The Quadrella. Part I

Tiger Mick (not me) goes the big roost at the Sunday Bang.

The first leg: the Sunday Bang.

A bunch of mostly guys, aged anywhere from 30 to 60. United in the chase of leather, the perfect pass to a running lead, the clean grab, the running-past handball. To fluid, beautiful football, for no other purpose than the moment itself. A team that in something like 20 years of existence has never played a game. Just endless circle work between an ever-shifting cast savouring the magic of the Sherrin.

And the friendship that comes from the common cause. So much laughter, coaxing, urging, shit-hanging, understanding and bonding.

For our purposes on this blog: Two hours of hard running, kicking, handballing, stretching high for marks, creaking low for pick-ups. No physical contact – that’s not how The Bang rolls, unless you feel like it.

Sore legs. Sore chest from push-up punishments for missed passes or skill errors.

And on to Monday …

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