Nothing better to do, again……

10 05 2008

Real Llandudno 0 Bontnewydd 0
Silver Stars Gwynedd League

Today I felt another cold dose of reality puncture my waning dreams of making it as a footballer. Despite the realisation long ago that I don’t have the requisite pace, skill or looks to be a professional footballer I still won’t allow the dream to die, if Vinny Jones could make then why not me? Unfortunately today’s realisation highlighted new depths to my non-ability; I’ve realised that I don’t have the requisite shouting ability either.
I actually think I could have the ability deep down but a lack of application seems to be my stumbling block. Call me weird but I can’t get worked up enough to care about whether someone sprints 50 yards to prevent an opposition goal kick. I don’t want to bark orders at people, I just don’t want to do it damn it!!!
I’d have been buggered if it had been a choice between me and someone who could shout in a trial. When you think about it that’s bloody typical; us quiet ones are always left behind and it’s just because we take a more diffident approach to life, just because we like to ponder before acting. You only need to look at the attitude taken towards Hoddle, Waddle and Barnes to see evidence of the more thoughtful person being treated with contempt. They were often derided and not truly trusted for appearing not to care. This impression seemed to exist because they didn’t rant and rave.
What people want to see is players haemorraging so much blood from their head that their shirt becomes a different colour. They want to see cretins who’ll “run through a brick wall”, people that they’ll “want next to them in the trenches”, people who’ll play on even they’ve had both their legs amputated. They want players who are bloody blokes. People don’t want to see players who won’t bludgeon their opponents to death, they don’t want to see people who like to think before acting on a football pitch.
So how can people show that they’ve got the balls to fight, the balls to “want it”, the balls to be a man. How do they show that they’re not some lilly-livered, shirt out of the short, hands on hips sort of nancy boy. Shouting is the answer. It’s one of the signs whether someone should make it as a player or not. Shouting denotes some rudimentary level of appearing to “want it”, those who do not shout do not appear to “want it” as much. Those who do not shout are effiminate, vegetarian, sandal-wearing, hippy, Guardian readers.
I digress. The first half of the match was one of the worst halves of football I’ve seen in a long time. The facts: Three shots (none on target), terrible passing, pathetic dribbling, rudimentary tackling. The shouting however was first class.

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