The pitch was sodden and heavy, legs tiring in the mud. The wind made the ball do all kinds of crazy things, carrying it just out of reach. It was cold, wet, tiring, frought, filthy and I loved every second.
One of my favourite childhood memories is of playing football in horrendous conditions, another is of the bewildered looks from my mother when I'd come home shivering and muddied from head to toe....not from me dad though, he understood.
Football, in autumn. There are few things finer.
Posts
