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Taken from Outcasts United by Warren St. John 

On a cool spring afternoon on a soccer field in northern Georgia, two teams of teenage boys were going through their pregame warm-ups. The field was quiet except the thumping of soccer balls against forefeet and the rustling of the balls against the nylon nets hanging from the goals. Suddenly, there was a rumble. As it grew louder, all motion stopped, and boys from both teams looked skyward. Above was a squadron of fighter jets on their way to an air show miles away in Atlanta. The aircraft came closer, so that the boys could make out the markings on the wings and the white helmets of the pilots in the cockpits. Then, with a roar loud enough to rattle the change in a person's pockets, the jets shot off in different directions like an exploding fireworks. 

The teams watched with craned necks. The players on the home team-a group of thirteen-and fourteen-year-old-boys from nearby Atlanta suburbs playing with the North Atlanta Soccer Association - gestured toward the sky with awe. The boys at the other end of the field were members of an all-refugee soccer team called the Fugees. Many had actually seen fighter jets in action, and all had felt the results of war firsthand. There were Sudanese players on the team whose villages had been bombed, and Liberians who'd lived through mortar fire that pierced the roofs of their neighbors' homes, taking out whole families. As the jets flew over the field, several members of the Fugees flinched. 

"You guys need to concentrate!" a voice interrupted as the jets streaked into the distance. 

The voice belonged to Luma Mufleh, the thirty-one-year-old founder and volunteer coach of the Fugees. Her players resumed their practice shots, but they seemed distracted. Their shots flew hopelessly over the goal. 

"If you shoot like that, you're going to lose," Coach Luman Said. 

Luman Shouted to her players to gather around her. She gave them their positions and they took the field. Forty or so parents had gathered on the home team's sideline to cheer their boys on, and they clapped as their sons walked onto the pitch. Their was no one on the Fugees' sideline. Most of the players came from single-parent families, and their mothers or fathers - usually mothers - stayed home on weekends to look after their other children, or else worked, because weekend shifts paid more than weekday shifts. Few had cars to allow them to travel to soccer games. Even at their home games, the Fugees rarely had anyone to cheer them on. 

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