Played football for the first time in months today, after weeks (and months) of wanting to play. Turns out poncey southerners don’t like playing in the winter. Ponces. Anyway, it’s now a tiny bit warmer so people are rushing out in their thousands (“12”) to kick a sphere around some Astroturf for a couple of hours on a Friday afternoon.
I have encountered many dissenting voices over the years, questioning, even mocking my decision to play a sport enjoyed by apes and idiots the world over. I would launch into some impassioned defence of playing something for fun and not being lured into thinking all football is played either like the professionals or like it was when you were at school with everyone shouting at you for being shit.
But I started this blog hours ago and got sidetracked doing other things, and now I’m too tired to really make that point anymore. Safe to say, I play footy because I like to play it. I’m shit, I’m unfit and I probably shouldn’t run around on this ankle. But I like to play. It cheers me up. It’s a release.
But anyway, I sit here with a headache that tells me I’m knackered and legs that hurt in that oh-so-good way, and I feel good. Seems I do need to run around not being able to play the sport very well regularly or oh god I’m so tired this sentence makes no sense oh my legs hurt this isn’t good oh god.