'Yeah?! Well, you...smell..!'

I am a broken man. Every single muscle in my body aches, my right hand hurts, and its index finger has swollen to the thickness of a sausage. I have no idea why. I also have mild sunburn, and had to remove a piece of skin the size of a crisp from the bottom of my foot earlier. I know you didn't want to know that, but its necessary for you to understand exactly what state I am in. And football is supposed to be fun.

We got to the semi-finals of the tournament, something with which I am relatively pleased. Six goals for me too. Not that I like to talk about it, but fact is fact. The football was mostly of a poor standard, but the banter was top draw. One of the best things about verbal abuse between players during highly charged competitive sport is that people have very little time to consider what they are going to say. The immediacy of the outburst tends to take away from the quality. Even Oscar Wilde came out with some terrible comebacks when he played 5-a-side.

Favourites of the day included one minor altercation that ended with a friend of mine calling another man a 'f**k-chop' (he later apologised - for the insult, and for the fact it made little sense). I was personally subjected to a bit of rough housing from an opposition goalkeeper, and it led me, against my better judgement as he was a big fella, to ruffle his hair and jokingly say 'Alright keeps, calm down lad!'. His response? 'F**k off...ginge...'

GINGE though.

The last couple of posts haven't been of the usual high standard, and for that I apologise. But at least I'm up to speed now. Tomorrow's will be better. Assuming I can still type.