Run Fahad run...

I lay breathing heavily on the moist grass with the flood-lit sky staring down at me. Just a few moments back I received the ball on my chest, controlled it with my feet and made a heart stopping run.

I went past three defenders before coming one on one with the goal keeper. With him charging towards me and sensing two others coming up from behind, I picked my spot, my favourite one. I tilted to the left and shot to the right watching and hoping to get enough swerve. It beat the keeper, but would it do enough?

Those fractions of a second are the hardest. I fell to the the ground with my eyes glued to the ball.

The ball hit the post and was eventually cleared. I lay still with a wry smile. “Tough luck,lad”, someone shouted. With a heavy sigh I gathered myself up and jogged back toward the mid field hoping to make a run again. Soon.

Oh how I love this game...

Blog it baby

I've blogged before this. Mostly about stupid trivial things related to growing up.
Now I am back like anything. What better time than now to just sit and write, write and then write some more, now that I find myself more alone with myself than ever (notice how I cleverly don't use the word "lonely"). To myself that too, for I don't think anyone visits this super secret hideout.

I take an oath to blog about the silliest things that involve amazingly interesting facts/incidents like how long I took to bathe, travel time, the power setting of the iron I use, etc etc.

Welcome.