Fly gazelle, fly!

Team sports… it has never been my thing.

I don’t like being in a team.

I don’t like the cheering.

I don’t like the need for everyone to cheer each other on as they miss the hoop, goal, anything that requires a ball or object to be placed within.

I just don’t like it.

I actually even thanked my own mother for not having another daughter because I don’t like the idea of sharing my toys with another girl.

So you can imagine my dilemma, when a friend from work asked me this week to come along and help her out by joining her in a netball match.

The last time I played netball was over ten years ago (or was it 15?) and I quit because I got sick and tired of the bitches being all bitchy to one another. At one point my competitiveness got so bad that I became physical during games in order to win… like jabbing ones elbow into a competitor’s rib, tripping them, or even pulling on someone’s fake nail which was super glued to her original nail. I only used that method after half an hour of jibs and the bitch putting her knee into the back of my leg while jumping for the ball. That shits not on!

Alas my netball career had to end there and then.

I said goodbye and decided solo sports were for me.

Running, yoga, pilates, anything related to the gym; that’s where I belonged, not surrounded by 18 years old giving me shit and dirty looks.

So on Thursday, I showed up to my first netball match in ten years, only to be faced to one of the most competitive teams in the … what do you call them… league?

I reluctantly accepted the goal defence bib , took a deep breath and waited for the evil woman within me to come out.

It took one half before I was unleashed.

The little snot, whom I had been stalking the entire game, kept making comments under her breath and making me jump around like a gazelle … so I jabbed her.

This only after I apologised for stepping on her foot (and that was by accident, honestly) and her response was that I didn’t apologise quick enough or sincerely. So you can imagine my reaction to the 18 year old staring at me with disdain.

As I went to grab the ball, I ever so gently jabbed her with my elbow into her side so I can get the ball and throw it down to my team mate who eventually scored a goal... after my triumph, I turned around and was faced with a dirty stare from a little snot. I swear the 16 year old in me wanted to slap her. I politely smiled (or smirked) and walked away.

In reality, my “walking away” was in fact me clutching at my chest, trying desperately to breathe but I made my point.

I might be 30 years young but I can still take on a little snot.