A promising return

This afternoon, in contrariety to my recent tendencies, I played pick-up soccer. (I hadn’t expected to play again until next year, due to my fatness.) It didn’t go very badly. I lasted a little longer than an hour. I ran exactly two sprints. The first sprint, I fell on my face with no one near to me. The second sprint, my timing was perfect, and I provoked a defender into conceding a throw-in (though if he’d just left the ball alone, I would’ve been too tired to do anything with it). My throw-in led to a corner-kick. My corner-kick was … uninspired.

Nominally I was a defender, but in reality I just walked up and down the sideline and received and gave passes. I didn’t chase down any through-balls. I didn’t try to clog any dribbling or passing lanes. I didn’t shove anyone off of the ball. I avoided pretty much all contact. Defensively, I was a non-factor.

Offensively, my teammates granted me lots of touches, because I was always in the empty spaces. All five of my shots were on target. I gave passes that should have been converted into goals (one particularly brilliant one was so converted). Toward the end I played center-forward. I ghosted into empty space in front of the goal, received a pass, turned with lots of time, and shot low and away from the goalie’s body for an easy-peasy score. On the sideline, Karin didn’t see the goal because she was reading Harry Potter. I yelled across the field – “Sweeeeeettttiiieee” – and the other people told her about the goal, and so she looked up from her book. Then I quickly made another goal (a mirror-image of the first one) so that she could see it. Shortly thereafter I bowed out.

Gracias a Dios, my performance was in line with what I had prayed for and expected.