P.E. Class all over again...

My latest attempt at social integration led me to the local football team. After enquiring with a few locals, I managed to track down the training pitch and practice times. So, buzzing to meet some other jeunes and have a good old-fashioned kick about, I set out with a spring in my step, despite the vicious turn in the weather. Upon arrival, I introduce myself to two young sporty looking types, explain my situation, and ask if there was a coach or captain I should talk to. As I chat with the coach, I’m starting to feel quite excited about the prospect of some team sport after spending the majority of my time so far alone. The changing room has filled up somewhat by the time the coach asks me what position I play. Casually I tell him I play either left-back or centre-half. A puzzled look greets this latest statement. He then explains that this is rugby, which is followed by raucous laughter from the entire town’s rugby squad and I exit stage left, tail between my legs, thinking back to all those times I’d forgotten an item of P.E. kit and was forced to play football in school shoes or borrow some speedos from the lost property box. 

I eventually managed to track down the football team, which was in fact a handful of chaps lingering under some shelter hoping that not enough people would turn up so they wouldn’t have to train in the rain. To my delight, 10 others turned up and we had enough for a 5-a-side match. After about an hour of fairly intense football, one of the players hit the deck after a collision with another player and immediately cried out in pain, clutching his shoulder. So the session came to an abrupt end whilst we waited for the pompiers. It had been an eventful introduction to the team, but I was glad to have finally located some social activity in the town.

Cauchemars dans le vestiaire

Cette semaine, j’ai fait des recherches sur l’équipe de foot du village. J’ai trouvé le terrain et je demandais aux jeunes s’il y avait un entraineur ou capitaine avec qui je dois parler. Je me présentais au entraineur et j’expliquais que je suis en France pour une année et je dois jouer. Le vestiaire s’est remplis des gens quand il me demandais  en quel position je joue et je répondais que je suis arrière gauche et je joue en défense. Silence. Il m’expliquait que je suis dans le vestiaire de l’équipe de rugby US Fumel-Libos et tout le monde riait au nez de moi et je sortais toute de suite mort de l’embarras.  A la fin, je trouvais les footballeurs et nous jouions une heure de foot assez intense jusqu'à un homme cassé son bras. Une introduction assez dramatique au sport français.