Day 134 - Face First Mud Diving

Three forty something men should be collectively clever enough to know that taking on a battalion of seven year olds in a Dad's vs Lads football match is never going to end well. We should have known that running around a half sized rain soaked muddy pitch (thank God it wasn't a full size pitch) for ninety minutes in nothing more than jeans, t shirt and trainers (takkies for Saffers) wasn't the best idea.

Yes. We should have read the writing on the wall when they all turned up in football strip, shin guards and boots with viciously, even purposely honed on a grinder, sharp studs. Oh and the reapers grin, minus a tooth or two, that stretched from ear to ear on each of the little shits faces was also a sign. And another that we missed.

For three grown men, all of distinction - OK the other two had distinction - , character and considerable skill we thought, we sure misread the intention of the little bastards. As they ran rings around us slotting Beckham quality goals at random. And caused me to think, momentarily, that face first mud diving was the new in thing. The new must do sport of champions. Or in our case losers.

It is now two days later. The pain of that humiliating defeat is still evident. Physically I have become a marvel to medical science as I have discovered new muscles that for decades have lain unused, waiting only for this occasion to show their faces. I now walk with a limp, I may never recover. And mentally we are scarred, images of toothless grinning little bastards coming at us studs first will forever blot our vision. And the noise of their goal scoring celebrations will haunt our dreams. We have elected to take private football lesson and to buy our own boots with sharp studs so that next time we will show them who's boss. Money is no object, we will pay whatever it costs. And next time we will ask for a pitch side ambulance just in case and a professional referee. And goal line technology. And linesmen. And really small goals for them to score into and really big ones for us in case we score.I'm sure they were cheating you know. And we will warm up before thinking that we're still young. And that will separate the men from the boys. 

But is all depends on making tomorrow morning. You see some of our injuries are horrific. I'm limping and one of the other young old dads did his back. There may not be another time. Our team of three may have to be split up, or as some would say, put to pasture. And that wouldn't be a bad idea. That way, we could continue to be side line experts, all knowing in the ways of all sports. We could, while our kids still believe that we have what it takes, continue to influence game strategy and team selection. Hell we could still even step in and ref the game. Just so long as we don't play again. You see one more game and our kids will start seeing the real skills that we have. And its not football. Shhhh. Don't say a word.

Happy New Year. God Speed.