The Small Things in the Dark

This all started in a parking lot in L.A. 

A stranger was trying to sell me an electric bike.

I was playing for LAFC at the time, and I remember him turning up at our facility after training. His name was Israel Sanchez, a friend of one of the players. I think he mentioned something about cruising down the beach instead of sitting in traffic, and then he took a few of us out to try the bikes.

I was standing there with my arms crossed.

He came over and said, “Hey man, why don’t you try one?”

I said, “Listen, don’t tell this to anyone, OK?”

He was like, “What is it?”

I said, “Well..... I don’t really know how to ride one.”

“WHAT?”

“Shhhhhhhhhh!!”

He said, “Don’t worry, I’ve got the bike for you.”

He pulled out this three-wheel bike, and I loved it. He had clearly done his research, because he knew that I was on the U.S. National Team and that I was doing some community work in the L.A. area. After I got off the bike, he said, “Hey, you know, the U.S. actually has another national team. I’m a coach there.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s called the U.S. Amputee Soccer Team.”

I was like, No way! I had been involved with charities and organizations already, but I didn’t know a team like that existed. I asked him lots of questions, and he promised to send me some videos. 

When I got home, I watched a clip of the U.S. team from what I think was a World Cup qualifier in Central America. The intensity was insane. All the outfield players were missing one leg, playing on crutches without their prostheses, but they were sprinting around at an incredible speed. There were dribbles, sliding tackles and brutal fouls. The stands were full of screaming ultras and chants and whistles. It was a different kind of soccer, but it most definitely was soccer. 

Right away, I fell in love. 

I got back in touch with Israel, and he introduced me to the U.S. Amputee coach at the time, Eric Lamberg, who invited me to training. When I turned up at a session, my jaw dropped. 

I saw men on crutches dribbling through cones like they were Messi. Shots flying into the top corner. Slick passing drills — touch, turn, pass. BANG. 

I stood there in awe for at least an hour. Then a guy came over to me with a pair of crutches.

I looked at him like, Wait, no …… really?

Before I could even say a word, he said, “Try it. You’re a professional, right?”

Riiiiiiiiiiight ………… 

Man, have you tried walking on crutches? Your arms and elbows carry so much weight. Your core has to be super strong. Just getting anywhere is hard work. Now imagine running on crutches. 

With a ball. 

On grass. With one leg.

Try taking it past your opponent. Sprint down the line, turn your body 90 degrees on a dime and send the ball into the box. These guys were doing that. 

And me? Hahahahahah. 

I was completely lost. Couldn’t even make a pass. 

Ten steps and my arms were hurting. 

After training, I heard some of their stories, and how they had lost a leg. Car crashes, tumors, bone diseases. An earthquake. Civil war in Sierra Leone. What they all had in common was a love for soccer, and a desire to keep playing it together. Like any pro soccer team, they have inspiring team talks, sly tactics, sucker-punches and last-minute winners. But there is one thing they don’t have. 

Funding. 

They are affiliated with U.S. Soccer as a Disability Service Organization, but they do not receive direct support, so they have to come up with their own money. This July they were playing the World Cup qualifiers in Mexico, which meant flights and hotel rooms. If the U.S. is going to win its first world title, we need more backing. The game is a lot bigger in Europe right now, but a lot of MLS teams are forming their own teams, and I’d love for more people to get involved. 

It’s not necessarily about big gestures, but also small shows of support.

Make a contribution. Go to a game. 

When they asked me to become their first ambassador, I said yes right away. 

It’s not necessarily about big gestures, but small shows of support.

- Kellyn Acosta

I’ll never forget meeting Nico, the team captain. I was telling him that my armpits hurt. 

(I had played for like five minutes.)

Nico is super kind, and I think he was trying to show sympathy, because he said, “Yeah man, I get the same.”

“You do?”

“Of course. After about five miles, I start to feel it.”

“Five miles? You did that this week?”

“No, that was this morning.”

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When I set up the Kellyn Acosta Foundation in 2023, I still didn’t fully realize to what extent soccer can change lives. I’ll never forget our first major initiative, in Watts, a neighborhood in Los Angeles with a couple of unwritten rules.

“Black kids can’t play.” 

“Soccer is a Mexican sport.”

The kind of stuff that can divide an entire community. 

Some of the kids there have parents who are involved in gangs and drugs. There were two neighborhoods fighting each other, and if you played soccer, you risked being associated with the wrong one. 

All these kids wanted was a safe place to play together. 

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So I teamed up with the LAFC Foundation to help Nick’s Kids Soccer Program refurbish a field in the community — an interchange between the two areas. We also set up an organization that kids have to be a member of in order to play, and to become a member they need to maintain a certain GPA. It’s super cool, because the kids can also get scholarships for private school. It’s not really about developing soccer players, you know? It’s about teaching social skills, relationships and discipline. It’s about preparing kids for the Real World. 

The process was so rewarding. I helped out with another field in Artesia, California.

And another in Gage Park, Chicago.

When the fields opened, I had kids running up to me saying, “Thank you for giving us somewhere safe to play.”

I had moms and dads coming over with tears in their eyes. 

One guy told me, “I grew up here in Artesia, I’ve lived here for 40 years, but we never had a place to play soccer. Thank you for doing this for my son.”

I used to be one of these kids. 

When I was growing up in Plano, Texas, we didn’t have anything that even resembled a soccer field. We had pasture grass. One goal post was the pole of a basketball hoop, the other was the edge of a playground. You had to imagine it. The closest real field was far away, and my parents were working a lot, so sometimes I had to do carpools to get to practice, or my grandma had to take me, or I’d miss it altogether. 

