• The past is another country we visit every Monday evening on an artificial surface, where all time is extra time and those sixpences we turned on are victims of inflation, physical contact frowned upon and every tackle late. I gave up playing proper football at nineteen years of age, to concentrate on drink and drugs. […]
  • My father never watched me play football so at night I contrived to be both myself on the pitch and him in the stand – an early exponent of simulation. From up on The Holte the game unfolds in flooded light; in the wings silhouetted masses, punctuated by cigarette flashes. As I seize upon a […]
  • Around the time Cup Finals were first shown on the TV and the towers were erected overlooking our back garden with the lawn striped and manicured just like Wembley Stadium, the Chief Scout would be watching from the 6th or 7th storey as I tried to keep the ball within the central midfield area away […]
  • …. and I saunter into the bar of The Anchor quarter of an hour before the kick-off, order a pint of their finest lager and head for my favourite chair. It’s not there – it’s taken, stolen, occupied by a middle class type in a polo-shirt with his horizontally-striped buddies and they’re watching the Rugby! […]