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Friday, August 29, 2003

If Only...

I've sort of been thinking about what Rachel said about the ultimate loss to the world of her utterly compelling musical talent and the wondrous, heartfelt paen to Rosy her old guinea pig (I've heard the song on several occasions; the first time I heard it I didn't know whether to laugh or cry but, seeing as she had only just met me, I sat in a kind of reverential silence, not knowing really what to say...), and in some haphazard way this got me around to thinking about the direction that my own life had taken, and how different it would have been if I wasn't so...so...what?
I could have been a footballer, you see. Don't laugh, it's true. I could be living in glorious mock-tudor in the stockbroker belt. I could be decked out in white armani instead of my father's cast-offs. I could have earned the adulation of thousands as opposed to the scowl of one or two men (and women) with scraggy beards. Even now, in those, ahem, 'rare' moments of inebriation, my brother blames me for the fact that he never had a string of blondes at his beck and call by virtue of his association with me who would by now have been a regular in the national side, apparently. So how come I never became a footballer? Well, paradoxically, it was because of football that I never became a footballer....
I have always been adept at most sports. However, since a child of perhaps 3 or 4, I have found kicking a ball about to be the easiest and most natural thing to to. As I grew up, I would see other kids struggle with passing, or shooting, crossing, or taking players on, and I would wonder what all the fuss was about because it all seemed so easy to me. Friends, I daresay I was gifted. At the age of nine, I was asked to play in teams with boys the age of 12. By the age of 12, the under-16 teams in the area were wanting me to play for them. Indeed, from the age of 12 onwards, my week went something like this: Monday: school, train for the saturday under-14's (my saturday morning fixture)
Tuesday: school, train for Newark Town (my saturday afternoon fixture)
Wednesday: school, train for the League Representative team (my sunday morning fixture)
Thursday: school, train for the Nottinghamshire County schools team (my sunday afternoon fixture)
Friday: school, chase girls, graffiti the bus station.
Saturday and Sunday: Football, football, football.
Thrilling, eh? Now, by the age of 14, I was getting noticed. Firstly by one or two not-very-good local teams (Lincoln City immediately spring to mind as being a)not very good and b)local ), then by one or two slightly better local teams ie Nottingham Forest. Then, one day after a slightly one-sided match with Newark Town, I was approached by a wiry, funny looking man with a flat cap and a handlebar moustache. He was a scout from Sheffield United. He had been watching me (so he said) for 6 months and wanted me to go to Sheffield to see what I thought of the place. It's funny, because I felt no elation, no joy at having been spotted. I said I would think about it. My friends looked at me in utter disbelief. However, they were even more horrified when, during the following few weeks, I was approached by scouts from Sheffield Wednesday, Watford, Sunderland, Leicester City and Tottenham Hotspur. To each of them (Spurs included) I said that I would think about it. Everybody thought I was mad, my parents included, but they deserve kudos for never putting any pressure on me. I can see you all now, shaking your heads, with that look of utter befuddlement on your faces. What WAS I waitng for? Simple really. I was waiting for Manchester United. I had/have supported them all my life. It would never cross my mind to play for anyone else- I would consider it the ultimate betrayal. Now, I suppose that holding out until the most famous football club in the world suddenly notices your undoubted talents is something of a career ender. Even now, I am quizzed about why I did what I did. Even now I see the great big "if only" look in my friends and families eyes, but even now I still maintain the stance that I had all those years ago. Life isn't about getting ahead, forging a career and all that malarky. Sure, I could probably have played for one of these other, lesser clubs. I would doubtless have made a healthy living out of it. But I couldn't live with what I consider a betrayal of love. THAT'S what life's about, my friends, even in the madness of the new millenium. Love, and dreams, and principles, and all the things that make us human.
So, I'm not a professional footballer after all. But the dream of playing for my beloved Manchester United is still in tact. And there WAS a stranger watching me play keep-up on the park the other day...;-)

Posted by paul

Replies: Oh! Someone!