I waited. And waited. And waited.
And then I waited some more.
By the time we kick off our next game, it will have been a total of 6 weeks since the 6-0 drubbing we received on a bitter Sunday morning. An initial three week break was doubled on account of severe weather hitting the West of Ireland of late. Strong overnight rainfall followed by snow a week later postponed the fight for survival. Given our lack of fitness, you would think that these intervals would be welcomed. Initially they were, unfortunately for much contrasting reasons.
It was not until 11am on the day before our next scheduled league game after 3 weeks before I heard from either our manager or team-mate in charge of group texts. No training, no meetings, not a word said since six goals went past us in our last game. Eleven goals if you count the cup game previous for which I was absent. There was nothing scheduled between that either. From my own point of view, I waited too long between aerobic sessions, running drills and just good old fashioned exercise to get fit. We needed to train, not just to improve as a team but to actually last 90 minutes on the field. It is fucking disgraceful. This notion that we can get by without training of some sort will not suffice. Time will catch up on us all. And I wonder how long it will be before I find myself cursing myself and my team-mates for our pathetic attitude towards this game.
It was a short phone call between the manager and myself that morning. He just asked if I was available for the game and responded positively. He asked me if there was a clash with the GAA that hurt us last time out and I doubted there was. He said he would get back to me updating the situation. Our manager happens to be an original founding member of this club and played with the club from its inception. He later became manager of the team over intervening periods and took the job, obviously unpaid, after we got relegated in 2013. He’s old-school and hasn’t much time for anyone who makes mistakes but his heart is in the right place. He clearly cares about the club. I’ve only ever questioned his judgement on two occasions. The first was his selection of players to play on right midfield. He has often selected players with physique more suited to a holding defensive midfield role than those physically suited. For someone playing right back and who could do a competent job at right midfield. The other issue was his selection of players based on their reputation or past performance as opposed to training attendance or form. This would extend to new players who would turn up on match day having never been seen before then and they would get game time. I suppose that’s a natural occurrence with most amateur teams at this level. In fairness, I’ve got more games playing for this club than I ever did before he was in charge so I can’t be too critical.
Despite his passion, I think he is powerless to change the attitudes of our less committed players. Midway through last season after an away game, he made an honest plea to the team who showed up that day to make an effort for training later that week. He wasn’t the type of person to beg but he was exasperated at the lack of commitment from the whole squad. It had little effect. Training numbers that following week were an improvement but hardly sufficient for an improvement on the field. It is exactly this sort of behaviour is what sees us lying 9th in the league and facing relegation. Exactly the same mind-set that saw us finish 2nd last season instead of 1st. It is the organisational culture that see’s us lagging behind our local rivals, who might not enjoy the greatest success but are a damn sight more structured than we are. My club won the lot more or less in the first 10 years of its existence. Up until 4 years ago, we were in the Premier Division. Now we are in severe danger of becoming a yo-yo club between the second and third tiers. While our rivals are consolidating their position in the Premier League and getting their act together with underage system.
That issue is something to raise during meetings and AGM’s. Right now, I have a relegation to avoid.
We still had an ace up our sleeves however, Irish weather! Torrential rain overnight left the pitch in a poor state unsuitable for a relegation battle. My home pitch is a grand pitch. Looks and can play beautiful on a fine day. Yet fine days are few and far between in this country. While looking out on it that morning, it looked ok, but stepping onto it and seeing my shoe sink a couple of inches into the wet ground was enough proof this game wasn’t going ahead. 10 minutes of football would make it resemble a warzone. It was a severe stroke of luck. A reprieve in the face of no training. Time to improve our fitness ahead of the next league game a week later. Our next match was an away game at 11am, along with Galway v Laois at 2pm, the egg chasing between Ireland v England later on. I was also scheduled to celebrate the first anniversary of my relationship with my girlfriend, what I will hope will be the only successful dalliance I have with flirting for the time being. I was looking forward to Sunday, looking forward even more to seeing some training going ahead. How long could it go on like this?
