Football Widower
When you’re in a new culture, things change. You get used to the sweltering weather, walking to work and wearing shorts/dressing like a six year old all the time. It’s expected. What is not expected is the changes you see in your wife… however, fear not, this is not a post that is going to leave you feeling awkward and embarrassed.
Singapore, as the rest of South East Asia, is obsessed by the EPL (English Premier League), so much so in that we are often kept awake until the early hours of the morning with ohs, aahs and the roar of the crowd. I had not expected the same in my wife.
Jo would, once every four years, enjoy the blanket coverage and drama of the FIFA World Cup™ but other than that was not interested in hearing, playing or watching football. I am lying slightly for dramatic effect; her pictures of my team, Tuan Gemuk Athletic, scrapping & battling in the local amateur league have received rave reviews and show that she’s been to watch me play a little.
An invite went out from Shima, the organiser of our league (and girlfriend of one of our players), inviting the WAGs to a 5-a-side training session in the cage a venue which I have sweatily frequented every Tuesday since my arrival in Singapore.
Initial enthusiasm was low and as the evening approached, it was only consistant peer pressure of the ubiquitous stalker-book that encouraged her to go. Once fifteen minutes of ‘standing about’ had be rudely interrupted by a couple of the male players encouraging the ladies to actually kick the ball around a reasonably fun time was had by all. That was two months ago.
The ladies now meet every Tuesday for an hour, improving leaps an bounds each week (5 goals in two weeks for Jo!) and are keen to play more and more. Jo has even been heard to say, “I should probably watch some football – just to see how they do it.” Frankly astonishing. If you had ever said to me that on an average Tuesday night Jo and I would both pull on our shinpads and head out for a bit of five-a-side, I would have ridiculed the very idea. However I appear to have neglected the mesmeric pull of the beautiful game.
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Having embraced the game enough to join our footballing friend Jen in joining a potential 11-a-side ladies team, Jo suffered the fate of so many aspiring sportswomen. Her first sporting injury; a pulled calf muscle.
According to eye witnesses, when the sharp pain in her calf initially occurred, Jo’s eyes narrowed cruelly, ready for vicious verbal retaliation against the offending player who had so crudely booted her. Her righteous fury was short-lived however, as it became clear that the damage hadn’t been caused by an errant tackle, as there wasn’t anyone nearby. Her further reaction on discovering that it would be at least two weeks before reentering the astroturf of dreams, rather than the two minutes she had assumed, was bitter disappointment.
The injury has resulted in a sort of crazy lurching walk and me continually forcing Jo to sit down and RICE her injured limb; despite her low boredom threshold.
She is on the mend and still a little immobile, but looking forward to her return to sport, even though she has been informed by the other ladies that she’s not a proper footballer until she breaks a metatarsal.
And so mine and Jo’s relationship has entered a new era. One in which she understands my unhealthy addiction to racing around a muddy field in pursuit of a ball, with only a limited chance of actually kicking it where I want to. While I wonder what the hell this woman in football boots has done with the woman I married. :-)
Andy 21 November 2007
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Hey there..I was googgling on the word plus size and came acoss your site purely by chance…I’m a singaporean but your descriptions of certain events left me tickled . I was especially amused at your descriptions of being harassed by restaurant owners in Boat Quay and the taxi driver in Manila. will definately be back for more :)
Joanne # Nov 22