To cut a long story short I played a blinder. Mainly because I was running around like a headless chicken. Not sure where all the energy came from as I didn't go to yoga on Thursday or Friday night. Perhaps it was the anger at missing the classes. I lost my zen and burned it all off. But at the end the teammates appreciated my lone striker role defending from the front.
Anyway I scored the first goal. Nothing spectacular. I hadn't actually had any contact with the ball and it came over between two defenders. The goalkeeper and them seemed to be all dithering and it would have been an insult not to slot the ball in. And I'm a courteous kind of chap.
Duly piqued they responded in a rage hitting the post a couple of times, the bar once before equalising at the end of the first half. It was warranted.
We scored a second mid way through the second half and holding on was quite frankly a battle. But it happened and everyone was mightily relieved to win. Though it wouldn't have been an injustice if they'd drawn level.
I was talking to the opposition team captain over a whisky and coke afterwards and he spoke about the difficulty of having 15 players and making sure everyone got a game. I felt like Sybil Fawlty and I would have said: 'Ooh I know. Ooh I know."
But I don't think it would have translated.
For our part we started with 13 but Renon the captain retweaked his thigh strain and the left back went off with a groin problem. Down to the bare bones of 11, every time one of our men went down I winced.
It's just as well one of my team mates gave me a lift right to the radio station. If he'd left me at a metro station I'd have probably been too dazed to end up at work.
Like I said. A blinder.
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