The Premier League football schedule came out today but everyone conspired to keep me from having all but one tantalizing taste.
The fixtures had been announced at 9 a.m. in the UK. By the time I was on the train in the morning, my friend in the U.K. who had been instrumental in helping me acquire the tickets (and also gave me a figurative shove over the ledge of doubt to follow through) had sent me email describing two choice periods in the Arsenal schedule. Just as I was about to open the schedule, other business problems intervened that kept me busy all day. I got home late, just in time to eat dinner and head to my son’s soccer* game.
Fortunately, my husband had time to look at the schedule and could describe it in detail as we waited for the game to start. (He declared himself the “idiot savant” of the fixture list.) The last game of the season is a home game. Woohoo! Now I just have to get it in the draft. Not sure when that will take place.
Beautiful night for soccer, although this particular game ended in disappointment for my son. After the final whistle, a ball came loose and my husband and I did a bit of passing (him with great technique and me with my particular technique). It felt good to have a ball at my feet. All my playing lately has been with my son in our basement, but he’s gotten so good, my “playing” mostly consists of being an obstacle to where he wants to dribble. The ceiling of the basement is quite low; this year he’ll probably become too tall to play with freedom and I’ll get some advantage back. That is my evil plan, anyway.
*To manage the football/soccer dilemma, my plan is to refer to the game–when played in the U.S.–as soccer, and when played in the U.K. (and everywhere else in the world) as football. I understand there will be objections from everyone.