Any given Tuesday, you either win or you lose

Grass hockey is played like this: you get a stick that looks like a golf stick only that the lower part is more bulky and is harder. You get a ball, slightly larger than the golf ball and definitely harder.  You have to whack or lightly hit the ball to another player and another player till it ends up in the opponent’s goal. Easy! Oh, one more thing: you need a little bit of talent.

British seem to enjoy this game. I am not British and sadly I haven’t got talent. Apparently hockey is very appreciated in England so it is played in schools. This is how my sport lessons usually turn out:

  • I end up with really good players and one other rubbish player like myself.
  • To cover the fact that I am talentless I run around the court, pretending to actually know what I’m doing.
  • Occasionally when the ball is passed to me, I try to pass it to a teammate. It doesn’t always work.
  • I am reasonably good at tackling, which implies stealing the ball from the opponent.
  • At least I possess enough aim to whack the ball far away from our goal.
  • I am lost when we play by netball rules (no tackling!)

This Tuesday the teacher decided that half the class is only good at tackling and forbid it during a match. We were only allowed to intercept the ball. Up to this day I will not know how I managed to score. Of course, it was an accident and of course nobody knew, so they all thought I had some kind of revelation regarding hockey.  When the ball entered the goal all my teammates were taken aback, mesmerized by the perfect hit.  This is what had actually happened:

  • I got the ball.
  • I ran with it and tried to shoot.
  • I whacked the ball as hard as I could.
  • It landed in front of the goalkeeper’s feet.
  • As my teammates were approaching the keeper got nervous.
  • He tripped.
  • Over the ball.
  • The beautiful pink plastic ball lazily entered the goal.
  • Victory for Sara!

Autumn is enveloping Haslemere. Each day I wake up to a grayish blue sky. The air is like a mountain’s river: strong, fresh, cold. The huge trees in the parks have aged, their leaves coloring more and more. Some branches are completely yellow, a sweet yellow or a rusty yellow. Some are red, that wonderful autumn red! Some are still green, but an old green, a dying green.




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