Kerre Woodham’s World

A couple of weeks ago, I was asked if I would like to play in the curtain raiser for the LA Galaxy/ Oceania All Stars soccer game on December 6th at Mount Smart Stadium.  The obvious answer would be no.  No, thanks.  A, I’ve never played soccer in my life.  B, I’m no natural athlete.  C, I’m 43, overweight and unfit.  D, I look like crap in any sort of sports gear.  E, I would be playing with hotties, gifted athletes from across the sports spectrum, talented young soccer players and New Zealand football internationals. F, I would be one of the very few people on the field born in the sixties.  I could go on, but you get the picture.  There is no earthly reason why I should agree to participate in an endeavour that can only result in humiliation.  But ….. David Beckham.  I’ve been a journo long enough to not be excited at meeting famous people.  I’ve met hundreds of the buggers.  And they’re just like the rest of us.  Some are nice, some are not.  Some are having good days, others having bad.  You can’t possibly form an opinion of someone in a one hour meeting.  But ….. David Beckham.  The chance to be in the same one kilometre radius as the man was enough for me to lose all reason.  I think it was ever since I saw a photo of him – a full page spread in one of those crap magazines – shirt off, walking off the pitch, smuggling what was clearly a very large anaconda off the park in his shorts.  Even the most sensible of matrons can lose her senses on occasion.   Of course I’ll do it, I said.  To be breathing the same oxygen as David Beckham was enough for me to forego any dignity, any semblance of pride, any scrap of self respect.  There’s no guarantee we’ll meet the man.  And to a certain extent, I hope we don’t.  The poor chap.  How many dithering females must he have met in his lifetime? If he laid them all end to end, I wouldn’t be at all surprised, to misquote Dorothy Parker.  I don’t want to be another to add to the list.  Just to be in the same sphere is enough for me.  So I presented myself to the first training session.  And my worst fears were realised.  I do indeed look crap in sports gear.  Everybody else there was a natural athlete.  And I was never going to learn the fine art of the beautiful game in a one hour session, no matter how talented and patient Noah Hickey and Becks Sowdon may be.  Still, it was fun and the young people were kind to nana and I was in awe of the skills of those present.  The next few days were agony.  Far, far worse than any after effects of a marathon.  My inner thighs received the sort of work out I can only dream of these days- you kick the ball with the side of your foot, so there were muscles working I never knew I had.  The only thing that alleviated the pain of my adductors muscles was imagining how strong David Beckham’s must be.  Mmmmmm – happy place.  Still, I had high hopes for Sunday’s session.  The pain had alleviated by then and I was convinced that I could build on what I had learnt and if not be a star for the team, at least not get in their way.  But it was not to be.  Within minutes of our training session, I had miskicked a ball and my quad was in agony.  I’d done some serious damage, but I tried to keep going because I didn’t want to let on.  However, I couldn’t run and I couldn’t kick so eventually it became apparent that I was as useless as tits on a bull.  So I limped off.  Gosh, it’s swollen, isn’t it, said one of the young men as they jogged off the field many minutes later.  Ummm, no, I said.  That’s how big it normally is.  You just haven’t seen one this big before.  And now, I’m elevating and icing and booked in with the physio because I can’t bear to miss out.  And it’s such a cliche.  The overweight, unfit, middleaged couch potato being the one who’s injured.  That hurts more than the pain of my thigh.  I’ll keep you posted.

Team KidsCan

·         Andrew Dickens

·         Andrew Mulligan

·         Brendon Pongia

·         Dai Henwood

·         Dean Butler

·         Goran Paladin

·         Ivan Cleary

·         Cocksy

·         Kent Johns

·         Kerre Woodham

·         Mark Dye

·         Mascot (Pulp Sport)

·         Melodie Robinson

·         Michael Brown

·         Mikee Carpinter

·         Miles Davis

·         Will Hall

·         Player-Coach: Noah Hickey

Field of Dreams Stars

·         Andrew Dewhurst

·         Ben (sans Bill)

·         Carol Hirschfeld

·         Dom Harvey

·         Glen Stuart

·         James McOnie

·         Jono Pryor

·         Kathryn Harby-Williams

·         Kimberley Crossman

·         Mark Richardson

·         Monty Betham

·         Moss Burmester

·         Suzy Clarkson

·         Coach: Rebecca Sowden