The Hare and the Tortoise

Every Wednesday evening I play 5 a side football. I’ve played every week (apart from when I’ve had broken bones, ligament damage etc.) since college. That’s a few years now. This now forms the primary element of my exercise/fitness regime, well alright, apart from playing with the kids it is my fitness regime. It’s always enjoyable, being a team sport it keeps you motivated and interested. The fact that it’s not just doing set reps of certain exercises, means that you constantly stretch yourself, to run that bit more, make that tackle etc. We have a group of about 20 people who dip in and out of the games according to the availability. It’s quite a wide cross section: builders, accountants, bouncers and even a guy who runs his own PR company. It makes for interesting times when we go out for a few beers afterwards, there are some interesting characters there. One guy regales us with his stories from his trips to Amsterdam, he’s single and has a penchant for visiting the prostitutes there. He’s known as “Trigger”, after a character from Only Fools and Horses, which everyone in Britain should know, but for those overseas visitors, he’s a slow, dim witted man. Whenever someone asks why he’s called Trigger, his stock answer is : “Cause I’m a bit thick”. His approach to life is refreshingly straightforward and honest. He enjoys visiting prostitutes because he is guaranteed some action, rather than “waste” time dating someone. He got sacked from his last job because he was found asleep in a cupboard! He managed to surpass himself last time we went out for drinks: he told us that the last time he was in Amsterdam he managed to negotiate a discount, because he went second after his friend! He was quite proud of his achievement, and couldn’t understand why none of us shared his joy! Last night we were short of a player, so a friend of a friend came along. Our average age is somewhere in the 30s, our oldest occasional player is 57 and the youngest normally around 25. This lad was 19 and full of confidence about his fitness and footballing abilities. Apprehension was rife, we all became acutely aware of our respective ages and the potential for embarrassment. Our fears proved true, this lad was like a greyhound, beating everyone to the ball, but not actually playing in a recognisable position. It meant that he was playing more like a schoolboy: chasing the ball enthusiastically, but not actually achieving much. Slowly his running faded, he was fast, but not fit. We play for an hour, and after 20 minutes he was spent, and not in the good way. We all started to find ways of beating him and he ended up having to spend the last 15 minutes in goals, he was that shattered. At the end he was still red faced and panting, but with a bit more respect for the “old men”, as he’d called us at the start, around him. He was last seen disappearing with Trigger for a drink – I hope he didn’t learn any more lessons last night!