trap it

I was walking home from work, tie and a shirt, trousers and shoes. Got to the green near my house; some young boys were kicking a football about. Full kit: replica tops, shirts, socks and astro boots. They must have been about ten. I must have been about thirty-three.

I was minding my own business, musing on the subtle difference between my favourite brands of crisps, Walkers Max and Real McCoy’s, when one of the kids overhit a kick and that ball rolled over towards me.

I froze. Then my heartbeat rose, rapidly. Out of nowhere, I could suddenly hear a crowd, and my old football coach, all red-faced, bulging blood vessels in his neck, gruff cockney voice, West Ham tattoos and a pink Ralph, spit coming out of his mouth, screaming out at the top of his voice:

‘PAUL! DON’T DO ANYTHING STUPID!
KEEP IT SIMPLE! KEEP IT SIMPLE!’

I took a breath, told myself:

Don’t try and be flash,
just trap it,
get it under control and
just carefully
play it back.

Just before the ball reached my feet, another voice, deep inside the isolation unit of my mind, jumped up and screamed out:

PAUL! This is your chance,
you’ve gotta take it,
show them what you can do,
show them your skills!

Somewhere in between thinking about those two opposing views, I’d stuck my right leg out, and my right leg was confused, unsure what to do. The ball hit the outside of my black leather lace-up shoe, taking all the power out, and meekly trickled behind me, like water drops dribbling out of a tap in a drought, and rolled into the road, like my very own You’ve Been Framed video.

‘Ahh!’

I slapped my forehead. Just to rub salt into my wounds, I looked up, and the kids in the replica kits were laughing, and making wanker signs at me.

‘You’re rubbish, mate!’

I put my hands up.

‘Sorry, boys, I
just ain’t got it anymore.’

(c) Paul Cree 2023