Introduction

I've never been much of a sportsman. Sure I've played many sports over the years from Tennis and Cricket to BMX, a handful of martial arts, even two games of Rugby Union for an U19 Colt team (my ears have never been the same), but I've always seemed to prefer the solitary sports over the team ones. However my current love is Soccer. I know it is football to the purists but as a child who grew up in Queensland in the Seventies football will always be Rugby.

My association with soccer began with my eldest son signing up to play as an Under 6 a few years ago. Attending the first training session I quickly got dragged in to assist with proceedings. Having NEVER played a game of soccer, or even watched an entire game, it was interesting trying to teach children how to play. Suffice to say it was lucky they were only 5.

After four years of this (two years as a coach and two as a manager) I realised that in order to have any chance of passing on some knowledge of the sport...I'd have to acquire some. So it was with some measure of trepidation that I decided to play. The club where my three children play has a healthy Over 35's competition fielding two teams. These teams cater variously to blokes who have never lost their lifelong passion for the game right through to those who just wanted a reason to get out of the house and engage in a bit of manly bonding. I placed myself closer to the latter. I wanted to learn about the game and I needed some physical activity in my life. What I didn't realise was how much I would enjoy the "blokiness" of it all.

My soccer career started badly. After an encouraging training session where I actually displayed a reasonable turn of speed and an ability to kick the ball without falling over it, I turned out for our first trial game of the season. Kitted out in new socks and shorts, the appropriate safety equipment and my old baseball boots (did I mention my two seasons of baseball?) I arrived at the grounds full of hope and anxiety. The family had come down to watch, fish and chips and picnic blanket in tow, the kids excited to see the old man finally walking the walk. Twenty minutes into the first half my moment had come and I ran on to take my place somewhere in the front line.

There is nothing as obvious as the tearing of a quad muscle, even to someone who hasn't done it before. Unwilling to admit defeat so prematurely I hobbled about for 20 minutes until half time when I could skulk away to the bar for a bag of ice before sitting on the side lines eating cold chips and watching the second half.

Thus began my close friendship with our local physio, my re-acquaintance with my chiropractor and the seemingly never ending visits to various shamans and soothsayers trying to get my old body to do what my willing mind thought it could.