Tuesday 27 November 2012

The Mosh Pit - The Wedding Present

Having my knee fixed was almost 100% inspired by my desire, need, to carry on playing football. I hadn't thought of anything else that the lack of an ACL would stop me doing, until last Friday.

I'm stuck in a time warp so my musical tastes have not changed since the 1980s, I'm sorry. One of my favourite bands is The Wedding Present*. Guitar and drums combining with heart breaking lyrics.

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Wedding_Present

They're latest thing is to do a 21st anniversary tour of each album. Pre-injury I went to see the gig to celebrate this landmark for Bizarro. Post operation I saw that the Seamonsters tour was coming up. I emailed a couple of chums who, whilst they like some modern music, still have a place in their hearts and on their android phones for some of David Lewis Gedge's work.

Gedge is the only original member of the band, he writes all the music and lyrics, and is in effect The Wedding Present. The current line up has a lead guitarist from Hong Kong, a bassist from Scandinavia and a drummer from Southampton. The parts may have changed but the sound is still as good.

When I met with my chums in the pub next door to the Koko club I listened in whilst they talked about high finance and corporate affairs. We met in the 1980s working for the country's, if not the world's, leading credit checking firm. They have stayed in the same line of work and have successfully navigated the corporate world. I still like them both a lot, but often when we meet I sit there listening to them and don't have a clue what they're talking about.

Anyway, time moved on and we went in. We stood at the back of a packed house as The Weddoes came on. They went through a couple of new numbers and I was disinclined to force my way forward. It seemed rude to my chums and I was, as always, worried about the knee.

After the first few tunes, the guitars ushered in 'You Should Always Keep In Touch With Your Friends'. I had done this. We were there together and suddenly my legs were taking me to the front before my head could say no. In the old days, getting to the front was difficult, now it is easy. 95% of the audience are in their 40s and are ever so polite. A little tap on the shoulder and you're let by. Within a couple of seconds I was right at the front moshing away with 100 other 40-something, balding, sweaty men. Bliss.

The songs got faster, and slower and faster again as we moved as one. My knee held firm in spite of the jostling. All the while I was thinking what a great test this was of my rehabilitation. Star-excursion test eat your heart out.

When the final note was played, The Wedding Present never play encores so you always know that when it is over it is truly over, I turned and walked back to the lads feeling chuffed.

The next day I played a full half for my Saturday team, had a few big tackles and came away unscathed. The knee had passed what I think is the final test.  This Thursday is my last visit to the physio for the proper final sign off.

Sunday 18 November 2012

Full Return to Football

27th July 2011 - Paddington Rec - My left Anterior Cruciate Ligament (ACL) is ruptured in a viscous attack by a centre forward who is reckless beyond belief.

10th February 2012 - Chelsea and Westminster Hospital - My ACL is replaced by a piece of hamstring from my left leg.

17th November 2012 - 4pm - Firs Farm, Palmers Green - As player-manager of Mayfield 3s I get the referee's attention for a substitution and call the name of the player to come off. He jogs towards the touchline and I hand him my red Adidas hoodie and jog into right midfield.

476 days after a mindless Italian used my knee as a shortcut to the ball my football life restarts with ten minutes left of a game in the LOB Drummond Cup. Mayfield have just conceded to go 1-0 down in a match they should have been leading. A game in fact that they should have sewn up. The opposition, Oakhill Tigers are three divisions above Mayfield but we have made them look ordinary without actually putting the ball in the net.

I had hoped that my return would be at a point in the match when it didn't matter but life never follows the script you write in your head. We need a goal, in an ideal world I wouldn't have come on but the player I am replacing has looked knackered for the last ten minutes. Maybe if I had been braver and come on sooner we would not now be losing.

So here's my chance. A comeback and the possibility of being a hero.

The game, at all levels, looks simple from the side. I have spent the last 80 minutes looking on in dismay as error has followed error and we have thrown away a game we should be winning. Having kept my counsel for most of it at least I haven't been set up for a fall. A few minutes earlier I had sent another player back on with the words 'now is your chance to be a hero or a zero', I hear these words in my head now. It is the same for me although hero is more of a chance for me as I have arrived with us in deficit.

The game seems quicker now I am in the middle of it and as time passes I begin to think I won't ever get a touch of the ball. Eventually I do, and it's not good. My first touch is too hard, and the ball skips away out of possession. Slowly though I gain confidence, I'm still worried about having a major challenge and manage to avoid any such situations. A couple of neat passes and I'm in the game.

Then the moment comes. The chance to make a difference. I receive the ball with my back to goal but surrounded by defenders. I turn and beat one man, almost by accident. Another comes in for a challenge and I can't shoot but the ball bobbles off my shin towards the player who had come on just before me. He is six yards out with just the keeper to beat. It's his chance, our chance, to both be heroes but now my fate rests in his hands, or foot. He shoots, making good contact, but the ball goes to the one place where it won't be a goal, straight into the arms of the keeper. I can't quite believe he hasn't scored. Neither can he as he kneels in the mud, head in hands.

