I USED to play soccer for a team called Upper Macleay Yowies.
Great name. With patriotic colours of green and gold.
Shit team. Although a few of our players were great; especially Tom and Jessie. We all had fun together.
But that was the old days. When girls could play in our teams. Before Tom’s car accident.
Before Mum gave away my soccer boots for running away and hiding in the school library.
A year later, my foster mother Hazel decided I should pay soccer again. She bought boots and made sure I got a lift to try-outs. The nearest team to my school was the Fredo Rams. My school mates played in a higher year for some reason.
Hazel didn’t have her own car. But her sister did. So she made an effort to see my home games. And I’d get a lift with the team’s mothers when we had to travel a distance.
I wish I had a moral to wrap this post in a cute conclusion. The truth is I don’t. All I wanted to say was that I loved soccer, and that despite my complaints I wasn’t stuck on my foster home property when I wasn’t at school. And that Hazel did try to make me happy.
And to say that chocolate Yowies were the best. They were like Kinder Surprises, but the toys inside were of endangered and rare animals.