Football Match

To say I'm a sportsman would be verging on a lie. I do go to the gym, I do like to swim... but rarely do I play a physical sport. Well that was until work came up with a football team.

I have a dull deskjob at the moment, not exciting but still its a job. When I heard in the office, departments were putting together 5 a side teams for some charity matches, I thought it sounded like a bit of fun. I do wonder if that day I was actually thinking at all, because I offered to join in.

I don't think it was actually until the week of the match and parting with £5 that I actually realised I was going to be playing football.

One guy from work had got us kits. I am not the fullest of frames and as I slipped over the un-washed sweat wrenching red nylon football shirt, I looked down to what was more like a 4 man tent than a top.

I smiled a half nervous smile and took the kit off and sat down to continue my work. As I tapped away at the keyboard it dawned on me...tomorrow I would be playing 4 matches with different teams of serious players and I was the amateur that had joined for a joke.

I woke up on Wednesday morning with excitement. Don't ask me why. I went into work and the office was buzzing for the match, everyone was coming to watch and everyone was talking about it.

The excitement was short lived and went when the horror stories started. I can honestly say I have never owned a Shin-pad in my life, so when I was asked if I had brought them a blank look crept across my face. I got told to shove two magazines down my socks and strap them with tape. I started to sweat.

Thankfully, my work mate turned team mate, came back from lunch with new shin-pads. I was touched and ready to go, then I looked down at the packet and realised they were childrens size. Shocking as it is, they fitted like a glove.

We all got changed into our kits and got ready to leave for the match.

As I saw people start to run about on the 3 pitches kicking balls and practicing, panic suddenly darkened my face, questioning if I actually knew how to kick a ball. It wasn't until my team mate kicked the ball to me and it continued to go past me, that I realised I didn't know how to stop a ball, let alone kick it.

We got to practice for about 5 minutes and then we got told who we were playing and within seconds the whistles were blown.

We had started to play and I was on the sidelines at first. I watched the ball go back and fourth, people fall over and people getting knocked about. My team mate came over and it was my turn to go on.

I ran about chasing players and the ball, up and down. I was positioned right next to the goal at one point, within perfect scoring distance. My team mate passed the ball to me ready to score a goal, instead it went through my legs and offside. It was an easy mistake to make I reasured everyone.

Match 2, I started on the sides again. This team looked very serious and when they started playing I realised they were a team I didn't want to actually play.

It came to the point I was dreading, my team mate starting panting and turned to me as if he wanted to change over. With fear I shouted, "You're doing great, hang in there!" and turned my back on his puffing in hope he would continue.

He continued to play sweating more and more and getting more and more tired. Guilt crept over me, so as he went to take what looked like it might be his final breath, i ran on the pitch as he came off.

Within seconds the whistle blew and it was the end of that match.

I decided that in the next match I would start and play the whole match. The whistle blew and I got confidence and was running about chasing the ball. I tackled a few times tripping over, apologising to everyone even when it wasn't my fault.

As the match progressed and a couple of kicks later I was faced with running for a ball against the goalie.

As if in slow motion, I ran for the ball thinking, just tackle him Daniel!! Then just as I was close to getting the ball, the goalie that was built like a semi-detached house with a swimming pool of sweat attached, threw all his weight and his belly at me knocking every possible bit of wind left in my body.

Struggling to breathe, I looked to my colleagues cheering us on and signalled the need to change player. My friend responded, "Come on Daniel, pull yourself together!"

If I could have breathed, I would have said a lot more than my scowl as I limped off the pitch. I gradually got my breath back, staring at the goalie that didn't look as if he lost so much as a puff.

One more game left to play. I ran on and ran about, my 4 man tent flapped in the wind and my legs ached. We had a quick swap over and the match was over.

Just when I thought I could finally go to the pub for a well deserved drink, a woman came up to us and asked for a picture of the team... I didn't see the photo, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't have been my best one.

We won 2 of the matches, lost one and drew one. My legs still ache as we speak and I'm not sure if I will ever have all the air back in my lungs that is meant to be in there.

No wonder I stick to the gym... Football is a dangerous sport, but actually a lot of fun.