More Than a Game: How Foosball Shaped My Life
When does a game become sport? Perhaps it is when you take it seriously. This article describes what table football meant to me, including my biggest competitive event.
Foosball Table Football Gifts >>
Before Foosball
It was the late 1970s. A time before video games conquered the world. Table football was a popular bar game, bringing the lads in for a game and a pint.
I had recently left home — kicked out into the world. Had no clue about anything. Never played sport much before, and didn’t get into it. Did as little as possible at work, and enjoyed drinking with my mates. Banter and table football.
One night we visited a different pub in town where there was a different kind of foosball table. The pub had two tables in a reserved area. The players took their foosball seriously. They wore gloves!
We thought we were good players and challenged them for a game. We got absolutely thrashed. These guys were a level above.
So began my love affair with competitive foosball.
It was the late 1970s. A time before video games conquered the world. Table football was a popular bar game, bringing the lads in for a game and a pint.
I had recently left home — kicked out into the world. Had no clue about anything. Never played sport much before, and didn’t get into it. Did as little as possible at work, and enjoyed drinking with my mates. Banter and table football.
One night we visited a different pub in town where there was a different kind of foosball table. The pub had two tables in a reserved area. The players took their foosball seriously. They wore gloves!
We thought we were good players and challenged them for a game. We got absolutely thrashed. These guys were a level above.
So began my love affair with competitive foosball.
Starting to Learn
My mate wasn’t interested in taking the foosball thing seriously. He had other things in mind — girls mainly.
I was interested. Sure, I liked girls, but I loved table football.
I revisited the pub with the new Tournament Soccer tables. They were much better than the old Garlando glass tops that most pubs had. These tables had open tops, straight-through rods, better-shaped plastic men, and other improvements. It meant more control and a better standard of play.
I mainly played as a defender. I could stand at the back and try to block the opposing attacker. Most people want to play attack. It was simple for me to agree to play in defence and that way I got to be invited to partner with the senior players for pick-up games.
One particular player, the best in the pub, was looking for a new defender. He saw in me a compliant and keen youngster he could mold into something better. We started playing together.
He taught me the basics of the game. How to defend, pass and shoot. What shots attackers would use against me and how to set up against them. He taught me much more besides.
The Psychology of Sport
Foosball is not a sport where you take turns. Hit your golf shot, release your arrow, roll the bowling ball. It is a face-to-face sport. You and your opponent battle for supremacy in real time. It is exciting.
The lessons I learned apply to all competitive sport. It is not about the sport so much, in this case, foosball, it is about courage. When to sense fear in your opponent — to hammer home an advantage.
When to celebrate in your opponent’s faces, get under their skin, rattle them.
Games are not won through skill alone. Gain an edge by disrupting the opponent’s equilibrium.
In competitive tournaments, players would spend time wrapping special grips around the handles of a table. Whoever won the toss before the game had the choice of put-in (who has the first serve) or choosing which side of the table to play.
If we won the toss against a team that had performed a particularly elaborate pre-game ritual, getting their handle set up just right, we would choose their side. So they would have to take the wraps off and start all over again. We did this to irritate them, and get under their skin. The smallest edge helps.
If you score — celebrate loudly. If you block — celebrate loudly. Add to the impact with exaggerated congratulations to your partner. Every opponent's mistake can be greeted with a muttered ”c’mon”. It’s not cricket — but then neither is cricket.
At the end of the game, you shake hands and for the most part in sport that is the end of it.
The Tournament Scene
My partner and I were the best in our pub. He had brought me up to a reasonable standard and I practiced and learned. We fit well together as a team. When you have faith in your partner it makes the team stronger.
We went to our first tournament. London, it was. It was a great feeling to enter a room and see many football tables and players — all there to enjoy some competition.
I was absolutely useless. Racked with nerves I fell apart under the pressure. Opponents humiliated me with the simplest of tricks. It was a dreadful start to my tournament days.
