Monday, 12 December 2011

Veteran Sports



Veteran Sports

The whistle blew on that first game and I burst onto the field with a fervour I hadn't felt in oh so long and haven't felt since. What I have felt is every year of absence and age, groaning about the stupidity of running around a field chasing a ball with a stick in my hands at the grand old age of 41. It hasn't stopped me though. I think to myself, "I'm too old for this..." as the ball whizzes past, and [like one of Pavlov's dogs] I automatically react. "That's my ball!" the hockey player inside my head says and orders my legs to start running. It would all be quite pathetic if it wasn't such good fun.
The camaraderie of the team is something I'd nearly forgotten about. The slaps on the back as we'd chased, tackled, jostled, and occasionally scored goals is a wonderful boost to moral. As is the concern when once again I've forgotten to stop running, barrelled into another player and somersaulted through the air to land with a thud on the ground. Or the shouts of "Don't worry, you'll get 'em next time!" when one of us has completely stuffed up a tackle or shot. The emphasis has been, and continues to be, less on winning [though that always remains our goal] and more on being a team, supporting each other and having fun. It's much more fun now than when I was a teenager and winning was everything. If I can get through a whole game without gasping for the need to rest before quarter time, I'm happy. If I can manage the game without injuries I'm even happier. To score a goal is the ultimate high!