I used to despise football. To those who know me, that will be a shock, but it’s true. Until the age of about 11, I was a proud advocate of that all-too-common of phrases, “Football is just a group of people kicking a ball around.”
That all changed in 2014. I was at my grandparents’ house with my dad, watching Arsenal play Hull City in the final of the prestigious FA Cup.
Arsenal went 2-0 down. It was disastrous. Conceding one goal in a Cup Final was difficult to recover from, but to have to overcome a two-goal deficit, that was a mountain.
Then we got a free-kick on the edge of the Hull City penalty area, about 20 yards from goal. Our Spanish maestro, Santiago Cazorla, stepped up to take it. It soared straight into the top corner of the net, leaving the goalkeeper with no chance. We had a chance. Then, late on in regulation time, our superb centre-back Laurent Koscielny steered the ball in after it was hammered into the box. This sent the game to an extra half-hour of play. With 11 minutes left, Aaron Ramsey poked home to send Gunners’ supporters into ecstasy. Among them, were me, my dad, my nan, and my grandad. This was the moment when I fell in love with the Beautiful Game.
I love watching football now, and, indeed, writing about it. But above all of those in terms of enjoyment comes the sheer ecstasy felt when playing. Just so you don’t get any ideas, I don’t play for an academy, just for a bog-standard Sunday League, grassroots team. This means that I have learned not to care about winning games, which is fortunate, because last season our average score-line was probably about 10-1 in favour of the opposition.
I’ve moved beyond the superficiality of only caring about results, because in the end it doesn’t matter. I’d much rather be on the losing side of a nine goal thriller than struggle to stay awake in a 0-0 draw. Of course, I always try to play my best for the team, and I try to score goals and make incisive passes, which sometimes I do, but more often chances go spectacularly to waste, £2 footballs smashed viciously into the trees behind the goal, never to be seen again. And this is funny. There’s nothing else to it. It gives you a laugh with your teammates, sometimes even your rivals. I remember playing up front in a game which we lost 19-2, and given my role of staying on the last man on the halfway line, I shared friendly banter with the opposition’s centre-halves, bonding over the hopelessness of our organisational skills.
But I loved last season. I was surrounded with wonderful people, and some genuinely excellent players. But the talent is less important than the spirit of the team. Although sometimes we found ourselves feeling down after a drubbing, we always picked ourselves up and went out again, always giving our all.
Considering these times as I write, I realise that they transcend football as a sport altogether. It’s taught me how to create rapport with people in a relaxed way, how to handle failure, repeatedly, and from this, most importantly, it has instilled within me a graft which I hope will stay with me for the rest of my life. I could so easily have allowed myself to get angry while playing, resenting the other team, my friends, even myself. But instead I’ve learned to remain calm and centred, live in the moment, consider the situation. and instead of thinking about it like, “I’m standing here in the pouring rain, being hammered,” I think, “I’m out here, yes in the pouring rain, but I’m here with my friends, playing the sport I love, and to hell with the result, I’m having fun.”
Football is about community. Age, gender, race, none of that matters when you’re playing on the pitch. Your stress goes away; you’re in the moment. Ten other people around you, and for ninety minutes, there’s nothing except you, the ball, and them. When watching the sport, you bond with your family and friends, and even if you’re by yourself, you can relax and allow the game to absorb you. When you talk about it, there’s an instant connection, whether you know the person or not, whether you support the same club or have a strong rivalry. It brings people together like very little else can.
And that’s why, like Patrice Evra, I love this game. In some ways it is just a bunch of people kicking a ball around, but it’s the people that make it what it is. As the great Terry Pratchett put it in such perfect eloquence, “The thing about football – the important thing about football – is that it is not just about football.”
Thank you for reading, if you enjoyed, please check out my blog at the web address: footballhaven.sport.blog
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