I could have given up at that point. Disillusioned, clearly unable to cope with the slightest pressure.
Losers give up.
My mate wasn’t interested in taking the foosball thing seriously. He had other things in mind — girls mainly.
I was interested. Sure, I liked girls, but I loved table football.
I revisited the pub with the new Tournament Soccer tables. They were much better than the old Garlando glass tops that most pubs had. These tables had open tops, straight-through rods, better-shaped plastic men, and other improvements. It meant more control and a better standard of play.
I mainly played as a defender. I could stand at the back and try to block the opposing attacker. Most people want to play attack. It was simple for me to agree to play in defence and that way I got to be invited to partner with the senior players for pick-up games.
One particular player, the best in the pub, was looking for a new defender. He saw in me a compliant and keen youngster he could mold into something better. We started playing together.
He taught me the basics of the game. How to defend, pass and shoot. What shots attackers would use against me and how to set up against them. He taught me much more besides.
The Psychology of Sport
Foosball is not a sport where you take turns. Hit your golf shot, release your arrow, roll the bowling ball. It is a face-to-face sport. You and your opponent battle for supremacy in real time. It is exciting.
The lessons I learned apply to all competitive sport. It is not about the sport so much, in this case, foosball, it is about courage. When to sense fear in your opponent — to hammer home an advantage.
When to celebrate in your opponent’s faces, get under their skin, rattle them.
Games are not won through skill alone. Gain an edge by disrupting the opponent’s equilibrium.
In competitive tournaments, players would spend time wrapping special grips around the handles of a table. Whoever won the toss before the game had the choice of put-in (who has the first serve) or choosing which side of the table to play.
If we won the toss against a team that had performed a particularly elaborate pre-game ritual, getting their handle set up just right, we would choose their side. So they would have to take the wraps off and start all over again. We did this to irritate them, and get under their skin. The smallest edge helps.
If you score — celebrate loudly. If you block — celebrate loudly. Add to the impact with exaggerated congratulations to your partner. Every opponent's mistake can be greeted with a muttered ”c’mon”. It’s not cricket — but then neither is cricket.
At the end of the game, you shake hands and for the most part in sport that is the end of it.
The Tournament Scene
My partner and I were the best in our pub. He had brought me up to a reasonable standard and I practiced and learned. We fit well together as a team. When you have faith in your partner it makes the team stronger.
We went to our first tournament. London, it was. It was a great feeling to enter a room and see many football tables and players — all there to enjoy some competition.
I was absolutely useless. Racked with nerves I fell apart under the pressure. Opponents humiliated me with the simplest of tricks. It was a dreadful start to my tournament days.
I could have given up at that point. Disillusioned, clearly unable to cope with the slightest pressure.
Losers give up.
Sponsorship
At the time, the company that made the Tournament Soccer tables was pouring money into tournaments. That meant more sales of tables to pubs, and more players interested in the game. To youngsters, the chance to win cash prizes and trophies was a real incentive.
Our better pub players, along with many others across the UK, started going to tournaments in Bristol, Liverpool, Manchester and so on. For many of the lads, it was a bit of fun.
A few of us took it more seriously.
Progress
After my disaster at the first tournament, I tried to understand why I had fallen apart under pressure. Perhaps, if I had access to a sports psychologist — OK, it’s table football, all I had was my partner. He told me not to worry. I worried.
In the next tournament, I had more experience and confidence. We played well until coming up against some European players with a front-pin shot I had not encountered before. While I didn’t fail under pressure this time, I failed in ability.
When we returned home other players from our pub had seen the new shot and were practicing it. In turn, I got more practice defending it.
In future tournaments, against the same players, we strode past them. We started winning trophies for third place, then second place. Never a first place.
At the time, the company that made the Tournament Soccer tables was pouring money into tournaments. That meant more sales of tables to pubs, and more players interested in the game. To youngsters, the chance to win cash prizes and trophies was a real incentive.
