Training from morning to night (Musashi)

Wie geht's?

While in Auckland last week I walked to Mt Eden shops and found a cool bookshop. They had a copy of Ryan Holiday's Discipline is Destiny.

I've already bookmarked a large number of pages that resonate with my life.

His chapter heading 'Practice...Then Practice More' is an example (Americans sensibly use practice with a c for both noun and verb). The plain message is clear from the heading, but the writing of Musashi (a samurai warrior) spells out things well: A thousand days of training to develop, ten thousand days to polish.

That's basically 30 years of practice. But really - I think he's indicating that the practising/improvement never stops.

I spent a lot of my childhood practising my football skills. My brother wasn't a sporty guy, so I didn't have his help, but, in autumn/ winter/ spring I had our empty family swimming pool to practise in. I spent hours kicking a ball around the pool - hitting angles, running, passing, trapping the ball, give and goes. Hours and hours.

I started playing football for Eden A.F.C. when I was 4 years old. By my mid-thirties I had completed my 30 years of practice, but I never considered myself the finished product.

Practice...Then Practice More. Absolutely right.

Love and peace - Wozza

So precious (all the things you can't live without) (Tim Finn)

Wie geht's?

I manage to sneak in a couple of Netflix sports' documentaries while Jacky is otherwise engaged. Recently - Johnny Football, about Johnny Manziel, a quarterback at Texas A&M, who flamed out, the other - season 3 of Sunderland 'Til I Die.

Both focus on the passionate culture around sport. In each case, whether it be American Football or football, the local team is a huge part of the town's identity. The title for each says it all - Johnny Football - the boy/man becomes indistinguishable from the game and Sunderland 'Til I Die sums up the allegiance and commitment Mackem's have for their team. 

That made me think about growing up and playing football for one club in Auckland. 

Although I had the commitment, taking myself off to Seymour Park age 4 to play for Eden A.F.C., and I heard loads of English and Scottish voices from dads and coaches, I didn't experience the same blind devotion to the club, from either myself or others.

The eagle eyed will find two other club stalwarts in both pictures - Grant King and his dad, Bob. 

I stayed with the club until the late eighties, as the above photo shows, but then drifted away from playing. I'm fond of Eden A.F.C, but it didn't take over my whole life, as it does for Mackems. 

I have watched rugby in NZ for many years and the parochial passion for a local team is tepid compared to my experiences supporting Arsenal in the UK.

I miss that passion.

I put it down to the laid-back Kiwi classless persona and our adherence to equity and fair play. We're more English than the English in this regard. The desperate win at all costs attitude of Aussies is not for us. We still remember the underarm bowling incident and Andy Haden's shameful action attempting to win a penalty against Wales.

So, unless it's the All Blacks, when it comes to supporting 'our' team we shrug if we lose (with an All Black loss the country wrings its hands and is depressed en masse, at least it used to be - even that has changed I feel).

When we win we shake hands stoically and don't get big headed.

Our population and geographical splits have something to do with it too. NZ is so spread out and thinly populated. In stark contrast, North London rivalry between Arsenal and Tottenham Hotspur is super intense. I've taught in North London and the red half of the school loved me, but the white half got stuck in on a daily basis! Again, I do miss that.

Was good to be reminded of that passion while watching those documentaries.

Love and peace - NZ Gooner Woz (come on Arsenal!)

Great Britain - you are tremendous (Paul McCartney)

Wie geht's?

As I was sitting in the dentist waiting room yesterday, my mind wandered. In the hurry to get here after school I'd forgotten to bring a book. Doh!

So my mind wandered.

To England. Oh England.

Where oh where did my love affair start?

Before stepping into those Rochdale streets in 2003 I'd had a sense of belonging generated many many years before.

Let's go back.

When I was four, I took myself off to the football ground that was close to where we lived in Royal Oak.

So that can't be true. Mum must have taken me, right? As if a four year is going to yell out, "Okay mother and father - I'm off to play football now. See ya!"

