Ender Mora arrived at the soccer field in Flushing Meadows Corona Park one Sunday afternoon with a couple of new Venezuelan friends who had gotten off a bus at Port Authority four hours earlier, after a journey from the Texas border.
The two 20-year-olds had no socks, wore only thin jackets and looked confused and exhausted. While waiting for his turn on the field, Mr. Mora, wearing his soccer uniform, busied himself bringing them bottles of water, sandwiches and warmer coats.
“I know they just arrived, but I thought it was important for them to see this,” Mr. Mora said, “so that they could get to know all our people here.”
For decades, the field in Corona, Queens, in the shadow of the borough landmark the Unisphere, has been home to numerous soccer leagues of mostly Latin American immigrants. The teams are loosely organized around national identity. The latest team to join their ranks, called La Vinotinto, is all Venezuelans.
It formed last April amid the recent influx of migrants to New York City (more than 183,000 have arrived in the past two years). Mr. Mora, who has been in the city since 2022, heard about the new team from another Venezuelan immigrant and was quick to sign up.
The 36-year-old had played soccer semiprofessionally in his hometown, Mérida. He said he had originally hoped just for some regular exercise, but he ended up finding much more at the weekly games.
“We are new in this city and it helps to share our experiences with others,” he said. “Sometimes people come just to talk.”
While many members of La Vinotinto have been living in city shelters and are struggling to find jobs, “coming here is good for all of us,” he said. “We can escape our reality a little.”
Rain, sleet or snow, every Sunday people arrive at the soccer fields. In the summer, it’s common for more than 100 games, organized by dozens of private leagues, to be played on some 20 fields over the course of the day. Some players arrive early to patch holes in the goal netting, paint fresh lines on the grass or set up folding chairs for spectators.
One afternoon this February, after a major snowstorm, games went on despite the bad conditions. Players from Colombia and Mexico were out shoveling parts of the field while others lined their shoes with plastic bags to keep their feet dry.
Some pitches are regulation size; others are more informal, including one that has a large tree in the middle. Players just dribble the ball around it.
One team is primarily made up of Guatemalans all from the same town, Pajoca, and the players shout directions to each other on the field in their Mayan language, Kaqchikel. Another team chatters in Guarani, the Indigenous language of Paraguay. Planes from La Guardia Airport buzz overhead at regular intervals.
When Jorge Chávez, an immigrant from Peru, founded one of the many leagues that play in the park in 1986, he aimed to create a refuge for newcomers, said his grandson Martin Chávez.
Now, nearly 40 years later, Martin Chávez, who was born in New York and has taken over the management role from his grandfather, has seen the league transform in the wake of each new migration trend.
In his grandfather’s generation, the players were mostly from South America: Colombian, Peruvian, Ecuadorean, some Chilean. By the 1990s, more Central Americans joined, and by the 2000s Mexicans came in larger numbers.
Now, the Venezuelans.
“The only difference is that they are talking about the new people in the news, but this place hasn’t changed,” said Luis Leal, 56, who arrived in New York 20 years ago from Guerrero, Mexico. “This is where we come to eat, and be together and make connections.”
Mr. Leal, who goes by Lucho and owns a flower shop in Queens, no longer plays but still comes every Sunday to cheer on his friends.
While churches and other religious institutions have built up informal networks to help recent migrants by offering meals, clothing donations and even legal advice, Mr. Leal said that at the park there was another type of communion.
“Every Sunday we commune with the ball,” he said. “It is not just playing the game — it is watching from the sidelines, where we make friends. It helps us create a community.”