Our better pub players, along with many others across the UK, started going to tournaments in Bristol, Liverpool, Manchester and so on. For many of the lads, it was a bit of fun.
A few of us took it more seriously.
Progress
After my disaster at the first tournament, I tried to understand why I had fallen apart under pressure. Perhaps, if I had access to a sports psychologist — OK, it’s table football, all I had was my partner. He told me not to worry. I worried.
In the next tournament, I had more experience and confidence. We played well until coming up against some European players with a front-pin shot I had not encountered before. While I didn’t fail under pressure this time, I failed in ability.
When we returned home other players from our pub had seen the new shot and were practicing it. In turn, I got more practice defending it.
In future tournaments, against the same players, we strode past them. We started winning trophies for third place, then second place. Never a first place.
Different Shots
There are a few basic tournament standard shots in table football. Here are the two in this article.
In the front pin, the player traps the ball and moves it side to side before firing it into the goal. One key aspect is revolving the rod 360 degrees to fire the ball directly into the goal, creating additional problems for the defender.
The pull shot involves moving the ball across the goal and firing it into a gap in the defense at high speed.
Defending
There are two men to cover five gaps in the goal — the goalie and one of the two defenders. The advantage is with the attacker.
A random defensive pattern works quite well. Move the defenders revealing and closing gaps in front of the goal. Vary the time and the gaps.
The ultimate tactic is the bait-and-switch. Tempt the attacker with a gap and close it as they take their shot.
Novices and Pros
Anyone who won a novice competition was automatically moved into the pro section. That was the elite level, above our skills. We could pick up trophies in the novices and have fun, rather than being knocked straight out as we would be in the pros.
When it came to the Ireland trip — the climax of this tale — we were good players but still technically novices.
Double-Eliminator
Tournaments were run using a winner’s bracket and a loser's bracket. If you lost a match you were moved into the loser’s bracket. If you lost another match in the losers — you were eliminated.
It was still possible to win from the loser’s bracket by progressing through the rounds to meet the winners of the winner’s bracket. But if you did get that far — you had to beat them twice.
There are a few basic tournament standard shots in table football. Here are the two in this article.
In the front pin, the player traps the ball and moves it side to side before firing it into the goal. One key aspect is revolving the rod 360 degrees to fire the ball directly into the goal, creating additional problems for the defender.
The pull shot involves moving the ball across the goal and firing it into a gap in the defense at high speed.
Defending
There are two men to cover five gaps in the goal — the goalie and one of the two defenders. The advantage is with the attacker.
A random defensive pattern works quite well. Move the defenders revealing and closing gaps in front of the goal. Vary the time and the gaps.
The ultimate tactic is the bait-and-switch. Tempt the attacker with a gap and close it as they take their shot.
Novices and Pros
Anyone who won a novice competition was automatically moved into the pro section. That was the elite level, above our skills. We could pick up trophies in the novices and have fun, rather than being knocked straight out as we would be in the pros.
When it came to the Ireland trip — the climax of this tale — we were good players but still technically novices.
Double-Eliminator
Tournaments were run using a winner’s bracket and a loser's bracket. If you lost a match you were moved into the loser’s bracket. If you lost another match in the losers — you were eliminated.
It was still possible to win from the loser’s bracket by progressing through the rounds to meet the winners of the winner’s bracket. But if you did get that far — you had to beat them twice.
To Ireland
The Irish Tournament Soccer Event was a big deal. We were going on a long trip, abroad to Eire, to play some games of table football. Non-players thought we were mad. Why would anyone go that far when you can just have a game down the pub?
Anyone who has played a real competitive sport knows why. That thrill, from the first handshake to the final bell, is not replicated elsewhere in life. The adrenaline, the rush, the challenge — it is unbeatable.
It must be amazing to walk onto the pitch in front of 100,000 spectators. This tournament would be our pitch, although with a smaller crowd.
Foosball is not a spectator sport. The crowd would be other players watching, often checking out your weaknesses in case they came up against you later.
