Flick To Kick
Life is weird. I'm sure it loops around and folds in on itself. Either that or if an idea is good enough it'll find a way of pushing itself back into the light at the front of your brain. Sometimes it needs a nudge though. Sometimes someone else does it for you.
Last night I met some friends in the Duke of Devonshire for a beer (or two); I'd barely made it through the door before I was sent off to the bar to get served. They had something to tell me, I should get a beer and hurry back. Five minutes later, five minutes spent wondering what the news could be, I returned to the table and sat myself down.
Craig had a glint in his eye, despite Pompey losing their first game of the new season, whatever this news was it must be good. Tony and Ed sat across from him, I was beginning to wonder who'd let rip with it first.
Subbuteo.
The words had barely fallen out of Craig's mouth and I was starting to grin already. Oh yes, I said, I've played Subbuteo. I followed this up by a potted (for me) tale of the league and the teams. I could tell by looking at their faces that they had miscontrued my remarks as making me out to be good at the game. I rallied quickly and put them at their ease.
I was crap at it, I said.
But there we were, in a pub, drinking beer, talking about a game for small boys with all the joy and wonder that another group of younger (and in no sense wiser) men had done several years before. History repeats itself, in miniature, in plastic.
So there you go, we're starting up a Subbuteo league. I'm dragging my little plastic men out of their cardboard exile and into the light. I'm limbering up my finger and buying a back support. Bring it on.
Last night I met some friends in the Duke of Devonshire for a beer (or two); I'd barely made it through the door before I was sent off to the bar to get served. They had something to tell me, I should get a beer and hurry back. Five minutes later, five minutes spent wondering what the news could be, I returned to the table and sat myself down.
Craig had a glint in his eye, despite Pompey losing their first game of the new season, whatever this news was it must be good. Tony and Ed sat across from him, I was beginning to wonder who'd let rip with it first.
Subbuteo.
The words had barely fallen out of Craig's mouth and I was starting to grin already. Oh yes, I said, I've played Subbuteo. I followed this up by a potted (for me) tale of the league and the teams. I could tell by looking at their faces that they had miscontrued my remarks as making me out to be good at the game. I rallied quickly and put them at their ease.
I was crap at it, I said.
But there we were, in a pub, drinking beer, talking about a game for small boys with all the joy and wonder that another group of younger (and in no sense wiser) men had done several years before. History repeats itself, in miniature, in plastic.
So there you go, we're starting up a Subbuteo league. I'm dragging my little plastic men out of their cardboard exile and into the light. I'm limbering up my finger and buying a back support. Bring it on.
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