足球無“語”界

I was the last player between Number 54 and my goalkeeper. I had to stop the forward1) or at least slow him down so that my teammates could catch up.

\"Fuori! Fuori! Tomas!\" my coach roared.

Fuori—the word sounded familiar. I'd heard that on my first day of practice with the soccer club in Milan， Italy， but I couldn't remember what it meant. I panicked. What did the coach want me to do? Steal the ball2)? Try a sliding tackle3)? Every stride4) brought us closer to the goal. I had to do something. I couldn't let my usual confusion hurt the team. I went with the safest choice: tapping the ball out of bounds.

\"Bravo5)!\" my coach exclaimed6).

\"Bravo， Tomas!\" my friend Luigi echoed.

At Milan's international school， where everyone spoke English， I was Tom. Here， I answered to Tomas. Today was our first game. I finally remembered that fuori means outside. Luckily， the coach had wanted me to kick the ball out of bounds.

Number 54 quickly picked up the ball for a throw-in7)， but it was too late; my teammates were in position. Twenty seconds later， a whistle blast ended the first half.

\"Bravo， Tomas!\" Luigi repeated as we jogged to the bench. Then he added in English， \"We will learn you to play soccer well.\"

\"Teach，\" I said. Luigi and I had agreed to correct each other's language mistakes.

\"Teach，\" Luigi repeated. Like most of my teammates， he had been studying English since first grade. Whenever I looked lost during practice， Luigi would tell me what to do.

We arrived at the sidelines8) as our coach began his lecture. I recognized a few words popping9) out of the torrent10) of Italian: is， the， was， you， ball. But the coach tone made it clear: he wasn't happy with how we were playing.

To be honest， I wasn't happy with how I was playing. I had known the safest thing to do. Why had I hesitated?

When the coach finished， I asked Luigi in my best Italian， \"Che cosa ha ditto?\"(What did he say?)

Luigi answered in English， \"We must play better. We must run more fast.\"

\"Faster，\" I said.

\"Ah， yes—faster，\" Luigi said. \"And we must play—how do you say it?—istintivamente.\"

\"Uh， instinctively11)?\"

\"Si， si，\" (yes) Luigi said， nodding.

A plan suddenly came to me: ignore the coach. Instead of trying to translate what he said， I would use my instincts and run more fast， er， faster.

After the second half started， my plan seemed to work. I felt like I'd pulled off a lead vest.

With only minutes left to go， we were up by one goal. But number 54 was doing his best to tie12) the game. Our goalkeeper barely managed to stop the forward's latest shot. The ball landed at my feet.

Dribbling13) it toward the sideline， I looked for a teammate. Everyone was covered， so I kept moving. The midfielders14) were tired; my legs were still fresh. I broke away from the pack. The ball and I crossed the centreline15). My coach was yelling instructions， telling me what to do. Was he angry or pleased? I couldn't tell. But back in the States， my coach had always encouraged her players. Soccer was soccer， even if my teammates called it calico. I kept going.

I was more than three-quarters of the way down the field when a defender finally came to meet me. I waited for just the right moment， then sent a centering pass16) across the middle to Fabio. Istintivamente!

Fabio rushed forward to meet the ball. Whump17)! He kicked it past the goalie's outstretched18) fingers and into the net.

\"Goal!\" my teammates shouted. (That word is actually the same in English and Italian.)

\"Bravissimo， Tomas!\" my coach roared.

Luigi arrived and thumped19) me on the back. \"Ben fatto， Tomas!\" My old confused look must have come back for just a second， because he translated， \"Well done—Tom.\"

對(duì)方54號(hào)和我方守門員之間只有我一個(gè)球員了。我必須阻止這個(gè)前鋒，至少要讓他慢下來，這樣我身后的隊(duì)友們才能趕過來。

“Fuori！Fuori！托馬斯！”我聽見教練在咆哮。

“Fuori”——這個(gè)詞很耳熟，我到意大利米蘭足球俱樂部練球的第一天就聽過，但我想不起來是什么意思。我慌了神。教練想讓我做什么？斷球？試著倒地滑鏟？每跑一步我們就逼近球門一步。我必須采取行動(dòng)。不能因?yàn)槲移綍r(shí)對(duì)意大利語的迷惑使球隊(duì)受創(chuàng)。我選擇了最保險(xiǎn)的做法：把球踢出界。

“好極了！”我的教練大聲喊道。

“托馬斯，太棒了！”我的朋友路易吉也應(yīng)聲喝道。

在米蘭的國際學(xué)校里，人人都說英語，他們叫我湯姆。而在賽場(chǎng)上，大家叫我托馬斯。今天是我們的第一場(chǎng)比賽。我終于想起來了，“fuori”是界外的意思。幸好教練確實(shí)是想讓我把球踢出界外。

