On Death Row

There’s a certain something to be said for Sunday mornings. Sitting here, waiting. I’ve done the usual Sunday morning chores: which is almost always washing all the dishes from last night, because on Saturday night, no one here can be bothered to clean them. Fair enough, it’s my job. I don’t pay any keep, so I pay it in other ways.

But in reality it’s just a distraction. Something to keep my mind off the inevitable defeat that lurks around the corner. Yes, it’s football time again. And to complement it, despite it not having rained all week, it’s now pouring down outside. It’s as if the weather wants to join in with the overall feeling of melancholy.

Because it’s been the same every week this season. We haven’t yet won a game. We have come close to winning them, but we’ve either lost our nerve or failed to take our simple chances when they fell to us on a plate. We have drawn a couple, but a draw’s not good enough. We simply have to win. 

There’s no good reason why we haven’t won, in truth. We are as good as half of the teams we’re playing. I just think we don’t know how to win. We don’t have the mentality to cut teams apart and then protect our lead. We have to be made to work ludicrously hard in order to score just one goal, and then sometimes the opposition gets the benefit of a lucky bounce or a fluked deflection and they get a result with breathtaking ease.

Suffice it to say that it’s somewhat annoying by now. And it makes Sunday mornings such a depressing time. The inevitability of it all is what’s so frustrating. We get all our gear ready, get ourselves mentally prepared, and step out the door on the way to other thrashing. It is the unspoken truth. There are normally five of us, me, the manager, and three players. We don’t mention it, but we know what’s coming. 

It’s all so disappointing, really. And on top of all that, we’re now stuck in the middle of a petty political wrangle between the management of our league and the management of the local county FA. It’s not a nice spot to be in. It might all get resolved amicably, but even if it does, the bad blood is now so much that we wouldn’t want to be part of this league. 

If all goes how I hope it would, then there may be another opportunity around the corner. A rather more exciting one. I’ve decided that what my life is missing is a big project. I want to be tested with a large scale piece of work, something that I can work hard on and dedicate my present existence to. I was hoping that would come with my business, but so far it’s not happening. Maybe in a couple of weeks, but not yet.

There is a chance that my league will fold, giving an opportunity to form a new one. A much better one, with proper organisation. I want to do that. I know I could do a much better job than the rubbish they throw at us on a regular basis. They’re all so incompetent, the kind of people that football tends to attract: brutish idiots who think that just because they can kick a ball they know all about the game. But they lack the critical organisation and intelligence skills that are necessary in order to administer a big project like this. 

If it happens, if the window opens, I will jump through it. But there’s still a lot of ifs, buts and maybes on the road ahead. We’ll see.

In the meantime, there’s a game to be a lost. The trapdoor is waiting to open. The noose is tight. Might as well get the obvious over with.

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