Romance on court, mysterious wounds and poked eyes

Looks like I have a new admirer in the office. Nick, a very promising manager, who has gone jogging with me few times when the weather was so glorious. He is now also a member of my netball team so all in all, he is trying to get closer, I believe.

After previous week's netball injuries, including my own mysterious one - imitating a deep knife slash to the calf, as if I took a part in a violent gang fight - I get another chance to taste some quality netball. And Nick is here too.

I am not expecting miracles, knowing we are against last season's winners. And when I hear our guys calling one of the opponents 'magnificent' or 'a flying monkey' I seriously start to doubt our chances. Nevertheless, our 'centre', Luke, doesn't loose faith, quite the opposite, he now resembles an Arab horse that is about to enter a race – steaming with energy!

OK, we are in. The first quarter seemed like it only lasted a minute. I now know what guys meant earlier when referring to the rival as 'a flying monkey' – this guy is bouncy – he is very little, but he compensates with 4 foot jumps, that happen right in my face, as he is a wing defence to my wing attack. The first jig freaks me out, to say the least.

It doesn't look good, and by 6-0 in their favour, we are fully aware of what this 'magnificent Jeff' is capable of. At one point he drops the ball in while standing backwards! (But having glimpse of Nick’s legs in tight shorts keeps me in a fantastic mood regardless.)

By 12-3 we are drained in sweat, and all look at each other with resignation, seeing the opponents changing players frequently - bringing fresh pairs of legs and capable hands. They even have someone, who’s sole aim of existence on the side of the pitch, is to scream ‘GO MONKEYS, GO!!!!!!!’ In contrast, we have only one player to change, and some of us haven’t played since high school, or come from a country that has totally different netball rules (don’t ask…).

It must have been 14-4 by then - our two players Luke and Paul (who have just entered the court with a power of bulls who’ve been waiting for the turn with a matador) crush into each other, and then bounce off violently, leaving Luke flat on the ground with his hands and legs spread, lying still after hitting his head on the ground. Everyone gathers around him in silence, while the referee pushes through, shouting, 'Don't touch him!’ After a short examination he is allowed to slowly leave the court, but his 'career' is over, just for tonight.

Somehow, united by the tragedy, we come back fully mobilised; with freshly injected energy and Paul with Jamie now in goal circle, Lucy works her magic to make goals happen. We are on the roll. And by 15-10 we are practically running the show - passing the ball and laughing out loud, realising we are actually doing all right against last year's winners!

And then it happens. A loud cry. Everyone freezes - it's Nick, bended in half, holding his left eye with both palms. We run towards him worried to death. 'It's my eye' he utters with unnaturally high pitched voice. 'What happened?' inquires referee. 'I think she poked me' Nick indicates towards a short, pretty brunette, who is now trying to look as innocent as she possibly can.

Sophie soberly takes his hands off the eye, and while inspecting it asks with seriousness worth Vietnam War, 'Can you play half blind?’

And so Nick returns to the game. By the end of the forth quarter it's 22-11, but we still can't stop laughing from the events of the evening, and totally don't mind loosing the match knowing that everyone, including the winning team, will remember it.

But I will remember something else – I will remember seeing Nick leaving the court in the company of his ‘attacker’ and heading towards the pub, where he no doubt will quickly forgive her all 'the physical abuse'. How romantic! Aghh. I pick up my stuff and decide to walk all the way home.