A spot of footie, play hide-and-go-tag
Spot of footie (soccer)
It started off as a simple idea – kick a ball about. Down at Shell Bay, near Elie, there’s a football pitch with proper goalposts. Lovely views, too, on a sunny day.
In the car the lads swapped shoes. Big brother’s logic? He didn’t want his fancy day-glo orange shoes dirtied by using them to kick balls. The youngest said he was happy to throw the ball — I suspect wearing the fancy shoes made an attractive proposition.
Ten minutes later
The fun started off easily enough. The first focus was hit the crossbar. Next we started practising running onto balls, kicking balls, practising corners and belting the football all over the place. I surprised us all by kicking quite long out of hand.
‘ere be pirates
After a while we decided to move on. About half a mile down the road there is a delightful pirate ship climbing frame, come zip wire thingy, come adventure play area.
Imagine my shock when I was told of a new game called hide-and-go-tig (‘tag’American readers). Guess who the first chaser was? Yep, me. Always good to know you’re on a winner, eh boys?.
Hide your feet
At the bottom of the zip wire, by the post, I covered my eyes and counted aloud to 30 (like the clap of doom). Then I sought the lads. It isn’t hard to spot day-glo orange boots, even in a row of bushes. The hard part is making the post first or tagging the runner.
Eventually I was allowed to hide. I did the job quite well, sneaked around a slope and made it to the post … nearly … amidst complaints I’d cheated by sneaking round a small out-of-bounds hill.
Hide your eyes
Later on, I got to hide again. This time I did an excellent job and only had to sprint about 40 yards. Have you ever been tagged by an athletic 11 year old.
In my mind’s eye I thundered off, fast as Usain Bolt. On the grass a jet-propelled tortoise was over hauled by a junior express train, and made aware he was caught by a whack on the back. I’d only a few yards to go (big boys do cry). Waaah!
Today I’m discovering aches in places I’d forgotten I have places. The agony isn’t bad. I’m moderately spry … still.
Aches in places
There was just one kick where my toe hit the ground just after the ball. My knee didn’t like it too much and churned round like a demented food blender. Yet now, 48 hours later, it’s less grumpy than it’s owner can be.
Then there was the ball throwing for run-on practice, slight shoulder grumbles, but nothing much.
Is any of the pain worth it?
Every bit. I’m surprised I can still reach a moderate sprint (and hope my doctor doesn’t read this).
As a chunk who thinks he’s a hunk … I loved it.
© Mac Logan