So when I was a kid football was the playground religion, and up to the age of 14 or so was the social caste decider. I wasn't really friends with anyone that wasn't similarly football mad until I was 15/16 (Ben was kept in the gang and serves a vital interpretor every 4 years when we need to understand wtf is going during the Rugby WC)
I played for my school and local youth team first teams, any opportunity I could...But it was mostly for the social opportunities. Cricket was much more enjoyable (and I was more impactful on) and frankly other sports were more interesting. But you played football because that was the law, and it's seeming omnipresence in my (and all those around me).
I was
not bad at football - I know one end of the ball from the other...But I was friends with, and played with, players
much better than me. I was also chubbier, slower and less confident on the pitch as most around me (off-pitch I was fairly 'life and soul'), so I began to struggle, and didn't like the struggle. And the struggle got worse as I got older (approaching 16 or so).
None of this would be a problem - I am still very good mates with all the people I want to from my old team(s), and my recollections of my shitness (you'll be amazed to hear) are only a memory of my own. And I don't miss playing one bit...But...My Dad used to
really support me. I think he saw it as the first thing I genuinely wanted to be good at, and he wasn't pushy in any other facet of my upbringing, and absolutely wasn't a dick, he's a great human being, and I'm blessed that he's someone I genuinely look up to...But on Sundays being on the sideline shouting encouragement - and seeing the disappointment in his face (and his words, tbf, he did not hold back in expressing his disappointment
and was not particularly a Dad that is gifted with an anything remotely chill) when I would get outpaced, or miss something, it killed him (not literally) every Sunday. And I was powerless to do anything about it - I was just shit, and slow. And whilst I could wear it at the time (I was otherwise funny and popular), as soon as I was old enough to look back and recollect and digest the years of him shouting and talking about his disappointment, it's one of those childhood memories that has had an impact that will stay with me forever. I think it's probably a big fact in me not having kids, tbh. I'd never want to my kid to have the feelings of letting me down like feel I did with my Dad.
Anyways, sorry for the slightly melancholic tale...I'm
delighted to say the discovery of booze and nightclubs between 14-16 wiped out football in the space a season amogst most of my lot, and only the most dedicated football wankers (or legit soldiers that could go through a heavy weekend and still unfathomably turn up in your boots on a weekend morning) played after their first night in the park with a bottle of MD 2020 and the local girls-from-other-schools.
Back to the local side, as a team, we did have some successes - our very last game together as U16's (or whatever the oldest 'youth age' was) was a victorious cup final against a rival team that we had history and animosity with that was worthy of WWF fairytale (and the winning goal came from my throw-in, I hasten to add.).
Personally I had fewer triumphs, but (very famously - for me anyways) our first season (literally as a 6 or 7 year old or something
) I came from nowhere to be the leading goalscorer...Only to understand on awards night that there was no award for that achievement (wtf
) But...One year...
So I won NO individual trophies in (the however-many 8? ) years I played for my local youth time (see earlier discussion about shitness and better players around me...) But one year...There was a Most Improved Player award. Tbh I think it was more of a sympathy award, but I fucking won it
...BUT BUT BUT...And I can tell you the year, it was 1990. So I was 9 years old. And to add a bit of context to the tale, grew up in "South London" (=Bromley, close enough
). And someone at our team had links to Crystal Palace, and was able to get one of the side along to present the awards (and this is really random - we did not get a Pro to present the awards ANY other year).
So, picture the scene: A guy at our club has a chat with Crystal Palace a few months before awards night, Palace agree to send over one of their players. Awards night is towards the end of the year (you're all probably ahead of me now, right?), and as it happens, now after
that Final against Man Utd...And bear in mind after that Final the entirety of all football following public as far as could be broadcast from the famous CP tower...Was Palace. Not to mention that it was a time when the world stopped for the FA Cup. Every Bakery, every garage, every small shop, had red and blue bunting. Everyone just seemed to put down their arms and I think, to a man and back the local side-done-good. I and most of the people from my part of the world could recite that Palace side that beat Liverpool 4-3 (9 months after the 9-0 drubbing) (btw, I'm a Tottenham fan. But I too, that weekend was Palace through and through...).
And look who they sent...THE LOCAL FUCKING GOD!!!! IAN WRIGHT WRIGHT WRIGHT
Literally one of my favourite photo's ever. My Dad only uncovered it during lockdown, I thought it had been lost forever. I (and everyone who won a trophy that season) was the envy of the whole 'hood (for a few weeks, at least). It is simply incomprehensible how much of a hero this guy was for everyone around us. I heard he had a couple of years at Arsenal after his career at Palace, but I don't really recognise that. Ian Wright is Palace (and found out later that my Mum worked with one of his ex-wives in Barclays Bank Beckenham, so we are practically, if distantly, related).
I got in a cab a few weeks back around 8am on a Sunday morning out of a night club... The driver told me he was from S London (as they do), and supported Palace. I said 3 words to test him: "And I'm feeling...?"...the driver honks his horn twice and shouts out GLAD ALL OVER. Honestly a blessing to have that memory.
All that said though, as a kid it's of course different, but Football is a game for dickheads
. They say about Cocaine is that
"it is a test: if you are still taking it, you have failed". I think the same of taking football seriously as an adult
It's average sporting drama at best (Milan San Remo or a half decent Test Match
easily eclipses it), but overshadowed with the most obscene financial doping, participated on by the very pit of humanity, and cheered on by
reams of grown men not batting an eyelid to pay shitloads to watch and waste brainspace and emotion on these utter wankers falling over and doing their hair. I knew a guy who had a season ticket - his Saturday night mood was entirely decided by his teams result - I could never get it. People who get worked up on Twitter are idiots, but football season ticket holders are the original self-flagellators IMO
.
en-academic.com
team. I thought , I'm mediocre in England but I could be a star over here 
turned up for the trial to see loads of Mexicans who could actually play ffs , and I wasn't fit enough. I'd already had 2 years at Swansea uni , but the lifestyle wasn't great for football fitness , notwithstanding regular appearances for Mumbles 69ers (it was the 80s , we were students ffs). Anyhow, I wasn't selected, despite putting a penalty away with a certain panache. 