We arrived in Ireland the night before the competition and headed for the nearest pub to our hotel. Friendly Irish locals enjoying foosball, playing winner stays on. From the first game, we played till closing time. We owned that table. My partner was doing all his razzle-dazzle tricks, the lads were impressed. It was a great setup for the following day.
The Irish Tournament
We got to the event. The usual thrill seeing all the tables setup, the other players who we knew from competitions across the UK. The Irish lads from the night before. The trophies!
At the start of an event you go into a feeling it is hard to describe. Perhaps like entering a different plane of consciousness. Everything is the same it is just keener. An edge to it. A focus.
Your aim is to win. There is nothing else that currently exists in the world.
So here we go.
We played the first match against a couple of not very good players. And we lost. We LOST. We went all the way to Ireland to play table football and we blew it in ten minutes.
My partner played terribly. He couldn’t get his shot together, or his head. Remember all the lessons he taught me? About not giving up, each game as it comes, etc. He was ready to quit.
I was down about it too. What a let down. A colossal waste of time. Two bigheads from the UK just got thrashed.
I didn’t criticize my partner. I remembered my first London tournament where I fell apart. It is a tough place to be. I let him go find a space to think his thoughts.
Even if we won a few matches in the loser’s bracket, getting all the way through and then beating the winner’s bracket champion twice would be impossible. And from where we stood, winning the next game seemed like a tough ask.
We played our first match in the loser’s bracket. It wasn’t pretty, we were still misfiring, but we won.
The next match we won, a little easier this time. My partner was back on his game. Thoughts of failure and defeat had been banished. Here we go!
In the loser’s bracket, the matches come really quickly. There is no hanging around waiting for your next match. Soon as your results go in, you’re lined up for the next one.
This works well. It is like playing winner stays on in the pub. We started getting it together — playing some of our best play. We cruised through teams like they weren’t there. A quick handshake, hand the result in, next game, win the toss, thrash them, job done.
One goal in sight — game after game.
We got to the final. The frigging final. This was a great result, especially considering our start.
But we had to beat the winners of the winner’s bracket — twice.
The Irish Tournament Soccer Event was a big deal. We were going on a long trip, abroad to Eire, to play some games of table football. Non-players thought we were mad. Why would anyone go that far when you can just have a game down the pub?
Anyone who has played a real competitive sport knows why. That thrill, from the first handshake to the final bell, is not replicated elsewhere in life. The adrenaline, the rush, the challenge — it is unbeatable.
It must be amazing to walk onto the pitch in front of 100,000 spectators. This tournament would be our pitch, although with a smaller crowd.
Foosball is not a spectator sport. The crowd would be other players watching, often checking out your weaknesses in case they came up against you later.
We arrived in Ireland the night before the competition and headed for the nearest pub to our hotel. Friendly Irish locals enjoying foosball, playing winner stays on. From the first game, we played till closing time. We owned that table. My partner was doing all his razzle-dazzle tricks, the lads were impressed. It was a great setup for the following day.
The Irish Tournament
We got to the event. The usual thrill seeing all the tables setup, the other players who we knew from competitions across the UK. The Irish lads from the night before. The trophies!
At the start of an event you go into a feeling it is hard to describe. Perhaps like entering a different plane of consciousness. Everything is the same it is just keener. An edge to it. A focus.
Your aim is to win. There is nothing else that currently exists in the world.
So here we go.
We played the first match against a couple of not very good players. And we lost. We LOST. We went all the way to Ireland to play table football and we blew it in ten minutes.
My partner played terribly. He couldn’t get his shot together, or his head. Remember all the lessons he taught me? About not giving up, each game as it comes, etc. He was ready to quit.
I was down about it too. What a let down. A colossal waste of time. Two bigheads from the UK just got thrashed.
I didn’t criticize my partner. I remembered my first London tournament where I fell apart. It is a tough place to be. I let him go find a space to think his thoughts.