I did get to go to training but not soccer. Gaelic Football. My local GAA club started up Junior B earlier than usual this year and it was badly needed. Prior to the first cancelled game, I gave myself a fitness test. A Yo-Yo Bangsbo Recovery test. It’s similar to a bleep test but allows for recovery at intervals, much like you would get in Soccer. Unfortunately all the recovery time didn’t do me much good as I finished with a score of 14.1. That, for anyone unfamiliar with the test, is a score that more or less states you are fucked fitness wise! This was confirmed once more in the worst way possible as I struggled my way through the Gaelic Football training session. It was what I needed. Unfortunately I think it’s what a few other players on my team need to. Yet, nothing was going on.
A big conflicting factor in our lack of training was an ongoing Astro 6 a side tournament in town. A number of players in our club formed one team and have been going pretty well in it. That’s grand if it were the entire team involved but players like myself and a few others are not. The tournament should be complementing our own training. More so, those individuals should not be prioritising a fucking meaningless competition over the real thing. They would go onto to reach the final, a heated affair amongst two teams that knew each other and liked to talk crap to each other. They lost after extra-time. If losing that competition serves as an incentive to avoid relegation for the club then I’m fucking delighted they lost!
There were no emergency phone calls prior to Super Sunday. Just the usual group text. I confirmed my availability while at work. I didn’t expect the weather to intervene again. We had got our stroke of luck and that was that. I got ready that morning as usual, packing my gear, throwing on my Italy tracksuit (it matches the blue of our jerseys). I was jogging down the road enroute to the shop when I received a text informing me the game was off. Weather had impacted our opponents pitch this time around. At this point, it started raining so I started running back to the house. My manager drove past and stopped off at a house nearby. I shouted out that this was another week we haven’t lost. An hour later, snow fell from the heavens, cancelling Galway vs. Laois and most games across the county. Divine intervention strikes again.
Our two cancellations had left other teams catch up with us on games played and gave us a clearer picture of the relegation battle. The week previous, the team above us in 8th drew with the team in 10th. It was a crucial result. Now our direct rivals for relegation were 4 points ahead of us with a game in hand. And we were due to play them, weather permitting, the following Sunday. After 5 weeks of doing sweet fuck all, and no conflicting tournament in the way, I was certain there would be some training organised. Yet, I was wrong again. We were truly taking our chances on this one. If we lost this Sunday, then we would surely need a miracle, and not a weather related one.
The day previous to Super Sunday, I had been working at a GAA game taking match photos. The weather was atrocious and my phone got soaked in my pocket. I had to leave it in rice overnight. Not that I knew it but my phone would have more issues that following week. Not until very late Saturday night did I discover an issue where my phone stopped receiving texts. The last one I got was Tuesday afternoon. Prior to this, I was dumbfounded to the lack of contact from the team regarding our next game. Whatever about getting a notification about training, there is always a confirmation text about availability for the game. With my phone acting up, I never got it. And I started to wonder. Did they knew the game was on? Did they hope the weather would intervene again? Did they know the game was put back an hour? Until I realised my phone was fucked, I got quite agitated over the situation. This, along with a day’s work that left my hamstrings and quads in a bad state. I had decided to do 30 minutes on an Exercise bike prior to working but my job required squatting down frequently to record testing results. Getting to sleep late at night after fixing my phone and realising there would be a game was hardly ideal preparation and recovery.
It’s Sunday morning as I type this, 6 weeks since our 6-0 drubbing. I’m waiting to go out on the pitch and get ready for the game. My legs are stiff and in no condition for a relegation battle. I will be abusing the Deep Heat as I tog out in order to be able to run. My manager called to my house moments earlier looking for a ball pump. I apologised for not replying back to the txt and he said not to worry. This game is definitely going ahead. The weather is good. Not long to wait before our fight for survival can resume.
Today’s result will either be the catalyst for redemption or the final nail in the coffin.
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