Friday, May 28, 2004
There is a lump on my right shin that is the approximate size and shape of one J0hn Plunk3tt’s knee. This is a reason to wear shinpads, kids. Not caused by a dodgy tackle, btw, (and if it had been it would have been mine, eh Mark/Danny/Dan/etcetera?) but rather by my own follow-through from a shot which Plunk3tt was attempting to stop me taking. I kissed Astroturf as I rolled over in pain. (Plus I was playing in skins, fucking hell, I’m twenty-five, what’s that about? It’s about the fact that James sprained his wrist inside two minutes which meant I had to switch from blue to white; no white tops to spare = Nick gets his kit off. [Steady, girls.])
I need to get my goal touch back. The cold I was on the verge of having for the whole of April knocked me back a touch; I scored one on Wednesday and only one or two last night. This is not good. Back in March (was it March?) and January they were flying in with ease. Last night I did hit the woodwork (well, metalwork) a good three times, and sent vicious shots fizzing close past it another half dozen. On the plus side, last night I must have managed about a dozen nutmegs of various different kinds; through balls through the legs, back-heeled flicks through the legs, shots through the legs, deft sideways touches through the legs, unplanned rebounds through the legs (they ALL count!). Always immensely satisfying. And, as I said during the game, when I was younger I’d have been able to catch up with the ball on the other side, too.
5/28/2004 08:52:00 am