Return to sporting action taking its toll
I HAVEN’T been this tired since returning home from a three-day music festival in my teens in the early nineties when I crawled into bed on a Monday afternoon and didn’t resurface until Wednesday morning.
Almost three decades later, as a somewhat responsible adult with children to look after, I don’t have the luxury of hiding under a duvet for hours on end these days, so I’ll just have to grin and bear it and put the matchsticks under the eyelids to keep the show on the road as I struggle through a day’s work.
And what exactly has me in such a state of fatigue, you may ask?
Sport being back with a bang is the simple answer.
Instead of spending my weekend in front of the television with feet up, watching behind-closed-doors horse racing, snooker devoid of atmosphere or being frustrated as hell by another head-scratching VAR decision I went through the gates at venues and watched actual live sport.
Going to a handful of games mightn’t seem too tiring to most, but when you have to keep your concentration levels at full peak, scribbling down every substitute and score when they game is in the melting pot, it can take its toll when you’re out of practice.
On arriving home there’s reports to be written, while gathering results and scorers from various venues can be as time consuming as searching for a tiny needle in a rather large haystack.
I never stopped working throughout the pandemic, but I’d forgotten what real graft is like, when you’ve a mountain of stuff to get through with deadlines that are tighter than a duck’s you know what to meet.
I’m certainly not looking for any sympathy here as I wouldn’t want it any other way, but I’ll just have to make sure I’m better prepared for the challenge in both body and mind before next weekend rolls around. Maybe I’ll take up yoga or Tai Chi!
On a positive note it really was great to experience live sporting action again, hearing the clash of the ash, the sweet strike of a boot on leather and the excited roar of an albeit smaller than usual crowd.
Our seven-month-old pup has just had one of those God awful, uncomfortable looking protective collars removed after twelve long days on Saturday evening, and I’d imagine he felt like I did as I strode into a sporting venue, chest out with a regained sense of freedom.
In case you’re wondering he didn’t have a serious ailment, he just got the boys removed from the barracks, if you catch my drift.
Thankfully I’m still fully intact after the lockdown, although I’m sure I tested the better half’s patience on occasion.
All the toing and froing meant the only sport I watched on television over the weekend was the meeting of Chelsea and Manchester United in the FA Cup semi-final on Sunday evening, and I was only keeping half an eye on that as I was busy collating local results.
Although half an eye was seemingly more than David De Gea had open as he dropped another couple of clangers that would have made Loris Karius blush.
That said, Harry Maguire wasn’t much better as Olivier Giroud battered him into submission and Mason Mount and the rest made him look like a rusty tractor struggling to get out of first gear on a cold winter’s morning.
Much has been made of the
Red Devils’ improvement in recent weeks, and they have done well to put themselves in prime position to secure a Champions League spot, but in reality most of the teams they’ve been putting away have been cannon-fodder.
There’s no doubting they’ve improved, with the acquisition of Bruno Fernandes playing a major part in that, but suggestions that they’re ready to mount a serious title challenge look to be premature at best.
They’re light years behind Liverpool and even Manchester City this season in terms of points and they’re likely to have a few painful years ahead before being able to bridge that gargantuan gap.
On Sunday’s evidence Chelsea look the more likely to be contenders next term, but that assertion comes with a large dose of caution, considering the Londoners have blown more hot and cold than a dodgy hair drier and you’re never really sure what you’re going to get with them.
Manager Frank Lampard will have put more of his own stamp on the squad by the start of next season, but if he secures a Champions League berth and wins the FA Cup in his first campaign, despite his team not always convincing, it won’t have been a bad year’s work.
Work hard, dream big - which is something yours truly can’t wait to do when I get some much-needed shut-eye tonight.