MY LIFE, PART 39: Jeez, he’s tall!

My life was slowly turning from the joys of childhood to the serious work of a professional athlete. But there was still one more battle to be fought – the battle against my own body.

Within one year, I grew seventeen centimetres. That’s six and a half inches!

At fifteen, I was no longer a moderately tall boy, I was a giant, towering over everyone else in my class. When I got on the tram I had to be careful not to hit my head on the handles – I was slouching all the time and people began to point fingers at me, whispering: “Jeez, he’s tall!”

I could see everything from this new altitude. But I also couldn’t go unnoticed. And I was suffering.

Because of football.

Because I wasn’t good at it anymore.

For two or three months it was crazy. My hand-eye coordination was off, I had movements suitable for a five foot seven guy drilled in my head, not for a beanpole over six foot three!

I wasn’t the only one with such difficulties. I remember several boys who had such dynamite legs they could kick the ball over half the pitch at thirteen. Then they had a growth spurt, their coordination changed drastically and within one year they couldn’t send the ball twenty yards. It was similar for me and I couldn’t understand why my hands suddenly refused to obey me. Because for a goalkeeper, the most important thing is to be able to catch the ball well.

This might sound obvious, even cliché, but it’s the truth. Which is why you have to be able to rely on perfect hand-eye coordination.

Eyes tell you how far the ball is, and your hands have to act in synchronisation. Find the right moment, that one fraction of a second when the ball’s trajectory meets the goalkeeper’s gloves.

Back then I was clumsy for a while, a butter-fingers, as if I lost all my talent and forgot everything I ever learned in the goal.

P.S. Next week - Chapter 40