Mum must have taken me. Probably after I'd shown an interest, because that's unusual for four year olds isn't it?

My only truly distinct memory was trying on the football boots at Seymour Park. They were far too big for my four year old feet. So I needed multi layers of socks.

I was good to go. And set for life.

Before I enter teenage boy fog, one thing leads to another and everything becomes interlaced.  

English and Scottish accents at the park. Weekly football magazines from some glamorous land called Fleet Street about teams called Wolves and The Arsenal. Swallows and Amazons. Coronation Street. The Beatles. More and more books, some set in overgrown English gardens. Roy of the Rovers. Look and Learn.

Look and learn indeed - Wozza - an Anglophile from Nu Zild.

It's only love and that is all (The Beatles)

Our passions can define us. 

"It's only every four years", says I to SWMBO every time the FIFA World Cup rolls around and her exasperation grows as I continue my quest to watch every game live and fill in my mega wall chart of results.

It's sad but true - my life has been partly defined by the culmination of joy that is the World Cup every four years.

1967: Representing Auckland aged 10.

The Olympics? Euros? Yeah - they're nice but nothing comes close to the feelings I get from the World Cup.

In rugby the mighty All Blacks will smash England over the next few weeks, the French Open tennis will reach its conclusion, the NBA playoffs will be done and dusted, and I'm pretty sure the NHL's Stanley Cup will play out soon as well.

Yeah they'll be fun but the World Cup is the ultimate sporting endeavour on Planet Earth!!

As I write this post (the first day of winter in New Zealand) I'm watching The Netherlands play Ghana, two weeks out from the start of the World Cup. It's a meaningless friendly but I'm hooked! 

1969: Eden F.C.  'A' Grade Championship winners
(top right with the bowl cut - cheers mum)

I generally love the way the Dutch play football and I'm keen to access their form (if you're interested - Robin missed a sitter and the Dutch flattered to deceive. On that form they won't be troubling anyone!)

It's only love.

My love affair with football started when I was four years old. That's a 52 year old affair and counting.

My parents took me down to our local football club when I was four. I had nagged them hard enough to get my way.

1986: League Champions (played 13, won 13)
(Second from left, middle row with trendy eighties cut
- cheers SWMBO)

Seymour Park was the place and Eden A.F.C. the club. We lived a couple of streets away at the time and I distinctly remember making those early Saturday morning walks to the fields on my own, dressed in my Eden colours - my grandmother had knitted me a black and gold jersey and I loved it! 

I was highly motivated to play the beautiful game. Even if it was in Royal Oak, Auckland rather than the favelas of Brazil.

My mum had bought me the smallest pair of soccer boots she could and a couple of pairs of socks to fill them out and I was off.

I was pretty good too, for a four year old. 

I remember very clearly playing games at Seymour Park as a midget. I was a defender from the start. I guess we did that midget follow-the-ball-at-all-costs tactical manoeuvre but I quickly gravitated to the left back position and made it my own.

At age group levels I was the best left back in Auckland up to the age of 19.

When I left Mt Albert Grammar after three years in the first XI (the last as captain) I drifted away from football during my five years at University, until starting life as a teacher at New Plymouth Boys' High School.

There I was able to be a player coach as the first XI played in a men's grade. When we moved back to Auckland in 1986 I rejoined Eden F.C. and played senior football. SWMBO, Keegan, Adam and I lived in Windmill Road, Mt Eden - one street away from the training ground at Disraeli Street. Perfect!

My competitive playing days ended when we moved to Nelson in 1990, but I continued to play socially, coached girls' and boys' teams and watched Keegan, Adam and later Samantha play football.

The knees have taken a pounding over the last 52 years so these days I am content to just run around like an idiot with my Woodford House Senior XI on training days.

Two weeks to go. Oh baby!!

This weblog began seven years ago - on June 30, 2008, so I've only had one previous World Cup to report on. I can't wait!

Love and peace - Wozza