More balls

Today, I played football.

For, as far as I remember, the second time in my life. And it was surprisingly fun.

I was at a party of people from the centre, and as happens when beer and a garden and a ball come together, someone started haranguing people into playing football. And somehow I was convinced into playing, having been assured that it wouldn’t matter that I was shit. One of the good things about being in a new place is you can say what the hell and just do stuff, because no-one knows the things you’re too shy or embarrassed to do in a million years.

And I was quite shit, but not terrible, which was nice. I even scored the odd goal… which is less impressive once you know there were only four people on each team. It was boys vs. girls, in the dark, colliding with bushes, lots of girly screaming and whooping when we scored, when we got hurt, when we were surprised, when something was funny… pretty much all the time, in fact.

Mexican rules football is pretty dirty – you push people out of the way, grab them etc. So I fitted right in, natural as it is to me to play dirty. I kicked the goalie in the head, so honour was satisfied.

Afterwards an angel in human form handed out doughnuts, and we sat comparing wounds and swellings and passing round a single ice pack. I am now crippled, not in an entirely bad way, as none of my muscles work after running around for an hour and a half and being battered by the boys. I also have an enormous blister on my right foot:













What is the internet for if not for sharing disgusting pictures of your feet with your friends? I did choose image size small...

I’m now being pressed to join the games that happen on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but I think that’s a bridge too far – all these Mexican guys who’ve been kicking balls since they were knee-high to a grasshopper, and me? Plus it’s easier to be rubbish at stuff in the dark somehow – you don’t feel so conspicuous.

Still, I played football. It was lots of fun. Curiouser and curiouser.