Why I am no soccer fan
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 rib case, and shout profanity each time 'my' team score - or attempt 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 cause…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 a Barcelona versus something-something team! Nah, am not that type. Perhaps it is because I was never much of a soccer player in what was supposed to be my hey-days. I mean, I could kick the pig skin around and probably manage tuo 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. No wonder I always manage to run fast with the ball; I had no competition as my own team players were probably watching in awe as I waltz past them with 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 goal keeper. There were no bathroom scales to weigh them up - we just look at them and decide: “You are fat. You are now officially our goal keeper.”
As for the line-up of the two teams; only the owner of the ball had the power to decide how both teams will 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; its a penalty… no questions asked!
Interestingly, the person to take such 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 days.
Until then.
[email protected]
But what I would not do is run home from a dinner night out to catch the last fifteen minutes of a Barcelona versus something-something team! Nah, am not that type. Perhaps it is because I was never much of a soccer player in what was supposed to be my hey-days. I mean, I could kick the pig skin around and probably manage tuo 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. No wonder I always manage to run fast with the ball; I had no competition as my own team players were probably watching in awe as I waltz past them with 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 goal keeper. There were no bathroom scales to weigh them up - we just look at them and decide: “You are fat. You are now officially our goal keeper.”
As for the line-up of the two teams; only the owner of the ball had the power to decide how both teams will 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; its a penalty… no questions asked!
Interestingly, the person to take such 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 days.
Until then.
[email protected]
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