Tonight I finally got back to doing something that I love doing . . . playing football. It's something I missed and looked forward to through my illness and recovery from surgery and yet now it's happened rather suddenly.
The truth is that breaking up from school for half term has left me quite low over the weekend. Going back to work has been an adrenaline rush and reinforced a positive attitude. However as I continue to gain momentum and get back into the swing of things the pause button has been struck and I don't have the power to resume. A darkened mood hasn't been helped by having to punish a couple of kids in the twilight hours of the school term. This pushed me towards a low and not being able to turn it around or in to a positive for a week feels like a dark tunnel to plod through, backwards. Hence in a craving for something positive to focus on I quickly made the decision to get back into the beautiful game.
Over the last couple of days I turned over thoughts in my head about whether it was a good idea and if I could do it. What if I get struck by the ball, or even worse some flailing body part? What if I can't run? The movements in a game of football are very different to those of swimming and cycling; how much pain will the sudden twisiting and acceleration? After nearly a year out what will my ball control and skills be like? Will I be an embarrassment? What would it be like seeing people I haven't seen for months and months? How would people react to me being back? However, none of this deferred me from wanting to give it a go.
As the evening of kick off approached I was nervous yet keen to get started, much like when anticipation the process of another Villa match. . When I arrived I was greeted by friendly faces. There wasn't the usual excitement, emotion and affection that I've become accustomed to on my returns to over walks of life but it was ideal. It was low key, there were nice welcomes and a few non evasive questions. There were a few comments wondering about what I would be up to and capable of but just like any other week all everyone wanted to do was play football. Gone was the old, worn down, sandy AstroTurf and in it's place a new, luscious artificial grass. I wondered how much it would feel like grass if I hit face first as I collapse per match.
Once I'd done a light warm up, game time arrived. "Keep it simple, don't over do it, no pressure," kept going over in my head. My first touch came quick as "kept is simple, just a shot pass to a teammate will do" turned over in my head. "Bollocks to that" as I attempted a Pirlo-esque cross field pass! Success! From then on it was surprisingly plain sailing although I stuck to a deliberate plan of not roaming around the whole pitch or ever running at full pace. Slotting into position as defender and getting in tackles and headed clearances felt better and better as game time passes. In fact midway through the match it's me getting irritated by other people at fault for goals or failing to find me and other teammates with passes. There was no pain, no exhaustion or breathing out my arse in a shattered wreck. Yes, I couldn't always reach the ball the way I'd have liked or stretch out in ways I desired but there was an overrriding sense of enjoyment. Glances at my watch triggered remorse that we were edging closer to full time. The indication that there were only ten minutes left provoked me to make a few marauding runs up field. Again, more satisfaction.
And then full time. Shit! I didn't want to stop. I was just getting it on a groove and felt like I could of on. Compliments of my play were rewarding and as I got in the car I was back in that dark, tunnel; I've got to wait a whole week to play again. Dam.
