Wednesday, February 16, 2005
I knew I was having a shit game when I nutmegged two defenders in a row, turned into space, and put my foot through the ball as hard as I fucking could (which is pretty hard) only to see it sail six inches over the bar. I had a few decent touches, made a lot of runs, had a couple of shots which hit the wrong side of the post, made a few decent passes, but nothing come off, nothing worked. I must’ve made about half a dozen nutmegs during the game, two or three of them passes straight through defenders’ legs, but I didn’t manage to score, I don’t think I got an assist, and I ended the hour and a half feeling useless and stupid. Last week I’d been knocking goals in for fun. This week, nothing. Why?
I walked a different way down the cliff this morning as I left home slightly earlier. I walked along the path which takes you along the outside of the cliff top rather than down the worn trail which goes straight through the middle. This meant I passed by both concrete shelters rather than just one. In the shelter I normally don’t pass by, there was a man wrapped up warm in a thick coat, hood pulled tight over his face, laying down asleep on the bench, head rested on a duffle bag. The man on the cliff is back, although I strongly suspect he never went away – quite possibly he just moved to the other shelter at some point. And he is most certainly living there.
2/16/2005 09:54:00 am