Even if we won a few matches in the loser’s bracket, getting all the way through and then beating the winner’s bracket champion twice would be impossible. And from where we stood, winning the next game seemed like a tough ask.
We played our first match in the loser’s bracket. It wasn’t pretty, we were still misfiring, but we won.
The next match we won, a little easier this time. My partner was back on his game. Thoughts of failure and defeat had been banished. Here we go!
In the loser’s bracket, the matches come really quickly. There is no hanging around waiting for your next match. Soon as your results go in, you’re lined up for the next one.
This works well. It is like playing winner stays on in the pub. We started getting it together — playing some of our best play. We cruised through teams like they weren’t there. A quick handshake, hand the result in, next game, win the toss, thrash them, job done.
One goal in sight — game after game.
We got to the final. The frigging final. This was a great result, especially considering our start.
But we had to beat the winners of the winner’s bracket — twice.
The Final
So here we are at the novice final of the Irish Tournament Soccer event sometime in the late seventies. An inner calm mixed with terror, disbelief, adrenaline and God knows what else. And that wonderful focus. Because nothing else matters in the world right now except that table, your partner and those two players on the opposite side.
The two players opposite had won ALL their matches. We had lost one match, and played far more than them coming up the hard way, the long way through the Losers.
Game set. Handshakes. Let’s go.
I can’t recall a blow by blow of the match, point by point. And table football, to an outsider, is not an interesting game. It is too quick to see, and fairly boring to watch, even for other players.
But when you are in it, fighting for all your worth to defeat an opponent, it is arguably the best feeling in the world.
The opposing forward had a very good pull shot. Exceptional. He could hit short, middle, long with ease at speed. Effectively unstoppable. You can’t race a shot like that, you have to be in the right place and the right time.
The first few times I faced his shot I failed. He scored with relative ease. My partner kept on some pressure, scoring well at the other end but he couldn’t make up for my leaking defence. We lost the first game.
The final is best of five games — first to three wins. 1–0 to them.
At this point teams can fall apart. Your partner blames you for failing, or you feel guilty for it, you lose concentration.
We didn’t fall apart. We were a good team. Many years together, playing tournaments, supporting each other when we faded or had off moments. If he had faith in me then so did I.
The way, my way, to defend against a shot I can’t stop is simple. I have to have my defender where he shoots the ball. He shoots — I stop. Simple.
Instead of racing the men around or trying to beat his speed I show him the gap. This is called baiting. The attacker is looking for a gap to shoot into. I know where the gap is, the best gap and I show it to him long enough for him to choose it.
Then as he shoots — I close it.
This is risky stuff. If it fails I feel like an idiot and the attacker gains in confidence. If I stop one — he doubts a little. If I stop two on the trot the doubt grows.
He was confident after the first game where his shots went in easily. I started to tune into him. It is almost a sixth sense. We’re not playing on the table anymore with men and a ball. We’re playing mind games here. I can feel him thinking about where my defenders are moving. He has the ball but I have control.
We won the first part of the final.
One more set to go.
So here we are at the novice final of the Irish Tournament Soccer event sometime in the late seventies. An inner calm mixed with terror, disbelief, adrenaline and God knows what else. And that wonderful focus. Because nothing else matters in the world right now except that table, your partner and those two players on the opposite side.
The two players opposite had won ALL their matches. We had lost one match, and played far more than them coming up the hard way, the long way through the Losers.
Game set. Handshakes. Let’s go.
I can’t recall a blow by blow of the match, point by point. And table football, to an outsider, is not an interesting game. It is too quick to see, and fairly boring to watch, even for other players.
But when you are in it, fighting for all your worth to defeat an opponent, it is arguably the best feeling in the world.
The opposing forward had a very good pull shot. Exceptional. He could hit short, middle, long with ease at speed. Effectively unstoppable. You can’t race a shot like that, you have to be in the right place and the right time.
