Musings from the Shitter – Volume Six

Wayfaring

God bless the office job.

It’s a safe place on a Monday — bones aching, memories of Saturday’s game still fresh.

With every movement, the body reminds me: I played.
Truth is, it reminds me of every mis-kick, every laboured run, every whimper I made out there.

Stupid, really.

My ten teammates carried me the whole game.
I shouldn’t have played. Knew it. Still did.

Why?

Is it the sense of being important that pushes this?
The camaraderie… the feeling of being needed. Valued.
And maybe just maybe the fear that when that fades, so will they.
These people I share a field with. These men who’ve become my tribe.

I know I’m not alone. Most of the team would rather play broken than let the others down.
And the lads who rest their injuries? Smarter than me. Stronger too, in the ways that matter.

So here I am on a Monday, behind a desk... not on the shitter, where these thoughts usually come  wondering:

Is this my next transition? My next development?

Learning how to say it:
“No. I’m not available this weekend.”

Even now, typing that, I feel it…
That tug of guilt. That whisper: don’t let them down.

And then I look around — at old friends, newly returned to play.
Six, maybe more years since we last shared a pitch.
Different humans we were back then.
Wilder. Hungrier. Lighter in ways I didn’t notice until they were gone.

And I see the young ones now —
itching to get in, to prove they belong.
To run, to chase, to bleed for this.

And I don't want to let it go.

I am just wayfaring.
In motion between who I was and whatever comes next.
Not retired. Not quite ready. But moving.

And then there are the others —
the more mature lads. The ones whose bodies, once engines, now creak with caution.
They’ve already made the transition I’m only beginning to see.

I watch them each week, sitting on the bench.
Patient.
Waiting for the nod.
Ready to give what minutes their bodies still allow.

And I wonder — quietly —
what would it be like if that were me?

I’d be lying if I said I’m looking forward to it.
But that’s the unknown, isn’t it?

I could ask them —
what it feels like to shift from fire to embers —
but I don’t.

Because asking might suggest that’s where they are now.
And they’re more than that.

They’re important.
Figureheads.
Constants.
Supportive.
Kaumātua like.

Painfully missed when they’re not there 
even if all they offer is presence…
from the bench.

But maybe that’s not just something.
Maybe it’s everything.

And maybe this is the next challenge.
Not to keep pushing for a spot in the starting eleven 
…but to keep pushing to be known. To set a mark.

So that the ones who take the field in my place know:
someone held that line before them.

Someone wore that shirt. Fought for it.
Left the pitch tired, broken ... happy.

And maybe now…or at least soon... it will be
time.

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