The First Loss

Well the same old frailties emerged. The inability to hold a lead and deeply dodgy goalkeeping. That accounted for three goals in a 5-4 defeat.

So it's one win and one loss.

I thought a draw would have been a fairer result. But the referee was a bit odd. The opposition had a couple of player who were quite robust in that they kept fouling. And it wasn't until the sixth or seventh offence that the ref sent one of them off into the five minute sin bin.

One of them who was allowed to stay on hit the goal to send them 5-3 up. No justice really. But when did football and equity ever go together?

Other problem was that there were 16 players and that in my experience never brings a result. And so it was today. Too much shuffling and no patterns of consistency.

Last week we were barely 12 and won. This week we were 16 and lost. Maybe there's a moral there.

Spent the rest of the afternoon snoozing with the boy. The eldest had a party in the park to attend and so we went to that at about 4pm. Her complaint was that she was taken there too late and all the sweets had gone.

No bad thing in my book. Quite why you would stage a birthday party in the park from 1pm until 6pm and had out sweets beats me.

Fruit I can understand. But sweets? Well at least they can run off the sugar rush.

I started to get the onset of the down phase once we were back home. But I nipped that in the bud at supper time.

Me and the missus went out with a Rhode Island connection who is passing through Paris and although it is the Nuit Blanche - galleries and the like are open all night - I'm closing up shop at the same time as usual.

Routine is the key.
It's the all night ex

The Matchday II

I am not expecting a yoga goal this week. Mainly because I haven't been to yoga this week. I was going to go to the Friday relaxation class but the missus suggested I stay in and help prepare for the arrival of a guest from America.

The compromise was that I do some movements in the dining room while the brood watched some Japanese animé thing. It was difficult to get into the zone with the noise of endangered children belching out from the television.

But at least I was going through some motions. Not as perfect as I would have desired but it was the thing to do.

Besides there are about 14 players on the roster for tomorrow at Aubervilliers. In my experience we usually lose when there are that number. So I might just go along to support in my tracksuit and play only when someone is exhausted. That is very selfless of me.

Maybe the yoga is affecting my body and mind. Ah by not going I have gone.

Indeed the space is calling me.

The Knee II

I now realise the pain I'm feeling is symptomatic of the worldwide disfunction in the money markets. I was happily reading the news today or rather trying to avoid making too many errors.

For some reason a story about African migrants trying to sail their way to the Canary Islands was the one that got away from me.

It started: "Spanish coastguards......" but twice I read: "Spanish postguards....." What was going on? No idea.

Who are the Spanish postguards?

The Knee

Of course with all the yoga and swimming, I now consider any ache or slight pain an affront to the regime. I have got into thinking that I'm not going to get any kind of injury.

So the right knee feeling a bit gammy is strange since I don't remember it being a problem during the match on Saturday. Perhaps I was so adrenalin drenched after the goal that I just did not entertain pain.

Well the pain has messed up me warrior positions and I'm moving like I've never ever done yoga. I was going to go on the bike to work today. But I thought that might be asking for trouble.

Maybe a swim is needed. That's painless. And instead of adrenalin there's chlorine.

Just what's needed before reading the day's news. What with all the bail outs all over the place.

I was due to be the producer but there's been a change. This has meant no tennis practice on Tuesday night. That is annoying but one has to accommodate the boss.

Ah the whiff of compromise.

The Wonder of Bagnolet

Apologies to German footballing folklore but it was a wonder. The new season started with a 3-0 win for the team. And after stalemate in the first half, the deadlock was broken by what for me was a wonder strike.

Nothing like a 25 metre screamer - sadly I can't kick the ball that hard but an off the ball run from just inside my own half to arrive undetected in the penalty area and sweep the ball in from about 10 metres out with the left foot past the keeper who didn't even have time to dive.

It was that incisive. What I liked about this was seeing the space in the penalty area, running into it and then calculating that as the pass came over I had to hit it first time.

It was a conjunction of beauties. I ran to the provider of the pass smiling: "Nice one, nice one." For indeed it was a nice one.

I then said to a teammate it was perhaps a bit lucky that it all came together.

But as I struck the ball I was relaxed "in the moment" - to cite Stephanie Rice.

After that the opponents seemed in a bit of disarray as they were in two minds about defending deep to stop a similar surge but of course they had to go forward to equalise.

The two later goals were products of their confusion.

One of their players complimented me on a "beau but" at the end of the match.

My goal turned the game but it's unlikely to turn my head.

But it did make me smile.

The Night Before The New Season

Well it only seems like yesterday that we were being passed into the ground. Division 2 is ours again as we roll out for the new season.

The first match. The tension is mounting chez moi so much so that I went to a yoga relaxation class tonight.

The teacher, Michelle, got us into a downward facing dog and then onto our knees and told us to lunge forward and then try to pull back a foot with one hand.

I was most upset that cramp kicked in as soon as I tried. I thought it was a test of balance. Maybe my legs haven't been strengthened this week by cycling.

In fact there's been a singular lack of cycling this week and then I was denied my morning plunge in the pool.

I was put on boy watch duty at 6.15am as he didn't want to sleep anymore and I was conveniently placed in the sitting room listening to the radio and getting ready to go to the pool.

I gave him breakfast and we ended up watching Thunderbirds till his sisters were roused for school.

By the time I started losing focus in my tennis match I realised I'd been up a good four and a half hours.

I was burnt out. Cramp at 7.30pm was - like our descent last season - inevitable.

The watchwords for the season: short passing game/pass and move.

And with apologies to Madonna: Get into the groove, boy you've got to pass and move that ball to me yeah.

Let's hope I play better than that flourish.

The Club

It was cocktails at the Tennis Club Boulougne Billancourt. All courtesy of the journalists tournament there. I got talking to a man from the club and I think I'll sign up there.

I'm going to go for the life of contrasts. The chic environs of the west of Paris and the hard urban edge of the city's north-east.

The polarity will be good for my soul. No chance of getting too chummy with the quasi country club clique.

But it did feel like a tennis club, lots of courts and the setting is there too.

Having once belonged to a tennis club in Streatham that is important. Somewhere where you can just go and spend a few hours, play and watch other people play.

At the Streatham club, they stopped for tea at 4pm. I don't think they do that sort of thing in Paris. But I won't find out without joining up.