¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 blyth spartans 4, boston 3; & according to my dad, the greatest football moment to occur this side of war. i tell this tale often. tonight it’s to a fat bloke who is sat at the bar: he has just ‘found’ the game like others find god; preferring plato to platini in his previous incarnation: he raves about ‘the toon’ in commentator-speak, like a blind man with no nose describing a flower, & despite his enthusiasm he gets my goat: he has never played ‘three goals in’ with a balding tennis ball well after dark, never said ‘next goal wins’ with a trace of breathless optimism creeping into his voice or given up his jumper to act as a goalpost; he has never shed tears at the sound of a whistle, or exchanged vulgarities with a bearded centre-forward; he has never timed a volley so friggin’ sweetly that it bursts through the net like an anti-tank missile; or turned to his mates when he knows he’s got the winner. & then he sets off on a cantona rant, claiming that eric is a flash in the pan, ‘a gallic thug’ he dares to say, ‘with a modicum of skill’! so with my eyebrows at least, i make my saving tackle, i make a point of making a point that discovery & understanding are completely different things.