I roll to my right and scramble around with my left hand, eventually I manage to locate the source of the irritating buzzing. I manipulate the switch and the noise stops, I roll back to my left and fall back asleep. I wake up an hour later and head downstairs; I get a bowl of muesli and a cup of tea, I watch some soccer highlights on the television. I head out to the garage and spend around an hour moving around circular lumps of metal, I finish up with five minutes of light jogging. The pain and stiffness at the top of my left calf seems reduced but it is still noticeable. There is no magical cure, only time and effort. I return to the house and take a shower. I cook some sausages and then include them in an omelette, it is not as tasty as I hoped. I make another cup of tea and proceed to watch the first twenty minutes of Manchester United against Birmingham City, it is uneventful. I leave the house.
I get to the ground quicker than I expected, the car park is reasonably full. I park next to the opposing teams minibus, the players are already back in the changing rooms after the warm-up. I see no-one to talk to and head up to the stand. I sit down to the left of the forty-five yard line on the first row of steps, the railing at the front obscures enough of my view to be annoying but I have already planted myself and decide not to move. To my left is an injured tight-end - he has damaged his knee in a significant fashion and is out for a long time, we exchange small talk and he says he was worried that he would have to do stats if I didn't turn up. I get out a selection of pens and my notebook, the players emerge from the building and begin to mull around on the blue tarpaulin that is intended to protect the turf along the sideline.
The card-check gets underway and is overseen by a member of the opposing teams management dressed in a Roman centurion costume; dressing up for away games has become their gimmick and they have upset a couple of the Scottish teams with their antics, it appears to be a bit of good natured fun to me. We must have more than forty players kitted up for the game, the away team have less than twenty-five - it will be a long day for them. The game starts and I begin to take down my notes, I get confused at the start and use the wrong notation but I regain my composure and everything goes smoothly. Their offense seems mostly impotent apart from a few ten-yard completions, our offense seems capable of moving the ball at will - we fail to convert on some fourth-down attempts but manage to build up a respectable score, the game is no longer a competition mid-way through the second quarter.
At around the ten minute mark of the second quarter I hear my name being called from the sideline, there is a member of the staff with a similar sounding name so I often mistakenly think they are asking for me - this time however, they are. I am being called to replace the child who is currently the ball-boy on the near side of the pitch, I hold up my notebook and tap it but this does not dissuade the calls. I reluctantly pack up my bag and head down to the pitch. I take the ball from the child and relieve him of his duty. I was a ball-boy at the previous years Britbowl, the girl who looked after the chain crew at that event is the line judge today. I start to follow the play up and down the sideline, most of the passing plays head to the opposite side of the field so I have a quiet afternoon. After each successful score I move behind the goal-posts in order to retrieve the ball following the point-after attempt.
The score ends up around fifty-three to two. Their only points came after a botched snap on a point-after attempt led to an intercepted pass in the ensuing scramble, that was then ran back for a score. The team has gone undefeated in the regular season and we finish at the top of the entire second division, we have home-field advantage locked up the playoffs. After the line-up and handshakes on the halfway line, the team huddle at around the twenty-five yard line. There is alot of cheering, including ten hoorays - one for each of the games we have won. The general-manager makes his way to the huddle with two bottles of what I would hope are cheap champagne and sprays them over the team. The players take a knee whilst the head-coach gives a speech. The players are then sent to gather in the equipment, there is a spring in everyones step that is usually absent. I check I have all my things and walk across the field towards my car, I say congratulations to some of the players as I pass. I head home.
