The beautiful game of soccer

I have a confession to make; I am not much of a soccer fanatic. I mean I love soccer and would watch the big games and tournaments such as the World Cup et al. I would scream at the top of my voice, kick my dear dog Danger in the ribcage, and shout profanities each time 'my' team scores - or attempts to. If my wife asks me about that expensive pair of shoes she wanted during that moment, I would gladly smile and say, “Yes, honey. Of course… go ahead. I love you too darling….”

But what I would not do is run home from a dinner night out to catch the last fifteen minutes of an Arsenal versus something-something team! I know of dudes that would drop whatever they were doing to watch a soccer game. The guy could be the one with the most vital secret code that could save the world from the Apocalypse – but he would drop the entire human race and jet home for Arsenal's sake.

Nah, I am not that type. Well, I do not know about pulling a Steven Segal and saving the human race thing, but I would definitely not be dashing home for Arsenal or any other team. Ja, I know – I am a loser, right?

Perhaps it is because I was never much of a soccer player in what was supposed to be my heyday. I mean I could kick the pig skin around and probably manage to dribble past one or two players - but that was it.

Well, anyone can dribble past his own players and feel good about it - which is what I did back in the day. No wonder I always managed to run fast with the ball; I had no competition as my own team players were probably watching in awe as I waltzed past them at blizzard speed, smiling from ear to ear

Ja, those were the days when the game of soccer had a totally different set of rules. For instance, the fat kid in any soccer match was always made the goalkeeper. There were no bathroom scales to weigh them up - we just looked at them and decided: “You are fat. You are now officially our goalkeeper.” If the now-baptised 'fat boy' decides to protest his vote onto the 'Phat boys' club – no pun intended – he would be lynched!

As for the line-up of the two teams; only the owner of the ball had the power to decide how both teams would look like. In other words, if you never gave him a piece of your vetkoek, or never laughed at his jokes - you are out my friend. The guy who was never picked for any team will be the one to run around and fetch the ball from a tree when it got stuck, under a car or even on the roof.

Eish, those were the days when the match only ended when everybody was tired, or when somebody's Ouma decides to be a party pooper and calls the boy home to take a bath before 'papa' arrives from work. Ja, those 'papas' could beat the living hell out of you for not saying 'thank you' to 'mama' for washing your school uniform.

The game will also end automatically when the ball owner gets annoyed. No one dare annoy him - he is the owner of the ball for heaven's sake!

There were usually no corners during our soccer matches, but if you keep making comers up to the count of say three; it's a penalty, no questions asked! Interestingly, the person to take such a penalty will be the one who caused it. You could be the worse penalty taker in the world, it does not matter. It is your time to shine - go on and do a Roberto Baggio in 1994 on your teammates.

That is how the beautiful game of soccer was played in our day. No wonder some of us always ended as the one to fetch the ball. Eish, the game of soccer is definitely not for the faint-hearted. In this game, you need some balls – no matter the size - before you can play it



Until then

[email protected]