Day 5: Ladies' football

In spite of common misconceptions, ladies' football is not for the fragile, the faint-hearted, or even (I add at the risk of being lynched by 11 fearless footballing fillies) the particularly feminine. No, the ball is not deflated a little bit to make it softer for those toe-punts, and yes, the offside rule is understood beyond the realms of teriyaki sauce and posh French mustard. It is dangerous, and when blood is spilt - and believe me, it has been spilt- play must continue. Girls can header -hell, they can even chest- a ball. They can tackle; they can slide tackle; and they can slide tackle studs up and break your ankle.

However, unlike the many strong men and women the world over whose passion for the beautiful game have led them -heads held high- to the battlefield where sporting history is played out, and where dreams have been both gloriously forged and brutally felled, it was not my dreams that were shattered, just my fibula. But I'm not bitter; I'm wiser. I am now more sure than ever that football is not my forte.

On the other hand, voyeurism comes incredibly naturally, and although I will not be gracing Parkers' Piece with my studs and skills any time soon, my new desk (directly overlooking said 25 acre grassy expanse, home of a newly erected ice rink, Emmanuel College sports teams' practices, the most anal traffic warden in the world, and a hub of general recreational frivolity) is perfectly positioned for people watching.

And so, casting aside all qualms previously harboured and vehemently expressed re: blogging/bloggers/blogs/dickheads (the tables have turned: dickhead and peg-leg are apparently now synonymous, and also almost rhyme), here I present the invalid observations of an invalid just enjoying the view.

Without straying into the potentially uninteresting and definitely cringe territory of thoughts and feelings on ambitions and aspirations, tales of work and woe, or (god forbid) how my day was, I instead aim to provide a sort of running commentary on the epic goings-on and unfurling phenomena of Parkers Piece: from Cambridge's favourite wintry fashion trends, to peculiar exercise regimes that might just work, to frequent reports on the progress of local sports teams (EC ultimate frisbee have been warming up for about 2 hours now, though seem to have forgotten their frisbee), and various techniques to talk your way out of that damn parking ticket.

There is little doubt that I do not appear dissimilar to a nosy old woman, for the most part bed-bound, with a crutch always at hand to peel back the curtain and peer at unsuspecting passers-by. Occasionally, when displeased, I even shake my fist or mutter angrily about the youth. And never was this so true than today (day 5 of my installation here), around 2pm, when the loud slap of a football hitting the pavement could be heard outside, dangerously close to the window. The Pink Panthers (Emmanuel College Ladies' Football Team) were enjoying their weekly training session on Parker's Piece. They seemed to be practicing kicking the ball as hard and as far as possible. Great.

The team are doing well. Although knocked out of the Cuppers competition (due to an unfortunate 1-0 defeat to Newnham's Aggressive and Suspiciously Testosterone-rich Young ladies, or N.A.S.T.Y FC for short), they won their previous league match against Downing ladies 11 goals to nil. Today they exhibited their ability to put a good deal of force behind the ball, tackle effectively, and execute some tight passes in a match situation.  Overall, I have high hopes for them and wish them well.

So if, between 1.15 and 2.15 on a Thursday afternoon, you find yourself walking past the Park Terrace side of Parker's Piece, why not show them some encouragement: a rousing cheer instead of a wolf-whistle; 'Nice pass' instead of 'Nice tits'; exaggerated gasps every time someone goes down are entirely unnecessary, as are audible remarks about whether they know how to kick a ball. Do not let their bright pink shirts fool you, these girls are serious, and they're all really pretty good.

Parkers' Piece also today played host to the aforementioned, enthusiastic ultimate frisbee team, whose unfathomable sport consists of long warming up and cooling down periods, and an apparent obligation on the part of each player to roll on the ground like a sausage to collect the frisbee every time it landed outside of the pitch. There were no pitch markings, which confused things further; and if they try to claim they have an offside rule, I can tell you, they're lying.

Various rugby and lacrosse teams did their various violent things throughout the day, though it was definitely the rogue Panther ball which provided the most tangible threat from the other side of the single-glazed bay window. Excruciating visions of smashed glass accompanied those of the broken bones and shattered dreams which seem to shape football's reputation as a physical and emotional rollercoaster, a perilous feat, for so many; even girls. Given the circumastance, and my strong conviction that if that ball comes any closer to this window next week, I swear I will ensure that there are shards of bones and dreams all over the shop, I'd go as far as to say: Especially girls.