agh, my legs!

Today, Hannes picked me up to go play football. And by football, I don't mean this ridiculous sport:


rather this one:


I never play sports. I'm not ashamed of my athletic ineptitude at all, for I am generally of the opinion that I have better things to do. Still, it is probably foolish to neglect the body as much as I do. Riding my bicycle to school and back isn't much apparently, and I haven't been even doing that lately, so I thought I would give this a shot... Hannes lent me some sneakers less heavy and restrictive than my water-proof boot-like variety. I have no shorts so I chose to play in jeans. As we arrived and met up with the others, none of whom I knew, I was filled with a little bit of apprehension that I would not be able to pull my weight, and at only understanding about 70% of the salzburger dialect, despite having lived here for 2 1/2 years

I can understand why football is the most popular sport in the world. There is something very charming about the simplicity of it- one runs and kicks a ball freely across a field of green... I never did quite grasp the rules of american football- nor did I want to. Basketball was okay, but I prefer the grassy earth to the asphalt and I really do not enjoy dribbling of any kind.

I made some blunders, right at the beginning I missed a pass... because, well, for no good reason, really. I'm just not used to receiving passes. I soon started to concentrate on defense, which is something even an amateur can do well, especially if the opponent is a man in his 50s. He was still pretty good though.

During the second game the goal tender suggested that we switch and suddenly I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. "So... much... responsibility" I thought to myself, standing there, not prepared to use my hands, for fear of injury... instead, I blocked my first ball with my face... right in the left eye. I laughed it off and said I had used my head... though to be honest, I had hardly seen the ball coming. The next ball I blocked with my stomache... which wasn't quite tensed up, but alas- The pain subsided both times after a couple of minutes, and was certainly nothing in comparison to that of those hit in the crotch.

I was amazed at how often someone would become injured by another player and get angry about it... I wondered how those who lack the spirit of brotherly love, that these men enjoy, can play this sport without becoming very unhappy. In any case, it is an unavoidable part of the experience and everyone overcame their anger before going home.

All in all I had a good time and, after starting to focus more on offense, I even scored my very first goal near the end... I might even go play again- the others want me to (In which case, I should probably procure gloves and shorts) I can hardly move my legs and imagine it will be even worse tomorrow. My concentration doesn't feel very improved and I'm quite tired, but it's a more satisfying fatigue, since there is a clearly identifiable reason for it. Still, this is probably not what Devon had in mind, as she suggested exercising more...

... and no worries, I promise never to write about sports again. :)