Real Football

The Football season has started again. Real football, I mean! This weekend the English Premier League (EPL) held its first matches of the 2008-9 season and I entered my first season of Fantasy Football.

My “football career” spanned thirty years. Never a star, I certainly enjoyed the sport. I inherited the joy of football from my father who had played for his school in England and had medals to prove it. I have them somewhere.

Football is Africa’s sport so I was never at a loss for teammates. At Kawama Mission we had a huge front “lawn” made of wiry and tough lunkoto grass that could take a beating. Every afternoon at about four o’clock when the sun’s strength was starting to fade my African friends from the mission and nearby villages would show up for the match of the day. There was Johnny Wangobele, Bedford Kashiya, Kosam Mulenga, Katebe Kafwanka, and others. I had the ball – a stitched leather sphere into which a rubber bladder (like a strong balloon) was inserted and pumped up with a bicycle pump. When it was inflated the opening was laced shut and we were ready to go. We played our hearts out until dusk.

Occasionally Dad would join us and that was a treat. He would dazzle us with his skills and over power us with his shots from either foot. On one memorable day we had moved the pitch to the wide driveway in front of the house. Usually Dad would play with some restraint but on this day he decided to take a real shot. The ball sailed over the goalie and towards the house, coming to a sudden stop amid the shattering of glass in the living room window. My mother was preparing dinner in the house and came rushing to the broken window demanding an explanation for this destruction. All I could think was, “Glad it wasn’t me!”

In high school I played full back in the old 5-3-2 format. I did not have finesse nor was I quick but I did have strong legs. The sweeper concept was yet in the future so my job was simply to keep the ball away from the goal and get it up field. That involved intimidating the opposing forward to give up the ball and clearing it as far down the field as I could. In one memorable moment I was all that was left between the ball and the goal and I managed to kick it out before the ball went in. Afterwards the coach came up and said, “Where is my friend Kruse?”

At Carleton College I offered my skills to the coach, Mr. Dyer-Bennett whose name, I discovered, you did not shorten! I fancied that I would like to play forward although I was not quick. However it proved to work out. I had a good cross kick from the right wing and my center forward, Bill Lovell from Massachussetts, was very good at putting them in the goal. I had to give up football after my sophomore year. I had never had to train so much for a sport – three hours training and practice every day and matches twice a week, some far away, meaning that I had to skip classes. It affected my academics and I had to make a choice. It was not a hard choice but I did miss playing real football.

In those years the Carleton soccer team drew more fans that the Carleton football team. The soccer Knights made the college proud with winning season after winning season in the MIAC conference. The Football Knights usually struggled to win more than two games a season. We relished our superior record!

My final attempt to play competitively was in my thirtieth year. I saw a small article in the local community paper about a men’s league. It provided a phone number for me to call. The guy on the other end was twenty four and obviously had doubts about my abilities as an “old guy”. However he told me where and when to show up. I did and he was right. I was beyond competitive football. I would have to satisfy myself by kicking around with my children in the years to come (not all bad, by any means) and eventually being drawn into a Fantasy Football league.

© 2008 Roy Kruse

The Olympics Swimming Events

I have been mesmerized by the performance of Michael Phelps in this year’s Olympics. How could anyone be that good? I have enjoyed watching Kirsty Coventry of Zimbabwe win a gold medal for that embattled country. And to see Rebecca Adlington of Great Britain outpace her competitors by several seconds in the longest swimming race of the games.

I learned to swim early in my time at Sakeji School. The principal, Mr. Hess, took personal responsibility to teach every child how to swim. Lessons were held every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon in The Mud Pool (see picture), a widening and deepening of the Sakeji River after which the school is named. The incentive to learn was that once we had passed “The Test” of swimming across the river and back with Mr. Hess at our side we were free to swim anywhere in The Mud Pool and enjoy the time in the river jumping off trees and floating downstream on inner tubes.

I failed “The Test” on my first attempt. I swam all the way across in the dog paddle that Mr. Hess taught and swam all the way back. When my knees hit the ground I stood up. However Mr. Hess was not aware that I had hit bottom and had expected me to swim further – so he failed me. I passed on the second try.

During the rainy season the Sakeji River would swell and the current would pick up considerably. Only the strongest swimmers could make it across the Mud Pool but occasionally one of the weaker swimmers would lose their footing and be drawn in by the current. Drama ensued as Mr. Hess went out after them, fighting the current to save them from being washed away. Following what always seemed to be a dramatic rescue Mr. Hess would punish the child for being careless, as though the gulps of river water and almost drowning were not punishment enough. Some punishments were quite severe.

During my tenure at Sakeji Mr. Hess had a proper swimming pool built – I think his son Jim, in his late twenties and also on staff at the time, was the project director. The canal that turned the water wheel to generate electricity also fed the new pool. While it was a great addition to the school we did miss the Mud Pool and occasionally were able to go back and enjoy its natural atmosphere.

My school in England, Royal Liberty Grammar School, had its own outdoor swimming pool. A Swimming Gala (competition) was held in May and I was entered in one of the races for my age level. I finished third out of four in my race because the fourth competitor was home sick that day! I did, however, receive a certificate for third place. My stomach was very sore that spring and I attributed it to the cold water in the swimming pool – how that worked I couldn’t figure out. Later I realized it was caused by the use of muscles that had been unused for some month!


In my high school years at Luanshya our family had access to the Olympic Pool (see picture) which was part of the recreation facilities for the Roan Antelope Copper Mine employees. Many hours were spent there. The pool also sported a set of diving boards – one, three, and ten meters, the first two being springboards and the latter a platform. Some of the more daring (and stupid?) high school boys enjoyed jumping off the ten meter on to the three meter whose spring action would flip them about half way acoss the pool. Lawsuits were obviously not an issue in that place and time.

I have always taken the ability to swim for granted but when my own children came along I realized that it takes time and effort to equip them with that important ability. My wife had to sign them up for lessons and sit for hours watching them progress until they were competent. I am grateful for that Sakeji experience.

© 2008 Roy Kruse