‘PUT-TROO,MEN!’

12-year-olds trying to push a sodden ball with their feet.

It looked nothing like the stuff you see on television today. Unless,of course,you’ve tuned in to a mud wrestling competition. And yet a splendid time was had by all.

Frankly,I don’t get modern football,and I miss the game of my boyhood. I miss the joy of eagerly diving forward to butt a mud-caked football with my freshly-soaped head; who used shampoo back then? I yearn for the happiness derived from neatly evading the protective shin pads of an onrushing half back,and kicking him in his whatnots instead. And for the unrivalled ecstasy of clearing away three inches of steaming muck to find one’s mouth so that one could have a sip of ice-cold sugarcane juice after the final whistle had blown.

And most of all,the thing about the modern game that I miss the mostest,really,is that nobody yells:

PUT-TROO!

Now why would they want to change a rule like that? Like,you can change the offside rule. Or change the handball rule. Or even change the penalty kick rule. But for God’s sake,don’t change “PUT-TROO!”

I mean,that’s a given. You struggle to put foot to ball as you push forward through filth and the bright guy far across from you running down left wing yells lustily: “Put-troo,men! Put-troo,nah bugger!”

Arre baba,you scream at him in your head,I also want to put-troo,but I’m looking for de buddy ball to put-troo. Men!

Nowadays,of course,as we can all see on the pristine green football fields of Televisionland,nobody has to yell anything. Because as soon as the ball is gathered by the goalkeeper he quickly boots it all the way into the other half where as soon as it touches the forward’s twinkle toes,it is neatly deflected to a robotic comrade lurking at the edge of the box,who deftly nudges it to an almost-offside,equally passionless automaton who,without further ado,allows the ball to slide off his deliberately-shaven pate,into goal.

So where’s the time to yell anything,let alone a long,two-syllable word like “Put-troo!”,a word invented and perfected by the Catholics of Dhobi Talao and perhaps

Byculla,then exported to the rest of the world?

Like,Pele,I am almost certain,used to yell “Put-troo!” Maradona,too unquestionably,used to yell “Put-troo!” Maybe not Franz Beckenbauer,but I could be wrong.

And once the ball was actually “Put-troo” to these worthies,that was that. Because these gentlemen,like the eager little Dhobi Talao boys of my youth,wanted that ball. And once they had it,they selfishly,stylishly,beautifully,kept it.

Dribbling it magically,left then right like the older Collaco brother,feint left,leg over,whirl right like Darryl DeMello,then reverse,dart back,dribble… 10,20,30 yards even… then boom!

‘GOOOOAAAAL!”

That,gentle reader,was the beautiful game.RIP.

ipochas@yahoo.com)