Seth and Mishra are in midfield, Rushdie and newcomer Mehta in attack, while Chandra continues as goalkeeper. Stalwarts Ghosh and Mistry are in defence. Chatterjee and Desai are fullbacks. Veteran rightwinger Naipaul is selected, as is Roy on the left wing, though pundits continue to wonder if the two can play on the same team.

[A locker room somewhere in India, 1950]

While they nervously discussed the meaning of this unscheduled morning meeting, the commissioner babu walked in. He took a moment and scanned their enthusiastic young faces not knowing how to tell them that their hard work had amounted to nothing.

"I don’t know how to tell you this, but… they want us to wear shoes!”

(Adapted from rapper Skee-lo)

I wish I was a footballer
And not a flatfooter

I wish I had a rabbit in a hat
(and could rap) about a 64 impala

I wish I didn't have so many
telemarketer callers

I wish I had a poem that was good
I would holler

As much as I LOVE Footballers' Wives, the thing I don't get is how Amber could be a "faded" Bollywood star at the age of 30. Lame. And why she married that loser Conrad is beyond me.

they want us to wear shoes

Badmash that was an awesome twist.

How could it possibly make ANY sense to have the smallest boy on the field play goalie? Surely the dads all thought the coach was nuts? The kid was crazy though. Certifiable. He mostly enjoyed blocking goals with his face because each time he did so he could see the fear overcome his opponents. *smack*.

*claps at Kobayashi's and Badmash's directions*

I dont get how she qualifies for a 55Friday but that's just me. She is hot though.

footballers' wives is one of those shows that makes you either think you have an ultra-boring life or ‘thank goodness I don’t have to worry about that bit** sleeping with my loser of a husband.’ Now I watch the world cup wondering how many of those lads have been the target of tanya turner’s seduction?

Jeet looked across the field to his daughter and smiled. Such dedication - she never missed a single game, he thought proudly.

Rina waved back at him. Suddenly, the soccer ball rolled forward, and rookie legs clumsily sent a pass bouncing to a teammate up the field.

“Nice pass, Dad!” shouted Rina, from the stands.

I dont get how she qualifies for a 55Friday but that's just me. She is hot though.

She (her name is Laila Rouass) stars on a show called "Footballers' Wives", which I discuss in my postscript.

In my attempt to give people ideas for what to write about on this Footie-mad edition of the Friday 55, I mentioned that show. And she is smokin'.

Body clock rings at four. Two miles of dusty road on dada's old Hercules. First train to Rishra. Game starts at eight, with or without him. A ball. A few thin legs. Nothing else. At ten, he eats for the first time in the day smiling. A scout from Kolkata had asked him his name.

DN and DDIG - thanks :)

He scrambled out the door and sped towards the field, as the timbre in his breath grew stronger and deeper and quicker and his pulse, beating hard, perhaps a little too hard, or harder than it should for such a small, spindly boy, grew louder, until he’d found them …

"here!! ..we’re over here...!"

Laila used to be a VJ on Channel[V] in India. If my memory serves me right , she was half moroccan/arab.
She is definitely a great muse to work on.......

Amardeep, you slay me!

That Skee-lo adaptation (Deep-lo? hmmm?) was hotness all over.

Four years ago I was in Taksim Square, Istanbul when the Turkish team came home to a roaring jubilant reception. They had won the bronze and the nation was ecstatic. Red-n-white waves gently caressed the ocean of sports fans and positive-energy fans.

This time I’m in Delhi… eager to see the energy that builds here.

This time I’m in Delhi… eager to see the energy that builds here.

wonderful, espressa... keep us posted!

These Armani sofas are entirely too large for this new smaller place. But ever since the currency crisis, the mortgage on the 'good houses' on Park Avenue have become tough to manage.

Bastards! If they only played a little less soccer! Then it would be the beautiful *and* financially prudent game.

"And your wife doesn't mind?" asked the player nervously.

"Nope," replied the team captain, shrugging off his shirt. "Actually, she thinks it's really fucking sexy."

"But it's not like guys really do that sort of thing...it's not normal."

"Yeah well…it keeps us going."

And with that, he pulled the sarong knot tight and walked out.

A ball, a few kids from the hood, a pair of bricks to mark the goal "posts" and the game was on. That's how we played the game growing up in a nondescript Indian town in an equally nondescript "mohallah." After 33 years in the US, the solid thump of my bare foot hitting the ball right through the two bricks is but a distant memory. A year ago, though, I found myself in an open field in the same town, and there was the goal post made from two bricks, and a couple of dozen kids playing barefoot soccer. Let me share a secret with you. I went up to them and asked if I could play. They let me.

“Aman, I have something to confess. This isn’t your baby”.
“Okay”.
“I’ve been sleeping with your brother since Diwali, but I’m leaving you for your sister”.
“Good”.
“I’ve been faking happy endings every night since we got married.”
“Wonderful”.
“You have no idea how many people I actually shagged before I met you.”
“No problem”.

*********************************************************************************************

“Angelina Jolie and I are more than just good friends”.
“Fascinating”.
“I’m not really an accountant either. I work for the Secret Service and my codename is Sydney Bristow”.
“That’s good to know”.

Sangeeta put her hands on her hips and frowned. Her husband listened to her even less than usual whenever England were playing.

He watched from the sidelines as his younger brother dribbled the football through six defenders and shot at the goal. As the ball hit the net, the fans stood up and shouted in unison: “goooaaaallll”.

He, too, raised his hands and shouted with them, but, in trying to stand up, fell down from his wheelchair.