I tried. I tried to stay on my office chair from 10 to 10. My eyes strained, watered and I stood up. The introvert within wept, but my Covid-19 brain was gasping for some fresh air, drowned by the second wave. I caught up with old friends. Fortunately they were staying nearby and were playing football regularly. I hauled my heavy eight-year-old Hercules Blazer IC out of my home and my heavier nervous self on it – making my way to the field nearby.

I spent the next half hour masking my nervousness behind warm up drills and handshakes with old pals. Returning to my left wing back position after so long felt burdensome on my rusty post-Covid lungs but the mid-June drizzle helped cool things down. With a pinch of beginner’s luck I managed to score a goal from a corner kick (What!?) Honestly, I had surprised myself on that one. The match however, ended in a stalemate, serving justice to the casual friendly format.

I rode this confidence to the ground for the rest of the stay-at-home season. Shortly after, hauling the old Blazer IC started feeling like more-than-warmup itself and I would tag along on Kaushik’s Honda at a mandatory excessive 90 odd kilometers per hour serving validation to the 220 cc engine. Stamina ++

The running and joy always mattered more than the goals or wins.

Gratitude for the constant upkeep of the grounds.

The romantic concept of playing football in the rain has quite a lot of fanfare and I absolutely don’t get the appeal.

Speaking from experience, you can count your lucky stars if match day is on a breezy overcast day — easy on the players, easy on the spectators. Add a drizzle to that and things are still under control. Your boots are wet and you start feeling the chill but it’s all fine.

However, once the heaven’s diapers start to overflow, it’s time to run. The wet ground grabs onto the ball and dribbling becomes impossible, people slip and fall all the time often injuring others, there’s water in your eyes, the wet sand on the ball bruises your skin, every shot on the ball kicks up the muddy water from the field (into your mouth), people splash each other with water and stop taking the game seriously, they jubilantly celebrate missed shots by sliding into the pool of water, the concept of opponents has long dissolved into the same muddy water, everyone’s laughing their asses off, the field quickly becomes a podium of slapstick humor, all the actors enjoying the dazzling absurd, chaotic experience under dark grey clouds. All of a sudden. A blinding bolt of lightning brings play to a halt. The deafening thunder follows. The clouds above have had the last laugh.