Pele I Ain't

A couple of lunchtimes a week I play soccer.  To be more accurate I try to play soccer.  To be even more accurate I stumble about a field getting in the way of other people who are playing soccer around me.  Around me and sometimes through me; they generally apologise when that happens.

Our soccer crew is the usual mix; some of us are young, fit and obviously only missed out on World Cup selection through the cruel vissitudes of fate.  Others of us are paunchy, middle aged but still are surprisingly capable of running for fifty minutes, have mad ball skills and a keen tactical sense.  And some of us are me.

There we all are; the young guys leaping and shouting encouragement to each other, the paunchy middle aged guys saving their breath for running and making up for being slightly slower with a lot of guile and me, desperately hoping that I faint on a different patch of grass to the one I've just thrown up on.

Occasionally the ball comes my way.  No, that isn't true.  Occasionally I get in the way of the ball, generally as it is peacefully attempting to make its way between two much better players.  When this happens I try to kick it.  Sometimes I succeed but usually I don't.  My hand eye coordination is poor but it is a miracle of precision compared with my foot eye coordination.  I'm a better defender than an attacker which is to say sometimes I manage to get in the way of the person with the ball.  You'd be amazed how difficult it is for even the most skilful player to achieve his full potential when he is attempting to perform CPR on the physical wreck who has just collapsed in front of him.

Sometimes I kick people.  I don't do this deliberately, what I'm trying to kick is the ball.  "Try to kick the ball" is about the only rule of soccer I actually know.  I run (stagger, stumble, crawl; whatever) to where I last saw the ball wildly waving whichever of my feet I have designated as my ball contact mechanism.  It's not really my fault if, by the time I arrive the ball is twenty metres away and doing its best to put more distance between us.

Injuries are part of the game of course.  I still can't bend a toe that I damaged in a game last year.  However most of my "injuries" are little more than various muscle groups screaming at me to stop playing soccer and sit down in an armchair with a book.  Or my lungs pointing out that I should quit either soccer or smoking as they're having difficulty sustaining a lifestyle that encompasses both.  Perhaps I should fully embrace the sedentary lifestyle which is the only one my body seems designed for but for right now I'm actually enjoying the soccer.