Where brains? Where brains gone?

My brains have all been bowled out. It's an occasional hazard of bowling one's brains out. Whilst I would prefer not to relate most of my scores over the four games of bowling (I'm at least consistently inconsistent - for what that's worth) I will report that I won game two with a very restecpable (yes yes) 145.

Also of note was the highest score of the evening. It was going to be The Network with a mighty (for us lowly non-expert bowlers) 155 until the Kidsis, out of nowhere, pulled a spare, a turkey, another spare and another strike out of her metaphorical bowling satchel. The Network couldn't believe his eyes as she pipped his 155 with a nice n' tasty 156. Disaster!

Anyhow. The weekend has left me sore but contented I must say. One lesson that I will pass on to you completely free of charging runs thusly:
Never play over an hour's foop-ball, play poker until 3, wake up after only 4 hours sleep and play another 90 minutes of foop-ball without expecting implications. True story.

Time for me to mosey on around aboot now. Have a good day. Yes yes.

voerndoot

I dreamed a better day

I thought I saw a brighter future.

This weekend so far has been très sportif. As they say over the channel. Foop-ball on foop-ball on foop-ball. With goals. Oh gosh.

Columbo is back in fashion in Hawksville as well. Right now it's the episode that's called Short Fuse. Nice.

We're going to see Granny Hawk tomorrow. And then I am going to bowl my brains out. Beauty!

Gotta go. Need to concentrate on the great lieutenant.

There's just one more thing. Nah, just kidding. Y'all be on your way. And take care you hear?

overandout

I ain't even seen no "one"

I'm a little reticent to start this here, as I don't want this to become one of them foop-ball bloggins. But gosh-darn that was good fun watching the Spurs kick the Chelsea's ass.

I'm not all about watching the foop-ball. As a general rule I prefer to play than watch (although my arms and legs are both *seriously* protesting that bent), but I couldn't help relishing the prospect as I walked over to the club this afternoon to watch the match. There's something about the communal aspect that is just enjoyable, win or lose.

Obviously it's better if you win. There's some kind of payoff I guess. But I don't think I'd be in a bad mood had we lost. In actual fact, I know I wouldn't be in a bad mood if we had lost. (Been there, done that).

It's something about getting caught up in the moment, and also the tension and.. You know this. I don't need to state obvious things.

In any case, good times. I got some work to do now, so I'll leave you with just two things.

Two things:
- My last post was number 777. How perfect.

- Just realised both me and the Network blogged with Consumer in the title recently. I don't think I deliberately copied him. But you never know.

overandout

then again..

How's it going my inter-buddies. Time for your daily (ahem) dose of Toby.

Went out to 'the shopping' yesterday. In Brommers. Bought me some shoes, a shirt, a belt and some rings. All at 'knock-down' prices. Caloo Calay.

Tonite it's back to the foop-ball. Let's see how 2 weeks of inactivity will go down. I'm guessing bitter. All the way down.

What is it in human nature that is attracted to the bitter-sweet? Dostoyevsky said "Man is sometimes extraordinarily, passionately, in love with suffering..." I'm taking it that he meant wo-man too. Ho ho. Anyway. It is a strange thing when you think about it. I'd be interested to hear religious people explain it. They can be good at that..

That aside, I wonder whether and how the human tendency to find definition and/or character through suffering has an affect?

I couldn't tell you. I'm all about the questions. Hee.

Anyways. Gotta eat to live, gotta stop blogging to eat. Otherwise this would go on.

Wrong!

Buh. You can't have it all.

my illustrious foop-ball career

This one's for you Ant.

c. Primary School age
Very dedicated foop-baller. Sadly no skill to speak of whatsoever. I went to training on Saturdays and school training. I even went on foop-ball courses at Center Parcs when we went for a holiday.

Highlights of what I like to call the 's***' era include playing one game for my school team. As a substitute defender brought on in the second half. I think they basically felt that a kid shouldn't come to pretty much every training session and never get a game. Nice Mr Cheetham.

The teen years
Gave up on 'playing for teams' or 'training'. Having said that, the presence of indoor nets at youth group and both Saturday and Sunday sports at Boundaries meant that I actually played quite a lot. Around 17 or 18 we started playing kickarounds on Sunday afternoons and I think it was around this time that I wasn't quite as bad as I thought I might have been. True blue.

The growed up phase (to present)
Since returning to the NAG I've been playing fairly regularly on Friday evenings. I also spent half a year playing Wednesday nites too. This is 6 or 7 a side foop-ball you must understand. Which is very different than real foop-ball. For a start I play in trainers. Which are very forgiving. Unlike foop-ball boots which if you get it wrong in you perform 'a slice'. You also cannot 'get away' with toe punts in foop-ball boots. True.

In this era I have made forays back into playing for teams. Starting with a team at GWS. This was a defence position again, but I was not a sub. I also played for my staff team last week in the midfield position. I now have the nickname 'two-goals' Toby. Although I can't see this continuing. We do have some more games lined up.

I'm also hoping to play on another team once a month. Watch this space for more info.


So there.