I’ve always had a thing for my elders. As a kid, I’d sooner hang out with my nan than my schoolmates, and as a teenager I got into Gardeners’ World in quite a big way. So it won’t come as a surprise to learn that back in the autumn of 2021, I accepted a random invitation to join a veterans’ football team at the age of 35.
The Comics – as that team are known – have been around a fair while. My understanding is that they were founded between the wars, though which ones I can’t say. In any case, a consensus had formed – prompted by a spate of hospitalisations – that some fresh legs were required. When the team’s manager suddenly decided it would be OK to use players as young as 35, so long as they were rubbish, he went out on the hunt and found me in the toilet of a gastropub in New Malden.
I was writing a book at the time of my recruitment. The book was about fun – what it is, how it’s linked to wellbeing, how most of us aren’t getting enough – that sort of thing. While I wrote it, I’d got into the habit of saying yes to ridiculous propositions, which is why I buckled in the toilet that time. It was a bit of an awkward moment, if I’m honest. I’d just mistaken the hand cream for soap, and was in the midst of rectifying the situation when the manager pounced. Perhaps he’d seen my dodgy decision-making and reckoned I’d fit in just fine.
When I turned up for my debut, I could tell straight away that most of my teammates were retired. They looked too rested and happy to be otherwise. I was impressed to learn that some of the team had been playing for more than 40 years. Defender Mike boasted of scoring 42 own goals in only 600 appearances, while goalkeeper Jim was happy to reveal that the last time he got through a whole match without conceding a goal was back in 1994.
What my teammates lacked in youth they made up for in candour. Within a minute of turning up, one guy said I looked like Harry Styles if Harry Styles was 40 and had a poor diet.
The manager handed me an important assignment: to dominate the midfield. He had obviously confused youth with ability, and the results were disastrous. My first contribution was to fall over attempting a backwards pass with my heel. My second was to come off with cramp after 10 minutes.
And yet I loved it. I loved the steady adrenaline. I loved the gentle camaraderie. I loved the combination of exercise and nostalgia. I loved the uplifting pointlessness of it all. I even loved the half-time team talk, in which hope triumphed over experience to a flabbergasting degree.
The craic at the pub afterwards wasn’t bad either. I got some excellent relationship advice from the 68-year-old left back, Wiggy. I got pleasure hearing Richard’s opinion that if Gareth Southgate was prime minister he’d have 11 defence secretaries. And I got a lot of satisfaction learning what the lads got out of being part of a team: structure, meaning, purpose, friendship.
If I’m honest, over the next few weeks the thrill of that first game abated a touch. It didn’t help that in my third game I got hacked down by a monolithic defender who used to present the weather. But the physical and social benefits I got from being a Comic continued to prove ample consolation for any low moments on the pitch. Albeit quietly, joining the team had been a life-changing moment.
Believe it or not, I’m the manager now. I got offered the job at the end of my first season, which had been record-breakingly bad. It was felt that a new pair of hands couldn’t do any harm. Turns out it could. Eighteen months into the job, my managerial record is as follows: won two, drawn two, lost far too many.
In my defence, it’s not always easy to marshal a squad of ageing bus drivers and former opticians. They can be hard to get through to sometimes. I remember one occasion, during a crucial stalemate against Wandsworth, when I tried to bring myself on to replace another player, only for that player to flat-out refuse and send me back to the sideline. I had to laugh.
And that’s what it’s about in the end – having a laugh. Getting together, having a run around, catching up in the pub afterwards. Joining the team made me realise that when it comes to trying new things, and making new friends, and finding new ways to get a kick out of life, it doesn’t matter who you do it with.
It’s changed me, joining the Comics. I feel rejuvenated for a start – which is odd when you consider the seniority of my teammates – and more determined to try new things, even if that means making a tit of myself. I feel more optimistic, supported and energised. In short, by becoming a bang-average amateur footballer, I’ve spiced up my fun life no end.
• Here Comes the Fun: A Journey into the Serious Business of Having a Laugh by Ben Aitken is published by Icon (£10.99). To support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
