From the islands of the Pacific to the highlands of South America, I’ve seen boys working to turn dreams into reality. In fact, I’ve seen it so often that it merges into one image, one picture. It’s of a small boy, maybe nine or ten, in shorts, barefoot, and with a torn shirt. He’s on a patch of dirt, alone, and he’s looking down at a white-and-black-checkered ball. He takes a step toward it, his leg swings through, and the ball shoots off, about seven feet above the ground, where it might zip past a goalie into the net—except there’s no goalie and no net; there’s just the boy and the ball. And then he runs to the ball, puts it in place with his foot, and kicks it. And he does it over and over again.