I remember playing football as a child. As I now remember one match: our “Door team” of 8 boys 12-13 years old, and against us four pupils of the Petersburg “Zenit” years 14-15. How they got to us in the yard, I don’t remember, and it doesn’t matter.
We played on an improvised "field", half the usual, even less. We agreed for two times of 15 minutes. Behind us in the gates stood a "legionaire", a boy from the neighboring courtyard of our age, who was engaged in the section of football, behind them - their clubmate.
The first half we scattered like cats 4:0, and with the lens so, without stressing, and if it wasn’t our goalkeeper, it could be 8:0 easily.
They moved like machines, understood each other without looking, gave magnificent accurate passes through the whole field, it was impossible to "wrap" none of them. We are
They looked sorry. As it turned out, the years of "traveling" did not cost anything against the team of professionals, twice the number.
During the break to us came one of the spectators, a man of 40 years, as it turned out, in the past played in his youth for some provincial team.
“You eight people,” he advised, “share up into pairs, each pair should stick to one of them. Don’t let us play like the ball they have, immediately throw, interfere, don’t let us pass. And “do not get tired,” you will not “fool them.” Like the ball you have, immediately pass, "in one touch." And knock at the door as you can.
Here are these unsettling advice but I will say immediately, and in the second half we got 4:1.
But we followed this advice and in the second half it was already a Game, a real ruby.
We dressed like the devil, did not let them breathe, each of them was covered with two, they were no longer choked, played if not in full force, then seriously. We threatened their gates dangerously and one ball was dropped.
Several times they made small breaks to advise, enough to say that for five minutes before the end of the match the score was 2:1, but then they began to play "on the second floors", and since they were much higher and larger than us, we could do nothing and the last two balls got exactly "from the head", - so it was then called.
I remember the second half of the game very well. I remember the faces of those guys, the Zenitovs. Snoring and disappointed. And those who have lost with a defeat, but are proud, satisfied. We all, as it turned out, had one feeling then - well, a little more, another time and we would "do" them!
Of course, they’t do it most likely.
But I think we all felt what a real team game was, long afterwards we were terribly proud of this match and all in a row with enthusiasm told how we played with Zenit. And nobody understood how one could be so happy to lose at the end.
Just we, the boys who lived in the same courtyard, who played together hundreds of times, who fought with each other hundreds of times, who fought and accepted each other in a day, for the first time felt like a band, a team that did one thing and was able to fight even with those who were much better and stronger than us. I hope we all used it.