I’ve played football in the past, it was organized and just for fun. I was a goalkeeper and I was not very good. But I knew how to have fun and slowly got better. Even at my best I was never what you’d call competent, but had a lot of fun playing in a recreational League on a Monday evening.
Compared to the other 20 players on the pitch goalkeepers are the strange ones. Pretty much by definition we put our bodies where the rest of the players put their studs. Our job is to stop the game dead. This is a game that I’m on the record as saying at it’s best when it flows from one player to another.
Why play in goal? I like the contact, I like not running around nearly as much and after years of rugby it seemed like a natural extension.
Goalkeepers make a choice to stand out from the rest of the team. It’s an inherently negative job and rarely will you get the glory (penalty kicks aside, even I saved one every now and again), but you are often the focus of the rest of the teams ire.
And that’s what happened to Robert Green on Saturday; One mistake, one mistake is all anyone will remember from his World Cup. We’ll forget the great save to his near post that kept England in the game during the second half, but hold on to the miss. How many opportunities did Rooney and co miss? Yet they always get another chance, ‘keepers don’t get the luxury.
Football is a sport defined by its flow and energy. The goalkeeper has long periods of apparent inaction, followed by the moments their day will be judged on. Moments where there their role is to act as a spoiler and kill that flow and energy.
They are also deeply contrary, choosing to play with their hands (it’s called “football” – the clue is in the name) in a game where the rule about not touching the ball is listed some where near the front of the rule book (except where God allows it, see Maradona).
Just time for a self indulgent aside and apology. In my last game I got sent off. It was a recreational game a few years ago at Starfire in Tukwilla.
I executed a perfect sliding tackle just outside the box. I got the ball. OK, I carried through with my trailing leg and took the player out, but that was momentum and I cleanly took the ball. The bastard little Hitler in black showed me a yellow card. I disagreed and asked him if he was fucking joking, then where his fucking guide dog was, and I believe I followed that up with another question about his sight. I got a second yellow for dissent.
That one I deserved.
To the refs of this world, I’m sorry for arguing with you. I understand why you don’t listen when players have problems with your calls. It’s a crappy job that you could not pay me enough to do, but tust occasionally you get it wrong.