Be in a Daze

In the days of youth, there was this:

Colin struck the ball like it was the last ball that would ever be struck and my head visited the strike and the ball in a way that heads should not do. Playing the game of football in a field can provide many dangers (studs in the ankle, mud in the cranium, dogshit in the nostrils), but there is nothing more head-wrecking for a young boy trying his manly best to impress than being struck heavily on the head with the ball and trying his manly best to contain the daze in the game's progress.

I walked aimlessly around the field for the remaining legs of the game, invisible to the other players, but clearly visible to myself. Here I was, in the action, but out of it. I could see Jenny on the sidelines. She was still cheering for me. Even though I was simply moving my body in the style of traditional walking.

All around me, I could hear the game being played. They shouted, they fought, they scored goals, and they embraced. I stopped to look at Jenny. She was beautiful. It was great to be in a daze. I must have stood looking at her for two minutes before the ball struck again.