MY FAVOURITE SPORT

 

I like sports. Doctors say exercise is good for the heart and the general well-being of everyone; and it can also help weight-loss too. Therefore, I like sports and I take it upon myself to take part, for exercise sake, in a form of sport, especially rigorous contact sports such as:

(1)  Pillow fight.

(2)  Standing on a spot and trying to pee in a cup ten feet away. (This sport is particularly good for your Abs).

(3)  Watching other vigorous sports from a safe distance. (It improves your eye-sight)

(4) ….and also, nose picking.

And I do these regularly i.e. once a year. However, of all sports my favorite is football. Really, I love football. Actually, I prefer football because of the position of the goalkeeper. Do you know why? Because, it is the only position that avails you the opportunity to stand and watch your team-mates run helplessly about a large piece of land pursuing a ball that wouldn’t just stand at a place and let them kick it, while you do nothing at the post, except lick glucose or drink beer disguised in coke bottles. That’s just the kind of exercise my heart needs right now.  If I play any other position other than goalkeeping, I will pass away after a brief running. Besides, as regards to weight-loss, if I lose even an ounce of weight from what I have now, I’d disappear completely and become invisible to the nude eye. Nevertheless, I still love glucose……..eh, sorry I mean football.

So, one day I was out playing football with my friends (and some of my enemies) in the field.  Of course, I was the goalkeeper. And yes, I was the guy who stood by and watched the ball go past him, into the net. This happened 42 times. Well, the score-line would have been a draw if we lived in a dimension where 42 was equal to 4. Anyway, my team-mates played their best, while I carefully watched…over my beer. Moreover, 4 is not a bad score; at least there is a score to begin with.

We played for minutes and minutes, nothing seemed to be happening. Suddenly, an opportunity came; I was open, there was no goalkeeper in the post and no player was marking me. This was the chance I was waiting for all my life; a chance to prove to myself that I could make a difference in the world through football just as well as through pillow-fight. I yelled to my team-mate who had the ball, “PASS!” He kicked the ball towards me and as it got to my feet I put all my strength into my right leg and shot the ball. As the ball flew into the net, the whole world went into slow motion; a violent roar erupted from the eager crowd (total population: 5); I felt like a super star, like Yekini (well, without the dead part) Then the ball struck the back of the net. “GOOOAAAL!” screamed our opponents and me, while my team-mates where looking somewhat somber. Wait a minute; what’s going on here? Why would our opponents celebrate my goal…unless……oh no! I was the missing goalkeeper! 

Score-line: 43 – 4. Well, life went on, and so did the game. We all returned to our various positions: my team-mates went back to running around the large piece of land, while I returned to my duties as a goalkeeper: licking glucose.

It was nearly three minutes to the final whistle and I couldn’t wait for the game to end so that I could get back to what I have been doing since the beginning of the game, which is?................You guessed it: Telling myself what a great goalkeeper I was; which was actually correct as I kept 43 goals to myself.

As I was saying earlier, it was 3 months to the final whistle. No, wait, I meant it was whistles to 3 months final. How much percentage alcohol is in this glucose anyway? Nevertheless, it was 3 final to the whistle months. Whatever!! The game was about to end when a player shot the ball so high into the sky it deflected off the moon and landed in a private yard just beside the field.

Well, given that it was the only ball we had, and the game was still on, somebody had to go and get it back for the game to continue (not that we didn’t know who the losers were already) So we drew lots; basically, we stood in a circle while somebody pointed at each person and himself singing, “meenie meenie manie  moh, father had a donkey; donkey died, father cried meenie meenie manie moh moo” and whoever had the finger pointing at him at the end of the poem would be the person to get the ball. Just as I wanted to heave a sigh of relief and lie back on the soft grass, the poem stopped and a huge finger was pointing at me. “What?” I said. “This isn’t fair!” “Why did you choose me; my father doesn’t have a donkey!”

Anyway, my protest was futile. I was obliged to get the ball or face the wrath of 23 boys (including the referee) of which the smallest of them all was 3 times my size. I stood no chance. The scenario was like David playing football with goliath and his cousins. Now you know why I couldn’t stop any of the 43 goals. If I did, by now I would have been paralyzed from my lower jaw to my waist, so bad that I would need my alimentary canal massaged just to aid swallowing of food, say, eba. 

Now, back to the story. The compound had two entrances; a small and a large gate, so like every normal, responsible, twenty-something year old boy, I decided to climbing over the fence.

                                   To be continued…