Ball, Ball, Ball. Footy, Footy, Footy.

I played football on Tuesday night, as is my custom.

Usually our 5-a-side team uses 6 players, rotating subs as and when this is deemed necessary. Last night we played with 5, and were shown why having 6 players is the best option.

For some weeks now, it has been apparent to myself that I have been something of a passenger in a successful team, 'there for the ride', as it were. I first began to notice this when my turn to leave the field for a replacement player coincided (that's what I called it anyway) with an upturn in performance on the pitch.

Initially oblivious to the negative effect I was having on the team, I attempted to convince myself that the fact my teammates scored when I was off the pitch, and did not when I was on the pitch was not my fault. My reasoning became increasingly delusional, from the relatively realistic ("The rest of my team are tired") to the downright foolish ("The other team recognise the threat I pose, and double their defensive efforts accordingly").

Last night I realised none of my arguments were true. The simple fact of the case was (is) that I am lacking in both fitness - proven by my gasping for air, 30 seconds into the game, and skill - proven by my curiously accurate own goal, which nestled into the corner of my goalkeeper's net, 45 seconds into the game.

At the start of the season, I wisely agreed to manage all the team's affairs, ensuring I cannot be dropped, however to try and regain face, I shall strive to improve my fitness, in the hope I do not forsake my teammates in such fashion again.