By Lynn La
Two views of McCarren Park, on a recent sunny afternoon.
The Automotive High School football team, which uses the park as its practice field, is being chewed out by the coach.
“I’m serious, you guys. I saw light bulbs broken, bottles being thrown, and the cops came,” he says in a calm, controlled lecture. Across the way, parents push strollers. People, most of them in their mid-twenties and white, are scattered across the grass, sitting on picnic blankets, reading, sketching, talking to friends. They face the football team, but pay little attention to the players.
The players, mostly young Latino and African-American sit with legs-crossed surrounding their coach. They look down and pick at the grass, like children who’ve just been caught passing notes in class. “Every time practice is over, go home,” says the coach. “I don’t want anyone to get into trouble. Please. Just go home.”
A guy with shoulder-length beach blond hair rolls a cigarette on his long board. He says he is a filmmaker, but he bartends at night. Another girl, leather purse and iPhone in hand, says she is a freelance photographer who works part-time at two different photography and design studios. Another girl was an office assistant at Planned Parenthood, “for now,” she adds, while yet another girl currently works at a credit card company after finishing culinary school (although, she says she really doesn’t know if she wants to be a chef). Both had the day off. A guy with Ray Ban sunglasses texts on his Blackberry while munching on strawberries; another man who works in advertising for a publishing house, reads underneath a tree. He says he is on a sixth-month vacation from London. Across from him a girl sits with her Shiba Inu, an ancient dog breed imported from Japan.
The football players jog in place while intermittently dropping to the ground for push-ups. One player stops to scream to his teammates, “Go! Count! Everybody counts!” A cloud of dust kicks from the dirt.
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