May 2014

[Sweder]

I ended up putting my back-uin-the-saddle run back until this morning. Plans to run on Sunday went south for two reason. First, I woke up at 09.20, by which time there was plenty of heat in the day and the dogs wanted nothing more than to potter about and lie in the shade. No problem. A nice evening jaunt in that cool, still air that fills in the gaps after a warm day is just what the doctor ordered. But I didn't reckon on football sticking it's oar in one more time.

This morning I took off with the hounds, a thirty minute ramble to assess the aches and pains. Running has taught me the art of physical self-assessment. My inner thighs, never usually an area of concern, show signs of strain. My right knee is still swollen, as is my wrist, but if anything running helped. No part of me enjoyed the juddery drop down the flint track and I stopped twice on the climb through the woodland. A pre-breakfast half-hour well-spent, time to reflect on yesterday at the Pan.

Jacqui Agnew, manager of Lewes Ladies FC for twelve astonishing seasons, has stepped down. Or, rather, stepped up, to become director of women's football at Lewes FC. Her last match in the dugout took place yesterday. A FAWPL match against title-chasing Cardiff City, no less. First, a small but enthusiastic crew had to clear the pitch of medieval tents and the remnants of a weekend of battle re-enactments. It's no laughing matter when your centre-forward goes down in the area with a section of pike-staff sticking out of her knee.

Lewes, riding a rip curl of emotion, swept Cardiff aside. I felt sorry for them, really. They'd come to 'little' Lewes dreaming of a big win to help their goal difference and left with their title dreams in ruins. Charlotte Bennett, one of the longest-serving Rookettes, scored the second with a peach of a lob before sprinting 40 yards to embrace her manager. It was the perfect moment for the occasion, one that broke Cardiff hearts and melted ours.

Jacqui gave her usual post-match summary to the gathered players before thanking them for all their efforts over the season. If she thought it would end there she hadn't reckoned on an impromptu Lucozade shower followed by champagne conditioner and a round of the bumps. She left the pitch under a guard of honour, applause ringing in her ears, smile a mile wide. She left as she arrived twelve years ago: a born winner.

My goodness, those are rather big boots to fill.

   
Photo by James Boyes (@Gingeraction)