The Hour That Grounds Me

Every Saturday at 8am, I join a group of friends on a local field for a game of football. Onlookers would call it a “kickabout,” but it’s something much more deeper and meaningful—an hour of fun, connection, fitness, and joy. For me, it’s the highlight of the week, and I want to share why.

For almost 1,000 Saturdays, always starting at 8am, spanning nearly 20 years, a group of communal friends has played football on a local field. For some of us, it is more than just a kickabout; for some, this is the golden hour. This is what we look forward to each week, and I am one of those.

Saturday mornings host one hour of football for a local group of friends who simply enjoy playing the beautiful game. It all started with a group of dads who were coaching kids’ football, and one had the idea to get together before the kids’ coaching started. Still today, there are one or two playing who first started all those years ago, and now a few of those fathers and sons are playing too—this is extra special.

Every Wednesday, the WhatsApp group #saturdaymorningfootie comes alive. “Great game last week, who’s available for Saturday?” is the most common message to inspire a thumbs-up emoji reply confirming availabilities.

10 or more is the magic number—fewer players and the game doesn’t go ahead. 4, 5, 6… the numbers are increasing steadily and, as Friday afternoon comes round, a late surge is needed. “Footie is ON.”

There are many attractions to this weekly event, all of which stem from its simplicity. We all know each other for an hour, and then we go back to our lives. Some of our paths cross separately through work, sports, or social activities; others on the field may only be known by a nickname while we play. And yet still, for just 60 minutes, we have a common connection. It’s all about enjoying ourselves and trying to get the ball between two poles—maybe even scoring that worldie we all crave to pull off, just once.

For me, it’s also about being in a comfort zone—playing a game I love with friends, trying to play well and score a goal, and feeling that I have left everything on the pitch. It’s a way to forget about the stress of work from the week and a way to start the weekend with fresh air, exercise, and some gentle banter.

As soon as I know it’s game on, I get excited for it, and I can feel it building inside me. There is just something about it—others may not understand it, but this is the best hour of the week. It doesn’t matter how tired I am or what is happening around me, I will play. Waking up on the Saturday, sipping an early coffee, choosing what kit to wear, and grabbing my football boots to leave the house—excitement builds more during the drive with a motivational tune blasting from the car speakers, often with a karaoke singalong and tapping the steering wheel in time to the beat.

As I arrive at the local field of dreams where we play, it is often occupied by a lone dog walker throwing a stick to their best friend. The organiser of the game makes his way across the field, carrying the poles, balls, and bibs to begin setting up the pitch. Slowly but surely, one by one, the other players start to saunter through the gap in the hedge, carrying their magic boots. Morning greetings are exchanged, and it’s quickly onto us acknowledging how this is the best place to be at this time of day. That is until we realise someone has a shiny new pair of boots, and it’s “Oooo, very nice—you’d better play well today,” often followed by banter for the whole game after their first banana-kick.

The warm-up for the game is basic—a few stretches, a quick run, and the long-range passing which signals how well the game might be played. “Get it out of the system early,” as the wayward passes head to the unintended player or towards the trees. Most passes are made while chatting to a friend about their week or how their supported team is doing—The Chairboys, The U’s, Pompey, and Villa are often the topics of conversation with their ups and downs.

Someone grabs the bag of orange bibs and starts handing them out to select the teams, which are always evenly matched—mostly even in numbers, sometimes odd numbers meaning someone will change sides at half-time. A quick count to check that the numbers are balanced, an exchange of a bib when there has been a miscount, and we’re all set.

“OK lads, let’s go.” It’s 8am Saturday morning. It’s time to play some football and be grateful for the next hour and all that it means. And you, the reader—what could you feel if you find the same passion as me in a weekly activity? Be sure to nurture it endlessly and enjoy it.

Written by Jason Carr

About the Author – Jason Carr

I am a weekend wannabe footballer, weekday sales director, novice writer, regular traveler, and lifelong seeker of joyful experiences. I have a positive outlook on life and take notice of the small things that make a big difference.