A minute later and I am on the shoulder of the last man, our Scottish beanpole has the ball 20 yards out, if he rolls it to me I am in on goal but he decides to shoot. His strike is solid, powerful even but again it goes straight at the keeper. It drifts in the air, on the way and the keeper only managers to parry it sideways, on to the goal line.

My first thought is that it is going to go in and although I could probably poke it over the line it would be unfair to take away my team mate's glory. This causes a momentary hesitation on my part and it is enough to ruin my day. The ball doesn't cross the line and me and the centre half hurtle towards the ball, he is an inch ahead of me and clears it off the line. I appeal in vain to the ref that it crossed over the line, over that line between glory and defeat, but I know I am lying. I know he won't relent. In my mind and my heart I know that the moment of hesitation has cost me the glory of pushing us into extra time. I'm disappointed in myself but then I realise that for those few intense seconds I wasn't thinking about my knee, I was concentrating purely on trying to score. Yes I failed to put the ball in the net but in that moment I won a bigger battle, a battle with my sub-concious. I don't smile, or celebrate this, but I do feel better about life.

I'm back and playing and that is all I have wanted for a year and half. We're out the cup but I am back in the game.

Tuesday 13 November 2012

I played football...with other People

On 18 October 2012 finally, 8 1/2 months after my operation, I played a game of football with other people.

It was just a 7-a-side, but considering I haven't played for over a year I did ok and most importanly I came home under my own steam, on my bike.

My feelings before the game were  mixed, partially excitement, partially terrified. My fears included things such as would I hold up to it, would a tackle make my knee collapse as it had done the previous time I played. All through the day I was doing the exercises; stretching, warming up, the star excursion test. I even went to the gym in the morning, to do a few sprints and some interval training.

As the day went on my excitement was getting less and less and my fears getting more and more. There was even a point about 4 o'clock when I looked out the window and part of me hoped that it might be raining. That would allow me not to go, and still to save face having told everyone this was the day of the come back.

The day had actually started with a humorous incident. I was walking back from the gym with my hoodie on, it was quite cold and I was cold and sweaty and I didn't want to catch a cold. I was walking along when I heard someone behind me shout: "Oi sonny.". I didn't look round because I'm nearly 50 and only people who are older than me will call me sonny, so I carried on walking. A couple of seconds later he shouted again but this time slightly more aggressively: "Oi, son stop.".  Again I ignored it but a moment later I felt a hand on my shoulder, not aggressive but very firm, and obviously someone much taller than me. I stopped, and turned round. To my astonishment I was being towered over by a young copper, no older than 23 at best.

"Why didn't you stop when I called you?"

"I didn't think you were talking to me. Your voice sounded quite young I can hardly be your son."

I realised at this point that he was as surprised as I was. So I asked him what the problem was.

Replying straightfaced he said "You should know you're not allowed to wear your hood up in this area, there's notices everywhere." I shrugged not really understanding him, he continued, "I thought you were one of the hoodies from the estate, up to no good but now I see your middle-aged and unlikely to do anyone any harm. Sorry to trouble you sir." He turned away and carried on looking for ner-do-wells. I just felt a little insulted.

I got over it, but I couldn't get over the fear nagging away at me. About half an hour before kick off, it still wasn't raining and so I got my kit on. I clambered gingerly on to my bike and headed off for the game.

On arrival it was heartwarming to see all the old faces running up to welcome me back. I wanted to chat to them all, find out what they'd been up to since I last played but I knew I needed to do a thorough warm up. I started, but every few seconds someone else came over for a chat. Eventually we were quorate and the game began.

Actually it didn't, just as we were about to kick off, Jenson shouted out to everyone: "No one tackle Daniel." He said it seriously, no one argued, and the game began. I had decided beforehand that as people weren't going to tackle me it would be unfair if I got in their way if they were running at me. I played a friendly game but soon got involved in the normal business of trying to win a football match. It's a pick-up game so the teams are never the same but once you're on a team you can't stop the competitive instincts coming out.

Every time I ran with the ball I was aware that I was consciously thinking ahead, looking for danger and working out how to get rid of it without getting my body, and legs, into tricky situations. It was fine but a little strange. A little like a brilliant artist suddenly having to paint by numbers.

My passing was good, my shooting not bad either. The few games of solo football had certainly got me ready. I even scored a couple of goals. I can't really count them as even I appreciate that scoring is easier when no one tackles you.

As the game wore on I took my turn in goal and used the time to do some sprinting and turning exercises. I came out and carried on and the game finished and I was still standing, on my own two legs.

By this point I think everyone else had forgotten about me being away for a year and not playing. It was just another normal Thursday night game to them, but for me it was another step, almost the last one, on a very long journey. As I lay in bed later, after the obligatory visit to the pub, I flexed my leg, it felt fine, and I closed my eyes and I no longer had to imagine playing football. I'd played and I'd scored, one a really nice goal. I replayed it in mind and smiled as I fell asleep.