The first few times I faced his shot I failed. He scored with relative ease. My partner kept on some pressure, scoring well at the other end but he couldn’t make up for my leaking defence. We lost the first game.
The final is best of five games — first to three wins. 1–0 to them.
At this point teams can fall apart. Your partner blames you for failing, or you feel guilty for it, you lose concentration.
We didn’t fall apart. We were a good team. Many years together, playing tournaments, supporting each other when we faded or had off moments. If he had faith in me then so did I.
The way, my way, to defend against a shot I can’t stop is simple. I have to have my defender where he shoots the ball. He shoots — I stop. Simple.
Instead of racing the men around or trying to beat his speed I show him the gap. This is called baiting. The attacker is looking for a gap to shoot into. I know where the gap is, the best gap and I show it to him long enough for him to choose it.
Then as he shoots — I close it.
This is risky stuff. If it fails I feel like an idiot and the attacker gains in confidence. If I stop one — he doubts a little. If I stop two on the trot the doubt grows.
He was confident after the first game where his shots went in easily. I started to tune into him. It is almost a sixth sense. We’re not playing on the table anymore with men and a ball. We’re playing mind games here. I can feel him thinking about where my defenders are moving. He has the ball but I have control.
We won the first part of the final.
One more set to go.
The Final Final
This was the finest moment in my foosball playing. A culmination of that early desire to get better, the fun of playing with friends, the lessons learned. Lessons of foosball for sure, but other lessons too.
Competing. Wanting to win, needing to win. Accepting knockbacks and using them as motivation. Working together, supporting each other.
This isn’t just a game, or even a sport. It is life itself.
We are now on level terms with our opponents. One final set of the first to three games to win. Three games, first to five goals.
Jeez, the adrenaline.
About 40 other players and a few friends and spectators are watching. Mostly Irish players supporting their team. Our biggest crowd ever.
The crowd don’t matter. All that matters is four guys around a football table. A partner next to you who feels the same way you do. One aim — to win.
There are no nerves any longer. You are on a higher plane somehow. It’s time.
My partner was playing well, top of his game. He had the beatings of their defender who was suffering.
I was increasingly rattling their attacker. He still had the same excellent pull shot he started with but he was over-thinking how to beat me. Each time I successfully baited him, he diminished a little.
I know this mind game. It’s the only real weapon a defender has. And it is largely bluff. If he scores a couple of quick goals on the trot then — bang — he’s back on top again.
The turning point came after a couple of games had gone either way. Level pegging.
The attacker gets the ball, lines up the shot. I prepare my defenders. We wait. He waits for me to do my bait and switch. He is working out how I defend so he can score. He waits to see the gap.
Maybe he waits for me to move my men and fire into that gap as it appears. It’s one way to play the bait-and-switch.
We wait.
The crowd waits.
The rules allow ten seconds to wait on a shot. It can feel much longer than that.
I don’t move my defenders. There is a large gap available for him to shoot into but he is waiting for me to move. The crowd don’t understand this game. Why doesn’t he shoot for the gap? My partner is wondering what is going on, as I sit there not moving.
He fires the ball. Straight into my non-moving defender. I pass the ball up the table, we score. He is finished, mentally gone.
We win the next couple of games, the match and the final.
This was the finest moment in my foosball playing. A culmination of that early desire to get better, the fun of playing with friends, the lessons learned. Lessons of foosball for sure, but other lessons too.
Competing. Wanting to win, needing to win. Accepting knockbacks and using them as motivation. Working together, supporting each other.
This isn’t just a game, or even a sport. It is life itself.
We are now on level terms with our opponents. One final set of the first to three games to win. Three games, first to five goals.
Jeez, the adrenaline.
About 40 other players and a few friends and spectators are watching. Mostly Irish players supporting their team. Our biggest crowd ever.
The crowd don’t matter. All that matters is four guys around a football table. A partner next to you who feels the same way you do. One aim — to win.
There are no nerves any longer. You are on a higher plane somehow. It’s time.