Worse, I used to be called a “girl” for playing soccer. I got picked on for being Black in a primarily white school. And I got stares for getting picked up by this Asian lady that nobody realized was my grandma, even though I kept telling them that she was. She was born in Japan, and she came with her husband to the U.S. with nothing but a picnic basket that carried a blanket, one change of clothes and a pair of bamboo sandals. I call her Mimi. She’s one of my heroes. 

She used to say that she didn’t care what I did, as long as I had a good heart. 

My dad was also born in Japan. I’m Japanese-American. My classmates didn’t believe me. They said I was adopted. 

I felt embarrassed.

And then soccer introduced me to some incredible people who changed my life, and who helped me be proud of my identity. Yes, this is a sport, but it’s also a vehicle for lifting people out of their circumstances, and this is the message I want to give every single kid who is playing at one of our fields. 

You are not a product of your environment. 

You don’t have to do what your dad did, or what your brother is doing. 

You’re bigger than that. You can do anything and be anything.

It’s all in your mind, and in your heart. 

Beyond the fields, my foundation has contributed to lots of other stuff, like book donations for schools. The most exciting project has been Game Changers, where we invite families from Chicago’s 10th District to watch one of our Chicago Fire games, and then I meet them by the locker room afterwards. This June, we welcomed a woman named Marshall whose partner passed away in 2023.

She had also lost one of her sons to gang violence. 

She had four other kids, but one of them was in hospital. 

On top of that, she had just lost her job.

And now she was studying to become a home mental aide. Imagine the strength it takes for this woman to get out of bed every day and keep going. Dealing with the pain. Taking care of her kids. She had never been to a soccer game before, and when I met her I was in awe of her perseverance. 

She was thanking me, but I said, “Marshall, thank you for being here.”

She put everything in perspective. 

I asked her some simple stuff like, “How are you holding up? How is your son doing?” I just wanted to show her that she is not alone, that there are people out there who care for her. I told her something as simple as, “You’re doing great. Keep it up.”

Just a reassurance that she’s doing it right, you know?

When you feel alone in the dark, those words can stay with you for years.

We have also welcomed a family who had a kid named Daniel, who was sitting in a wheelchair. He had cerebral palsy. His mom told us, “This is the best experience he has ever had.”

She was crying as she said it. She had never seen him smile that much. 

We had another kid, Izayah, who had been shot five times in the back. The doctors had pulled out some of the bullets, and he had just recovered enough to turn up at the game. He brought along 10 or 12 friends and family members, which was so cool. 

I’m still in touch with all these people, which was one of the reasons why I set up my own foundation. I was doing work with my clubs, but they were often one-off events. I saw what LeBron James was doing, and I wanted to leave an imprint. I wanted to build relationships. 

I wanted to follow kids and families on their journeys — to see the transformation. 

I didn’t just want to be there for the start of the race.

I wanted to see how it ended. 

That’s why I’m so incredibly grateful that Audi is contributing $50,000 to my foundation. What they are doing is truly exceptional, and I can promise that this money will change that journey for so many people.

With $50,000 you can cover the entire World Cup funding goal for the U.S. Amputee Soccer Team.

With $10,000 you can supply dozens of schools with books. 

I can’t even count the number of jerseys, cones and shoes you can buy. Some of the kids in these communities have never worn a pair of soccer cleats — they’re playing in worn-out running shoes. 

I’m also honored to be a candidate for this year’s Audi Goals Drive Progress Impact Award. If I am selected, I will be able to do even more for these communities. 

When you help someone, you often underestimate how much it means. 

When I did my article here at The Players’ Tribune on my mixed identity back in 2022, I was shocked by the number of people who got in touch with me about their own issues. Stuff they had always felt but never been able to express. You might think your problems are unique to you, but they are not, and I nearly lost count of all the DMs and Instagram comments. And I’m not one of those athletes to leave their social media to a PR agency. I read everything. 

One of the girls who got in touch was about 14 years old and living in California. She was Black and Mexican, which I could relate to, since I got my surname from my Mexican stepdad, who I consider my grandpa. This girl was being made fun of on both sides. She didn’t feel accepted anywhere. She had also been the victim of a traumatic experience that had made her part of a court case. 

When she wrote to me about her story, I was welling up. 

Somehow, she was going through life as if nothing had happened. Imagine how much that situation weighed on her, and how strong she was to carry on. She had read my article, and she said, “This is truly amazing. Thank you.”

She had even begun playing soccer, and she was loving it. She had finally come into an environment where she felt safe.

Hearing that, I felt like my story had come full circle. 

How could I listen to her and not want to help more people?

I think a lot of us have felt the desire to help someone without knowing where to start. If that is you, I encourage you to simply do something. The first step is taking the first step. Forget the home run. Just show up to a training session. Say something nice to someone. You’ll be surprised how much change you can do by telling someone, “Hey, you’re doing great.”

These days, small acts of kindness matter more than ever.

In the end, we have to build the future we want. Almost seven years ago, I became a father to a little boy, and every day I reiterate to him what my family said to me.

Your career can be great, but a good heart is even better.

What defines you is not the praise you receive in the spotlight.

It’s the small things you do in the dark. 

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Audi Goals Drive Progress initiative supports MLS athletes making an impact off the pitch through financial contributions to nonprofit organizations that create sustainable communities, foster equity and inclusion, and enrich the lives of those in need. Through the Audi Goals Drive Progress fund, Audi will be contributing $50,000 to the Kellyn Acosta Foundation in celebration of the work that both the organization and Kellyn do for their community. For more stories on Audi’s commitment to supporting MLS athletes and their community initiatives, please check out additional content from the “Celebrating Impact” series.