Pink is in, 7 May 2009

The lush Green far side of the pitch and the holy ball streaking down the sideline. That was the scenario. But little did I know I would be craving to have my next couple of minutes back. Frolicking with the ball I was, in the left flank. Took a glimpse behind my back and defenders were hyenas personified. And with the bat of an eyelid, I felt my legs taken down, as if someone tricked me onto a magic carpet, told me it would fly like the wind and pulled it from underneath. Next thing I knew, the entire 75Ks landed on my vulnerable right wrist and searing pain shot in every direction like debris from a blistering frag grenade. I heaved myself up, trying to analyze what had happened, held the wrist close the my torso and went for the ball with camouflaged feverishness. We won by a comfortable two goal margin. Next morning, I wondered where the halo to my footballing angel had gone because the doc replied “here it is”, wrapping my wrist with an eye popping pink plaster.