Sunday afternoons from the middle of 1993 to early 1995, myself and a group of friends from the local wargames club I was involved with at the time, used to play soccer in town, as preparation for our weekly indoor soccer matches which were played on Monday and Thursday nights and generally to have a bit of fun without involving alcohol. My brother and some of his friends occasionally used to join us in this kick around, with some of the practice matches involving up to twelve people a side. Scorelines similar to 10 – 9 were not uncommon.
At this time I was still doing community radio in Tamworth, and had just managed to secure myself a new pair of sunglasses, thanks to a sponsor of the station. It was a regular weekly competition, which were often rigged so that announcers or friends of the announcers would end up with a pair, and that's how I got mine. They were worth $30 and for a week or so, I hardly took them off my head whenever I was out.
But I should have taken them off for soccer. On this particular day we were playing on the riverside sports fields. I was in goals at the time, when one of my brother's mates, Jamesy, fired in a screamer that I didn't see coming. The ball smacked into the side of my head, straight into the glasses, pushing the hinge into the flesh, and breaking the arm and lens.
I had learnt my lesson, and never wore sunglasses onto the pitch again, unless they were dirt cheap ones. I still have the little dent in the side of my head to remind me. Funny how karma can just turn around and bite you on the arse on occasions.