On Saturday, I turned up in Linlithgow rugby club for a league match to receive the news that I was playing at scrum-half*. My initial reaction (erm, why not choose someone who can pass to the right?) was deemed lacking in spirit, so while everyone else warmed up I walked around the pitch watching games in my head in order to work out what scrum-halfs do in various situations.
As it was, I had fun and didn't make any glaring errors. It helped that I caught the ball at the kick-off and got to have a run at the opposition: that settled my nerves. My kicks reached touch, my passes reached the stand-off (if, sometimes, veeery slowly)
Anyway, I was pretty focussed during the game: sufficiently so that when, in a tackle, I broke one of my molars, I didn't really care. Those who know my fear of all things dental might wish to consider that statement for a second. I now, however, care very much.
Fearing that I might not get to sleep last night, I stayed up late watching movies. For future reference, I have noted that my mood was not improved by the decision to eschew Jay and Silent Bob and Shaun of the Dead (each available on other channels) and to watch Schindler's List for the first time, instead. I cannot imagine what I was thinking.
By the way: please nobody leave advice or comments on teeth or related matters. Nor, if you know me personally, will I welcome any questioning on the matter. I mention it to provide an excuse for my black mood.
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*For those who know about such things, I usually play at wing-forward or hooker