I woke up a few weeks ago with a searing pain under my left ribs. I ruled out heart attack relatively quickly \u2013 I haven\u2019t read about your heart sagging as you enter deep middle age, or whatever your late 40s is. Breathing was uncomfortable, but not short \u2013 there were no stabbing pains. Inhaling ached, and it turns out you inhale all the time.<\/p>\n
Once I was confident of seeing out the remainder of the day, I started Googling other potential ailments in this region, confidently seizing upon ruptured spleen. It sounded impressive enough to put in a WhatsApp group. And so I went with it.<\/p>\n
It can creep up on you slowly \u2013 a stealth rupture; that\u00a0figured. The previous afternoon had been my first pre-season outing for the Melbourne University Bohemians \u2013 the team I supported as a boy. Football seasons, like plug holes, are upside down here: the season runs from April to September.<\/p>\n
I hadn\u2019t registered picking up a knock but I\u2019m at the age where I could split an internal organ just by bending down or trying to turn around a little faster than my knees will allow.<\/p>\n
Clearly I\u2019d bumped with some momentum into one of the oppo in a 4-0 humbling by the Brunswick Zebras, causing what felt like irreparable damage.<\/p>\n
If my physics GCSE hasn\u2019t left me \u2013 momentum equals mass x velocity \u2013 I clearly provided the mass in this particular equation, velocity not being a word bestowed upon me since my 11-a-side career began in earnest in 1987 (for some reason neither Transfermarkt nor Wikipedia carries these stats).<\/p>\n
The following two weeks featured a great deal of\u00a0gritting teeth as various small children (belonging to\u00a0me) dug their feet into my ribs, presumably causing\u00a0the contents of my spleen to ooze into my inner workings.<\/p>\n
Finally Dave, famously the osteopath for the Australian Olympic taekwondo team 2007-08, pressed his hand on my torso and told me I\u2019d bruised some ribs. A lucky escape. Publicly I\u2019d continue with the spleen theory. Either way, there is very little sympathy at home. I have still not been forgiven by Mrs Rushden for ruining a mini-break to Lavenham by tearing my meniscus in 2018 trying to change direction after someone inexplicably played the ball inside as opposed to down the line.<\/p>\n
And so here we are. Am I really putting my body on the line again? Am I really eking another article out of this? Forty-seven-year-old man still playing football isn\u2019t going to get the clicks and please don\u2019t go back and read<\/a> the previous five of these \u2013 there is a risk of\u00a0repetition.<\/p>\n But there\u2019s only so many times you can write about Tottenham possibly getting relegated. And this column now feels like part of the ritual. Scroll down to the comments to see how much this resonates. For some of us, playing the game trumps any level of watching it.<\/p>\n The game\u2019s all about glory: Max with a medal and a pint. Photograph: Courtesy of Max Rushden<\/p>\n Another season of Puma Kings and desperately telling the side not to try to play out from the back from the first minute \u2013 we conceded 30 seconds into the season last year. Let\u2019s see what St Kevins of Glen Iris have got first before our keeper rolls it out to the full-back while the rest of us are facing the other way jogging up the field in the hope of winning a second ball from a launched goal-kick.<\/p>\n Our final pre-season game was an inter-club affair against some young people. One of their teenagers\u00a0went down complaining he\u2019d been kicked in the belly before I pointed out that he didn\u2019t have a belly and to take a look around at his opponents \u2013 all significantly wider than they were 20 years ago.<\/p>\n Although defeated late, I had hit a vicious dipping overhead left-foot volley that had been saved \u2013 think Paul\u00a0Peschisolido and David Seaman<\/a>. The oohs shook around Princes Park. Unfortunately it was caught on\u00a0camera and replays show<\/a> an ambling grey\u2011haired man moving at the speed of a Virgin trains automatic\u00a0toilet door and striking the ball with the power of an anaemic kitten.<\/p>\n My hip range of movement isn\u2019t what it was. I can only get on to my bike if I approach it from one side, although, in exciting news, my cholesterol is down from last season. Quite how that translates into duels won is anyone\u2019s guess.<\/p>\n Now the work begins to cement a spot in Sunday\u2019s starting lineup: relentlessly WhatsApping formations to the gaffer that all include me in the holding role. Can I in good conscience suggest moving Henry the anaesthetist, with his engine, out to right wing? We\u2019ve recruited some players who can both control and pass the ball \u2013 what dramatic progress is this? One new signing appears to have had some kind of semi-professional hurling career. My days in the non\u2011moving pivot may be numbered.<\/p>\n My real friends in the UK have banned me from forwarding Instagram reels from people standing by their Agas or posting from their home gyms telling you all that life is for living and to seize every moment: THESE ARE THE TIMES. I don\u2019t need anyone else telling me that after sleep, doom-scrolling and watching Traitors, I have only three-and-a-half days of time left as a sentient human.<\/p>\n But by the same token I know that there will come a time when I can\u2019t get around the small part of the pitch I manage to cover at the moment, and that retirement isn\u2019t an option until it\u2019s the only option. On Sunday, at 11am, Football Victoria Metro South-East Division Five begins. We go again, again.<\/p>\n Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters<\/a> section, please click here<\/a>.<\/p>\n