Every Tuesday evening a group of guys in their 20's-30's show up to play social football for a couple hours under the dim lights
at the Blantyre Sports Club. Men who can afford to pay membership fees appear dressed in expensive cleats expecting
to have a good time… and a good time they have.
The few European and American men that dare accept the
challenge often times appear defeated in agility, speed, and overall performance. With strong legs and chiseled upper bodies these
Malawian are no force to be reckoned with. The ‘regular attendees’ have all
learned to wear their country’s national team jersey and this adds to a sense of internal pride felt on the pitch. Faced against a sea of red, the primary color of the national football team, it’s no easy
challenge for the little white boy from Idaho that decides to remove himself from his
comfort zone of basketball, baseball, and golf, to appear in the presence of Malawian super stars.
What has become commonplace during our games are repetitive efforts to
win possession of the ball over any and all miniscule argument about the game's rules. Guys call for
yellow cards in one corner of the pitch while another group of guys are
fighting over a proposed handball. At least one player is sure to be
complaining about the fairness of either of the teams while another is pleading
with his mates to share the ball more. There is no universal conversational paradigm that
dictates what is appropriate to say and do in every situation of the game. Adults fighting
over a handball or children arguing over who get’s to be the first in line
appear to sit next together in my book under the subheading "Nonsensical Encounters". While the game plays on with or without attention to
everyone’s displeasure, laughter and fun times are certainly had in the end. After
all, it’s Tuesday night Social Soccer!