54號(hào)球員迅速撿起球，企圖擲界外球，不過為時(shí)已晚，我方隊(duì)友已經(jīng)各就各位。20秒后，哨聲吹響，上半場(chǎng)比賽結(jié)束。

“太棒了，托馬斯！”當(dāng)我們慢跑回場(chǎng)外板凳席時(shí)，路易吉又說了一遍。接著還用英語補(bǔ)充道：“我們會(huì)學(xué)你好好踢球。”

“是‘教’。”我說。路易吉和我說好了要互相糾正對(duì)方的語言錯(cuò)誤。

“教。”路易吉重復(fù)道。他和我的多數(shù)隊(duì)友一樣，從一年級(jí)就開始學(xué)習(xí)英語。每當(dāng)我在練球時(shí)面對(duì)意大利語露出茫然之色，路易吉就會(huì)告訴我該怎么做。

我們來到球場(chǎng)的邊線，教練開始訓(xùn)話了。我只能聽懂一連串的意大利語中蹦出的幾個(gè)詞：是、這、以前是、你、足球。但是從教練的語氣可以確定：他對(duì)我們的表現(xiàn)不甚滿意。

說實(shí)話，我對(duì)自己的賽場(chǎng)表現(xiàn)也不滿意。既然當(dāng)時(shí)我知道最保險(xiǎn)的做法，為何還會(huì)遲疑呢？

教練訓(xùn)完話，我用我說得最好的意大利語問路易吉：“Che cosa ha ditto？”(他說什么？)

路易吉用英語答道：“我們必須踢得更好，我們必須跑得加快。”

“是‘更快’。”我糾正說。

“啊，是的——更快，”路易吉說，“我們必須踢——你怎么說那個(gè)詞？——istintivamente。”

“嗯，‘本能地’？”

“對(duì)，對(duì)，”路易吉點(diǎn)著頭說。

我腦海里突然冒出了一個(gè)念頭：拋開教練的話。我打算不再費(fèi)勁翻譯教練的話，而是依靠本能，要跑得加快。哦，是更快。

下半場(chǎng)開始后，我的計(jì)劃似乎奏效了。我感覺像脫掉了鉛背心一樣輕松。

比賽只有幾分鐘就要結(jié)束了，我們領(lǐng)先對(duì)手一個(gè)球。但是54號(hào)仍然竭盡全力，想追平比分。就在剛才，我方的守門員差點(diǎn)沒能攔住這位前鋒的射門。這時(shí)，球落到了我腳邊。

我一邊朝邊線運(yùn)球，一邊看能傳給哪個(gè)隊(duì)友。他們都被對(duì)方防守著，我只能接著運(yùn)球。對(duì)方的前衛(wèi)已疲憊不堪，而我的腿卻仍然有勁。我突破他們的攔截，帶球過了球場(chǎng)中線。我的教練吼叫著指令，告訴我如何去做。他是生氣還是滿意？我聽不懂。但是在美國，我的教練總是鼓勵(lì)她的球員。足球就是足球，即使我的隊(duì)友叫它c(diǎn)alico。我仍然往前運(yùn)球。

當(dāng)對(duì)方的一個(gè)后衛(wèi)沖我跑過來時(shí)，我已跑過了球場(chǎng)的3/4，我等待著最佳時(shí)機(jī)，接著便一記中傳，把球踢給法比奧。Istintivamente！

法維奧飛速上前用腳接住球。砰！他一腳射門，球越過守門員伸出的五指，直射網(wǎng)底。

“進(jìn)球！”我的隊(duì)友們呼喊起來。(這個(gè)單詞在英語和意大利語里是一樣的。)

“Bravissimo，托馬斯！”我的教練大喊。

路易吉走過來，重重一拳捶在我后背。“Ben fatto，托馬斯！”我以前那種迷茫的神情肯定又浮現(xiàn)了片刻，因?yàn)樗⒓捶g過來說：“踢得好——湯姆。”

Famous Olympic Legend

on a Stamp

郵票上的奧運(yùn)傳奇

你知道這張郵票上的人是誰嗎？他在1968年的墨西哥城奧運(yùn)會(huì)上展現(xiàn)了怎樣驚人的一幕呢？

This scene of U.S. long jumper Bob Beamon at the 1968 Mexico City Olympics has been described as the \"jump of the century.\" What was so amazing about Beamon's leap?

Answer：

At the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City， Bob Beamon of the U.S. startled (使震驚) the track world when he jumped 29 feet， 2.5 inches. Long jump records were usually broken by mere (很少的) inches or centimeters， but Beamon's jump beat (勝過) the former record by almost 2 full feet!

Beamon's jump still stands as an Olympic record， although Mike Powell set a new world record at the 1991 World Championships in Tokyo with a jump of 29 feet， 4.5 inches. Still， many consider Beamon's record-shattering (粉碎記錄的) leap in 1968 as the \"jump of the century.\"