Sunday Soccer is probably one of the best things I've signed up for this year. A dozen guys, including a struggling indy band and a chicken farm supervisor, meet once a week, usually in the early evenings, and play a fierce five on five on a mini court. Two hours of chaotic passes, terrible turnovers and collective frustration. It's the best.
As a kid, I used to play in the local youth league of our magnificent town. For the most part I hated it. I couldn't stand the drill and the peer pressure during practice. What can I say? I was a talentless, chubby Asian kid and I didn't handle it well. My friends on the bench were a fragile suburbian kid and a fat Polish boy with thick glasses.
Now I'm thirty and a lot of things have changed. I enjoy the sport, even learned to appreciate the workout. I would still hate practice, but when you play for the pure fun of it, with like-minded players who don't take the result too seriously, it's nothing less than great fun. I wish I could project that on other things too, but for now it's just my Sundays.