I got into the car this morning to go to work, still bearing the hallmarks of a hectic weekend. The extra half an hour ensured I'd have to deal with an increased number of erratic drivers. Upon reaching the first roundabout, I gave myself a quick glance in the mirror and realised Saturday's stubble had turned to Tuesday's gentle beard. Home I went. Bad start to a long slow painful day.
The sun was shining though. The temperatures in the high 20's and football training beckoned. Tuesday night is now used for full pitch games. We filled each position tonight with the exception of the keeper positions.
We played till it was dark with some flat balls, some pumped balls. The surface was bumby and hard. The bibs bore the stench of many hot evenings pounding the ground. The lack of nets behind the goals gave everyone a breather when wayward kicks and glorious points were retrieved. We did some horrendous things. We did some brilliant things. We ran and we sweat and threw the odd dig. We argued about balls being picked off the ground, about tackles from behind and about sideline balls. This is what its all about.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Is it playing ball you enjoy so much or being a kid? Because the scene you described there is straight out of everyone's childhood. The innocence of playing for the sake of playing without any concern, or even acknowledgement, of the world around.
Isn't that why we talk about 'playing'? Who doesn't love to play?! In fact, I want to go play now!
Post a Comment