my mate decanus…

January 16, 2007

my mate decanus…is very excited about the football today. After a lengthy abscene from the game, I – accompanied by my good friend the Doctor – will be making my debut for his team.

Dynamo Chicken Kiev (I’m 70% sure that’s the name but I can’t remember exactly), I think they’re called are currently mid-table in the local six-a-side league after taking over another team’s position in the league mid-season.

Decanus, my friend, is this man on the right –>>>>>>>

Doesn’t he look threatening? He’s harmless, but this is what he looks like when he plays football.
Or so I hope.

But for me, the football will be hard and I hope for Decanus’ sake, it isn’t too hard.
See my friend, the Doctor, is a sporty energetic man. If I remember correctly, my old friend is a shouting, aggressive bloke when playing. I, I’m afraid to say, am none such thing. Well, maybe shouty. Decanus too is a sporty man – he gyms, he will run a marathon this year. Even the team’s ‘biggest’ player is probably far more athletic than I. But nonetheless, I shall rise above it and once again, become a footballer.
For thirteen minutes each half.
I shall ache, I shall get cramp, and I’ll probably cough up my lungs but yes, I shall be, a footballer again.

I’ve heard the Doctor has been boning up on research, reading an edition of FourFourTwo that has Arsene Wenger’s guide to five-a-sides in it. Nice. Decanus will probably wake up tomorrow, limber up and prepare his mind throughout the day. I shall have a beer on the train home and see what happens. He emailed over the teamsheet this morning, all nicely laid out on half a green football pitch the size of A5 paper when printed, letting us know the starting six. (It’s pasted below).

I’m adopting the no running, playmaker role in midfield – I like to think of it as the fountain, distributing passes, spraying the ball around. Like Tommy, Tommy Huddlestone – the future of English football (except the Newcastle game at the weekend… shame).

I’m afraid I’ll be a bit more the stone, not moving and looking lifeless.

But it’s nice while it lasted. At least for these few seconds here, I’m mentally a footballer. But I’ll try my hardest goddammit, I’ll fight for Dynamo Chicken Kiev and kiss it’s buttery badge of herbs and chicken and oozing watery stuff from inside its beautiful breadcrummy exterior.chickenkiev.jpg

And if, perchance, we win the game and I notch a couple of goals, then I’ll walk home happy with myself and with a spring in my step, faith restored in life. And I’ll walk into that pub. I’ll breathe in it’s smoky air. I’ll neck that pint and… fuck it… I’ll buy a 99p frozen Chicken Kiev from the Turkish corner shop on the way home.

Then again, if it goes badly, I don’t expect I’ll write about this again.

J.

Tuesday’s line up

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