football

[With reference to occasional postings on Yellow Fever Pages]

I know my role when I play football. It seems god given. The stoic defender. The last line. Throwing himself at lost causes. Not a seeker of glory. No running around the pitch with your shirt over your head, awaiting kisses. Diligent, reliable, stoic.

It’s a role I’m comfortable with. It seems to suit. As a consequence the moments I find myself with a scoring chance are rare indeed. Typically, I blow them. With a self deprecating smile. Here it comes… - Blaze over the bar. Smash the ball wide. It matters not. This is not my forte. I shouldn’t even be in this part of the pitch.

The art of the striker. That selfish coolness. Selecting a spot. Calculating angles. Not rushing it. Creating time. These qualities are not endemic to my footballing nature.

Which is why when I discover them within me, I treasure them all the more.