After a very busy week, I ended up playing in an indoor tournament over the weekend. Seven 24-minute games was more than a lot of our guys could take; our 30-man roster was divided into three teams and every team lost at least three guys to one petty injury or another.
We did pretty well, though, as my team took second in the tournament despite being the club’s second team. We beat our own first team in the semifinals – which irritated my best friend on squad to no end – then ran out of gas and got brutalized by a team they had beaten in the qualifying round.
Still, it’s nice to have intra-squad bragging rights for once and I was pretty happy that the nagging muscle pull I’ve had since the end of last season held up throughout. My legs feel about as flexible as iron bars today, though. I’m not sure this is the best way to get ready for the resumption of the outdoor season, but we had fun.
I thought I did all right, all in all, and our manager was so pleased with my play that he announced publicly he was moving me up to number 28. Old team joke; a while ago I asked him if I was dropped to number 30 following a game in which I gave up a dumb penalty that cost us two points in the standings, but after a teammate somehow managed to miss what should have been a certain goal, his only comment on the matter was to elbow me and murmur “29 now”.