We ran, sweated, played, fought made up unlike young children of today who sit ensconced in front of the television and the computer. We loved the outdoors.
One of the best childhood memories were those of playing football; no not at the state level, but among kith and kin in our spacious backyard.
With cousins by the dozen we had our own decent football team with boys and girls playing together. We dug up the uneven ground and fixed goal posts made of wooden sticks. We named our group with our favourite world football teams. We girls played wearing frocks and were still comfortable. Before the game would start each team would discuss on who would be the goal-keeper, the striker, the defence, the header and simply one trouble-maker. We played the full 90 minute game albeit minus the eleven team number. Come rain or shine, we loved to come together for a boisterous, challenging fun football time. Monsoons were particularly special because besides running with the football we would splash muddy water, get dirty and drenched. We yelled, kicked, pushed, fought but it was all in the game. We girls (six of us) were no match with the guys so we used woman power of screaming in high pitched voices, sometimes clawed, pulled and tugged or just ran helter-skelter. The young ones and slightly weak were kept as goal-keepers. I was one of them.
From the backyard friendly matches, my brother and a cousin later took up football professionally and played at the National level and a cousin sister took up basket ball, also a national player. As for me, I took a chair in front of our TV to watch the game I loved. And I do so till date, enthusiastically watching world class FIFA matches live. It is a thrill, an experience that gives a different rush of excitement when the game is played. Speed and run of the players, 10-number striker, powerful penalties, classic goals, the brilliant defence and the passing of ball. It is all so mesmerizing.
Experiencing this thunder of the game is my nearly 70-year-old mother. Her love for football borders to near fanaticism, she forgets to cook and eat too. In fact she will experience hearing loss and speech defect. Meaning, she won’t speak to you nor look at you. Her entire body, mind soul is in the game. And no, she was not a professional footballer or something, but her childhood was all about this hugely popular game. As a growing girl in the serene village of far-off Sanguem, young children were taught to play football as part of their church activity. Patui (Father), was a good footballer she says, he ran and played in his cassock but he taught us the game as a real coach.’ These fond memories create a bright spark in my mother’s eyes as she watches the FIFA world cup seated comfortably in her rocking chair.
Surely there are hundreds like her and may the football cheer continue. Long live FIFA and happy watching of the semi-finals and the finals!