My partner was playing well, top of his game. He had the beatings of their defender who was suffering.
I was increasingly rattling their attacker. He still had the same excellent pull shot he started with but he was over-thinking how to beat me. Each time I successfully baited him, he diminished a little.
I know this mind game. It’s the only real weapon a defender has. And it is largely bluff. If he scores a couple of quick goals on the trot then — bang — he’s back on top again.
The turning point came after a couple of games had gone either way. Level pegging.
The attacker gets the ball, lines up the shot. I prepare my defenders. We wait. He waits for me to do my bait and switch. He is working out how I defend so he can score. He waits to see the gap.
Maybe he waits for me to move my men and fire into that gap as it appears. It’s one way to play the bait-and-switch.
We wait.
The crowd waits.
The rules allow ten seconds to wait on a shot. It can feel much longer than that.
I don’t move my defenders. There is a large gap available for him to shoot into but he is waiting for me to move. The crowd don’t understand this game. Why doesn’t he shoot for the gap? My partner is wondering what is going on, as I sit there not moving.
He fires the ball. Straight into my non-moving defender. I pass the ball up the table, we score. He is finished, mentally gone.
We win the next couple of games, the match and the final.
After the Match
After the handshakes and the trophies it takes time to come down. The adrenaline and that laser focus don’t just disappear.
We focused on winning, we won, job done. That mindset, a detached professionalism, takes a while to dissipate. Ever wonder why sport personalities are almost monosyllabic in their post match interviews? When you have been pumped for so long, you need some unwind time.
I don’t think I began to reflect on our triumph until we were midway across the Irish Sea.
And by then of course, it’s all over. The excitement ebbs away and you’re left holding your trophy — learning to cope with a sudden emptiness.
Why do sports people keep competing long after they should have stopped? Not knowing when to quit.
Because they want that feeling that only comes from competing.
After the handshakes and the trophies it takes time to come down. The adrenaline and that laser focus don’t just disappear.
We focused on winning, we won, job done. That mindset, a detached professionalism, takes a while to dissipate. Ever wonder why sport personalities are almost monosyllabic in their post match interviews? When you have been pumped for so long, you need some unwind time.
I don’t think I began to reflect on our triumph until we were midway across the Irish Sea.
And by then of course, it’s all over. The excitement ebbs away and you’re left holding your trophy — learning to cope with a sudden emptiness.
Why do sports people keep competing long after they should have stopped? Not knowing when to quit.
Because they want that feeling that only comes from competing.
Epilogue
Video games came along, table football faded. We all got older and faded a little too.
Looking back, I realize my experiences from those days built me into a more confident person. I earned something real, something that stayed with me.
I had a belief in myself that school and work had not provided. A can do, stay calm, get focused attitude — when I put my mind to it.
Foosball taught me lessons that went far beyond the table — understanding competition, working with others, and staying calm under pressure. It wasn’t just a game; it shaped how I approached life.
So many good things come from sport. Don’t let anyone ever tell you it’s just a game.
These moments shape you, staying with you for life. I’m grateful for every one of them.
I enjoyed sharing this, I hope it was OK to read. Competitive sport of any kind can give you treasured moments to remember. I am lucky to have mine.
Thank you for reading my story.
Video games came along, table football faded. We all got older and faded a little too.
Looking back, I realize my experiences from those days built me into a more confident person. I earned something real, something that stayed with me.
I had a belief in myself that school and work had not provided. A can do, stay calm, get focused attitude — when I put my mind to it.
Foosball taught me lessons that went far beyond the table — understanding competition, working with others, and staying calm under pressure. It wasn’t just a game; it shaped how I approached life.
So many good things come from sport. Don’t let anyone ever tell you it’s just a game.
These moments shape you, staying with you for life. I’m grateful for every one of them.
I enjoyed sharing this, I hope it was OK to read. Competitive sport of any kind can give you treasured moments to remember. I am lucky to have mine.
Thank you for reading my story.