[dropcap]3.[/dropcap] Hangovers, Electrical Tape and a Good Amount of Pride
Every great player has a game plan that starts well before the ref’s whistle sounds. Mine starts hours before, when the first crack of sunlight breaks past the bedrooms blinds as I blearily wave a hand to snooze the radio.
At this stage the rest of my team will also be looking to wake up. Some, with considerably more (or less depending on how you look at it) partying skills than my own, will be staring at the bad end of a hangover. Others, with families still at home, might have their wake up assisted by infants using their ribs as a trampoline. In all cases, the illusion of a rested last day of the weekend is shattered before the kit bag is slowly filled with kit, boots, shinguards, drinks and last but not least personally tailored medical equipment necessary for the game.
The morning chores completed, the team meets up a good hour before the game with the thought of warming and stretching for a good 50 minutes before actually discussing important things like family, sports scores and embarrassing Saturday night tales. At this point the group has merged into the concrete bunker below the stands to change. The basic socks, shorts and shirt are augmented by shin-guards, boots and whatever items we deem necessary for our bodies to survive a 90 minute game.
Medical professionals may cringe at the thought but a player’s best friend is a belief in their own medical knowledge. Sprain your ankle in a game and half a dozen different ‘doctoral’ recommendations will be proffered mostly before the coach arrives at your side to drag you off to the touchline. And to add to this, the weekly niggles, aches and pains have to be kept in check with everything from everyone’s favourite aromatic flavour, Deep Heat, to mummifying a groin strain in black electrical tape.
The coach herds us into the rooms to talk tactics, positions and which unlucky sod has to run the line for the first half. No one is smiling as we all mentally negotiate with their bodies how far we can push things before we seize up like abandoned tractors in a field.
This Metro league may be a ton of fun, and it may lack the official second, third and fourth referee but this is serious business to the core. The refs, resplendent in their freshly pressed uniform are just as officious and unreliable as the UCL and the showmanship and diving are just as relevant to the four relatives lining the white lines as it is to 60,00 people screaming from the stands. To be perfectly honest, the catering options at most local games have outdone quite a few of the venues I’ve been to already, but I digress.
A game may start with a full squad of 15 but often, by the end of the the 90 minutes, up to four players will be sitting on the sidelines nursing a bag filled with ice to muscle or tendon. The goals start to pile up as the interchange bench is relied upon for ‘fresh legs’ though more often tenderised than youthful. Formations that started as a ‘solid diamond’ become a marshmallow 6-3-1 defensive structure in the last five minutes as the pace slows to a crawl.
In a gruelling match-up the mind games become more relevant than ever. A subtle shoulder at the right time and a normally amicable insurance assessor looks close to head butting a house painter. The good refs control a game using cards sparingly while the bad ones just throw them out like they’re paid on commission. By the 89th minute the legs of all are tired and it’s mostly pride and strapping tape holding half of the players upright.
The final shrill whistle blows and the animosity between the teams floats away behind the nets. All that is focused on is the goals, the misses and the errors of the game. If we’re quick enough we’ll grab some food for sustenance from the canteen before the shutters are closed and every players starts thinking about how bad they’ll feel at work the next day.
My own injuries aren’t too bad. I’m nursing a slightly sprained ankle on one side but the hobbling should clear up by Wednesday.
Well at least that’s what I’m hoping, because training’s on Thursday.
And I can’t miss training.
Part 1: An introduction to a team | Part 2: Mud, Sludge and Chicken Parma
Part 3: Hangovers, Electrical Tape and a Good Amount of Pride