busch stadium during a Cardinals game. It was an emotional cheer! Men started to cry and laugh at the same time, and they were hugging! Butch’s Dad joined in and Butch and I ran to the upper balcony to watch as the adults stood up in unison as whistle blew and the ball was pushed across the half line. I remember being more scared at first than excited. These men had different looks in their eyes that I had ever seen.

And then I really don’t remember anything for the next two hours other than the screen of beautiful green and blue and yellow and a white ball with black spots (ours were solid yellow back then) being moved from blue to blue and yellow to yellow in elegant ways I had never seen. A man with a British accent called out the action like Jack Buck did with baseball on the radio. It was a slower game than what you might see today—but just as skillful and somehow more regal.

A lot of instructions were being called out from the audience in Italian. But I could not understand. Long angry groans when Italians lost the ball and great cheers of approval when delicate touches between players moved the ball between the blue players. Before too long, a cross came from the left to a yellow number 10 that leaped and headed the ball into the goal!

And while hundreds of thousands in Mexico rose to their feet and screamed, hundreds of Italian-Americans on Kingshighway fell silent. The name Pele flashed up on the screen as that little number 10 jumped into the arms of his teammate and raised his fist. Curses and silence in the theater were soon followed by that same song they sang at the beginning of the match. This time they sang it even louder.

I would see that same image at the beginning of ABC’s Wild World of Sports on TV many years into the future with the words “the thrill of victory” voiced over it.

I don’t remember seeing the Italian goal, but the sound in the Avalon was something I never forgot. How often in your life do you actually hear hundreds of men ever shout that loud in unison in an enclosed theater at one time? I put my hands over my ears and looked up to see the Italian team hugging and turned around and actually saw men with tears kissing each other. They sang again, even louder.

But the theater got more quiet and more restless as the game stayed tied until the second half when Brazil pulled away with a 4-1 victory and the crowd left much quieter and subdued than they arrived.

And while Angelo walked back up the hill home alone with some other Italian men, Butch and I took my soccer ball and crossed Kingshighway and climbed the fence into Mullally field.

You can see exactly what I saw live with those Italian men that day in 1970 at the Avalon Theater at. I watched some of it last night. And in a few hours, I will watch the same Brazilian national team play live on an 7 by 9 screen with no wires attached in a house on the side of a mountain.

As I watched last night, a lot of memories came back and I wondered how my life might have changed if Earl and I had not run into Angelo and Butch that day—or if Angelo decided not to wait and take me to the game. Because I know it was the day that I fell in love with the game of soccer. It kept me out of trouble, it paid for me to go to college, it gave me self-esteem and it led me to New Concord, Ohio to be a professor and a soccer coach where I found the only thing I loved better, your mom.