Bolafoot

Back when I was still doing my teacher's training at the teaching institute, I played football almost every evening. It was cool that I was doing something I love and also it keeps my health in check. That's one of the many things I missed about life in the institute. It's funny because during our time there, we used to bitch and whine. 

So, back home, I can't really satisfy my desire for a kickabout. No mates. And I don't have a field within walking distance from where I live.

But I had this problem solved. Though not as ideal as I hoped it to be. Now I get to play football twice a month. With 10-12 year olds. 

It's not as easy as you think though. Those little devils are charged up when they play against someone much older and obviously, bigger. The second the ball arrives at your feet, you will have at least 3 pairs of legs snapping at your heels. Makes you want to fall down, roll over and do a Ronaldo. By the time you get to blow the whistle to award a freekick in your favour, the ball is gone far. Why bother.

Old tradition = make a line and say out '1' , '2' alternately. As the teacher, I would be joining the team with less players, or the weaker side.

Game on. Some of the kids are really good. Some are so good, sometimes nobody bothers to get the ball from them.

Then there are those who are not so good that they need instructions by others.

But at the end of the day, just like back at the institute, it's not about how good you are. It's how much you love the game. Coz thiz iz ma crew, and thatz how we roll yo! *shows some peace sign thingy with fingers*