Naked Soccer on the Beach

It was my immense privilege and pleasure to have been given the opportunity to recount the amazing and often life-defining travels and memoires of the enigmatic and incomparable Bob McGuire. I was a boyhood friend of his two younger brothers, Ken and John, who were one year my senior, and one year my junior, in that order. It was the Fall of 1959, when my family and I moved to the quiet, suburban neighborhood of East 44th Avenue near Joyce Road in southeast Vancouver, B.C. Our house was just a few doors down from the McGuire homestead.
While I quickly gravitated toward Ken, John and the other boys of similar ages living on the block, the older McGuire brothers, Bob and Mike were of a different generation. Not unlike my own older brother, they were visible to me, but mostly unapproachable. In those days, it was an unwritten rule that one kept to their own peer group and strayed neither too far above nor below it. However, it was always fascinating to surreptitiously observe the behaviors and life-styles of those "Cats," we perceived to be worldly, and who we would one day attempt to emulate.
Without the need for detailed explanation, my home-life as a youth was extremely difficult. It was filled with an over-abundance of negativity and external abuses. Thankfully, I attribute the rejuvenating qualities of friendship with Ken, John and the other boys from the block, as the defining factor that kept me more or less grounded and functional as a developing youth. Unfortunately, even with their positive influences, I still often felt like an outsider. While they all enjoyed childhood activities such as organized sports, musical endeavors, parental affection, family outings and the like, I experienced none of those. I was born first-generation Canadian, from blue-collar immigrant parents. I was trapped in a loveless, dysfunctional family dynamic where daily emotional existence was a struggle. I was not encouraged or even permitted to play sports, my parents were not interested in assimilating into Canadian society, nor did I have the ability to express myself in any way, shape, or form.
Needless to say, as I grew, I developed no measurable athletic ability. I never participated in any organized club or sporting league, I was never given the opportunity to play a musical instrument, and even "Hockey Night in Canada," that iconic Saturday evening television program religiously viewed every week by millions of Canadians, never graced our television set. I didn't even own a bicycle. So, when all the other boys would go 'riding' for the day, I would be stuck at home, sitting on our front steps, waiting for them to eventually return.