Football and All.


Football world cup in Russia is at its business end. It is said that Russia has become the graveyard of reputations, what with great teams gasping for breath. Everyone is busy sending clips, memes and trolls and what have you on whatsapp to everyone else. So it is natural that all of us who have played football in our time reflect and become nostalgic. I am no different.

In an earlier blog, I had mentioned as to how I was denied football boots due to my poor performance in academics. That impeded me from trying to be in the school football team. However while in college, situation changed and I was able to get a pair, fundamentally because I had the reason to put forward that I was already selected for the college football team. How that selection happened is funny. I was walking towards the volleyball court for practice as a member of the college volleyball team. As I passed by the football field where they were practising, the ball got deflected towards me. I turned and took a kick towards the goal and the ball went in! The captain of the team came running towards me, kicked the door to the college team open and invited me in!

After each day’s practice, we used to sit around in a circle and discuss strategy and tactics. One day a middle aged, short and stocky foreigner came and asked us whether he too can join us in play. We all felt a bit awkward to have an old man amongst us. We were of the feeling that we being as young as we were were quite tough, fast with tremendous stamina and all that. We were sure that this old man was going to be a laggard and would slow our game down, with his old man stamina. However our captain decided to humour him by allowing him permission. After all there is something known as hospitality.  He was very glad and went on to tell us that he was staying in Connemara Hotel which was bang opposite to our college.

Next day promptly he came dressed in shorts and sports shirt and with two footballs of the latest kind. He rolled one into the ground, sat down and went on to wear his boots. Here I must tell you that the balls we used were of heavy leather and a mis-kick was sure to hurt your feet/ankles/legs, not to speak of the jarring that happened when you headed the ball. But that’s how it was those days. We just didn’t know any better. Also out boots had leather studs nailed on the soles! This old man had shining boots with studs of rubber! And the ball was so much lighter which was the type used in the World Cup of 1966. We were impressed. So far so good.

During play, we were astonished to see this old man all over the field! He was able to keep pace with the ball. He was here, there and everywhere! He kept urging us to run and run and run. He wouldn’t allow anyone to stand and catch a breath! We found it humiliating that we, the young tough ones with supposed to be unbounded stamina, could not keep up with him. And the best part was, he would stop the practice to instruct and demonstrate the correct play, with us taking the positions as we were. As for me, as I used to play as right winger, he gave me the courage and showed the technique to go to zero angle and cross the ball towards the centre. It stood me in good stead I must say, apart from his other instructions. He became our unofficial coach.

During our post practice discussions, he was an animated participant. It turned out that he was a medical doctor of WHO and goes around the world lecturing doctors all over. He was also a professional player from Spain! The interaction with him on a daily basis for the next few days was a humbling experience for us, both on and off the football field. He hated Americans!

Being in NCC, I had gone on an Army attachment camp to Mt Abu, with 4/4 Gurkha Rifles, for a month. Gurkhas are terrific football players. And so as the NCC team we played with them on a daily basis as against each other and in a mix and match manner. One day when I was approaching the goal post with only the opponent Gurkha goal keeper in front, having beaten the defenders, I heard the menacingly fast approaching loud thud of football boots. Afraid that the defender would kick me and the ball together off the field, I stepped aside to save my life! The only time I did that in all my playing life and am still ashamed of that! But I thought, I couldn’t take the chance. But at that time, I didn’t know that the Gurkhas were sweet fellows and there was no way he would have hurt me, come what may. May be what he wanted to do was exactly that. To scare the hell out of me! After all they had thighs almost the size of my then chest. I loved that Regiment so much I was hell-bent on joining them on getting my Commission. But alas, that was not to be.

During my SSB interview, when asked whether I played football with Gurkhas while on that camp, I told them “yes” and narrated the above incident and exhaled loudly shaking my head in memory as if that was an unthinkable experience, as an answer to the question “how was it”. Hearing me, the Board of Officers burst out in loud guffaws!

And while in service, during my second posting, that is with 3-4 years of Army Service, I was the Officer-in-Charge of a Light Repair Workshop of an ASC (Army Service Corps) Battalion. Those jawans were excellent sportsmen, especially football and volleyball and I enjoyed my tenure with them. I am proud to say that I was made the captain of their football team to play in the Northern Command Championship of ASC, though I was not from ASC. However one day in the Officers’ Mess we the youngsters were sitting away from the seniors as we never used to have nothing much in common to discuss with them. The Second-in-Command, who was far removed from anything sports, came over to us and asked me as to why I was looking tired. I told him that that was because I had played games the whole evening. He said “What is the use of playing games? How long will you play? By the time you reach 30, you will break your arm or leg and that would be the end of your sports”!

Later I was sent on Degree Engineering Course. While at Secunderabad during this course, one day during practice, I executed the scissor kick, which I had done many a time before. But on that fateful day for no rhyme or reason, while up in the air, my right knee dislocated and got twisted. I came down like a sack of potatoes. That ended my football, though I continued with other sports practically on one leg, to a decent degree, even though I say so myself!

That year was 1978. And my age? Exactly 30!

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