NE63 Haiku

Warm, low whistling wind Grey feathers scattering pitch History repeats How does that saying go? "Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it" - George Santayana Looks like I fell into one of those that has not learnt from my own personal history.  On Friday night my son, Max had a friend sleep over. Which is fine, but the next day he had a football game so we told him no late night so they could be properly rested for the game. I always love game days, the excitement the night before, getting Max hyped and stoking his ego to play well, getting the team strip ready, his shin pads and boots. Waking up early for breakfast and any last minute preparations such as a trip to Tesco for a drink and a post-game snack (usually a Yorkie bar). The drive to the venue is filled with anxiety, excitement, nerves, what ifs? Will Max play well? Will the team?  Saturday was Bedlington Utd. NE22 Greens (Max's new Saturday team after leaving Newcastle Sporting as mentioned here ) ...

Chirping and singing  Warming light casts over us The whistle awaits

Rays of golden light Goosebumps in the spring breeze Efforts came up short

Rain falls after sun Slick grass tamed by muddy boots Late victory comes Sunday morning, 11:30am kick-off. A dry start, the kind of calm that makes you think the game might settle early. We didn’t wait long. Ten minutes in, we go 1–0 up. A strong start, confidence high. But football has a way of pulling things back — ten minutes later, the opposition find their equaliser. Game on. Then the weather turns. The rain comes in, steady at first, then heavier. What started as a clean pitch quickly becomes slick, muddy, unpredictable. Every touch matters more. Every step just that bit harder. Half-time arrives with everything still level. A team talk, a reset. You could feel it — the need to dig in, to stay together, to believe there was more in the game. The second half becomes a battle. Not pretty, not easy. Just effort, determination, and moments of grit. And then, in the final 15 minutes, it all opens up. One goal. Then another. Then a third. From the nerves of a draw — and the worry of wh...