With this coronavirus lockdown, my football group chat has been almost as healing as the game itself

I was broken before I met my teammates. If not for the outpouring of love between us online, more pieces of me might have shattered entirely

Robert Kazandjian (back row, second from left) and his team, Enaté United of the Camden and District Sunday League (Robert Kazandjian)

Even if you don’t follow the sport, you’ll probably be aware of a football team which was on the brink of a historic league title win, sweeping opponents aside with their irresistible brand of attacking play, before a pesky global pandemic intervened and quashed their soon-to-be-realised dreams. Yes, that’s right, of course – I’m talking about the Enate United of the Camden and District Sunday League; my team, my bros.

Like Manchester United and poor mental health, playing football has been a constant in my life for as long as I can remember. I’ve been part of this special group since 2015, when my pal Terry invited me to a training session, promising me a central midfield role alongside him. A couple of weeks later, Terry hung his boots up and I was playing left-back. Before long, what was initially a group of strangers became my best friends, such was the unconditional love they showed me from the get-go.

We’ve shared ups and downs; a relegation, cup final ecstasy and despair. My personal favourite is missing out on promotion because we forgot to pick up our kit from the laundrette, forfeiting the game.

It’s also been a period of personal chaos for me. My mental health has been a shambles, but the boys were a lifeboat in the storm. It was them I turned to after a suicide attempt. Their support kept me afloat when I was sinking. Depression got rattled and took a back step when my bros were on the scene. The humble magic of having an entire squad who are genuinely happy to see you every Sunday morning should never be underestimated.

There’s been something different about this season, though; we’ve transformed our inconsistent brilliance into brilliant consistency on the pitch, only tasting defeat three times.

Maybe our upturn has been the result of an intense pre-season, where Big Oz, sometimes coach, sometimes right-back, always longest in the shower, convinced us massaging baby oil into our thighs after the dreaded bleep test would stave off injuries.

Perhaps it’s because we signed Marko, aka BANOVIC, aka Monty, who played youth football for Montenegro and would walk into any semi-pro team on this cold island, but reps the green of Enate because, in his own words, after several pints on a team night out, he’s never known a team spirit like ours.

Stand up if you love Enate: the lads in the dressing room (Robert Kazandjian)

These anecdotes stay with us forever, more so than wonder goals and victories, and are regularly posted to our group chat. It’s like having comfort food in the cupboard.

This season, I’ve begun to climb out of my depressive state and rebuild my life. I’ve returned to my work in education at a new school, after resigning from my previous job while down in the depths. I’ve been writing regularly, not just about the things that hurt but about things I love too. And after a long wait, I’ve been having therapy. Slowly, I’ve been learning to apply the compassion I have for others to myself.

So could it be that our relentless form and the near-promise of glory is a collective reward for all of my teammates for supporting me over the years. They have saved my life, on more than one occasion. They deserve everything.

League of their own: United were title favourites before the virus shutdown (Robert Kazandjian)

Pre-pandemic, we were bang-on to win the league, with a cup final to play. We rocked up at Hackney Marshes last Sunday, knowing it would probably be the last time we played together for a while. The game was another semi-final; after a tough first half, ending with us a goal down and Ali on his way to A&E, we regrouped and made light work of our rivals by full-time. To be honest, the final result was never in doubt. There’s never been an ounce of quit in my guys, and through their strength, I’ve rediscovered my own.

So when it was confirmed this week that our season was pretty much a wrap, and we’d be denied the silverware we seemed destined to lift, our group chat was flooded with sadness. Not sadness at an undeservedly empty trophy cabinet, but at the fact that we weren’t going to see each other for a while. Sadness was quickly washed away by an outpouring of love. It was pure heart emojis and “I love you my bros” voice messages.

Don’t get it twisted, winning has been delicious. But it’s never really been about that with us. It’s about belonging, brotherhood and community. An unprecedented crisis can’t take that away. I was broken before I met this ragtag bunch of men, and without my teammates, the pieces of me might’ve been washed away. I’m not totally fixed now, but I’ve got the greatest team to ever kick a ball holding me together.