Rituals

Listening to Fi watch CSI on TV. Ostensibly Crime Scene Investigation, but more often Crap Science Insulting my intelligence. Still, it does have KC from KC in it.

These things become ritualised.

Check the nails to make sure they are short enough. Find the right socks. Left shoe on first, then the right. Tape over the ear-ring so it can't catch a unwary finger. Find some shorts and a t-shirt that is ready to go into the wash.

Pack the bag. All the usual stuff, plus a water bottle, maybe a sweatband or bandanna if its hot. If its cold, you put on extra layers. Then you hit the road.

The city unfolds before you on the motorway, then just when you seem about to dive into its heart, you skip off to one side. Occasionally you'll nip into the city to pick someone up, but you want to make it quick, like a burglar or panic shopper, get, make the pick up, get out. Wait too long on the side of the road and you'll get antsy, especially if the traffic is still heavy.

Your mind is on whats going to happen in the next hour or so. The drive up Hanson Street, with its speed humps, can seem endless if your're in a hurry. Turn right into Hall Street, then right again to go up the too narrow driveway, with its too tall speed hump at the top that will scrape the underside of your car if you go straight over it. Find a park, near the door or up by Te Whaea if you're lucky and don't want too far to walk later when you are tired and sweaty and maybe injured.

You can hear the sound of whistles and umpires calls, and the beeps as the scoreboards register points. You pass the smokers huddled outside. You don't remember the first time you came here; it is long enough ago not to matter anymore. This place is intimately familiar to you now.

Entering the building, there is the familiar aroma of stale cigarette smoke and fried food as you pass through the door. From the relative peace outside you are assaulted by bright lights, usually a small crowd milling around the registration desk, the noise of games and music.

Once in, you look up to the left to check the chalkboard for the court you have been assigned. In winter you want the upstairs courts with the sprung floorboards, as heat rises and the courts will be warm. In summer they will be shoe melting, eye stingingly hot and humid, and the downstairs courts will be your preference.

You check in with your team, pay your money, get your bibs, and wait. You watch the game ahead of you and check who the umpire is, and try to figure out what sort of mood they're in. If your opponents are milling around, you check them out too. Do they look onto it or clueless? Have you met them before? Have you defeated them before? Are they clean or dirty players?

Warm up if you have the chance. If you sprain a finger with a wedding ring on it, there is a good chance the ring will have to be cut off once the swelling sets in, so it is removed, along with your watch.

The game in front of you ends. You rush onto the court to grab the ball, so you can have some practice with your team in the few minutes before the game starts, and deny your opposition the chance to throw the match ball around.

If your opposition are particularly clueless and disorganised, they won't be ready. Your team is already on the court and ready, they are stuffing around, and if the clock has started, wasting precious gametime. You're all psyched up and no place to go.

Get your eye in with some shots at goal, and warm your hands up. The umpire checks your fingernails and jewelry aren't dangerous, and calls for the ball.

Players take their positions, and two centres meet at halfway for the toss. The clock starts, the whistle blows, and the ball is thrown.

The game begins...