In the begining there was football.

Morning.

When I was about 14 I joined a local youth football team called Rustington Park Youth. Our best player was a striker that was almost completely deaf, and we all used to take the piss out of him because he had a funny voice that sounded like he had eaten a load of bees. Saying that, he was still ten times better than all of us put together. One Sunday we had a match against Wick Dynamos, this team was made up of pretty much all the lads at school that thought I was a total prick so I new I was in for a kicking. By this time our team was on a loosing run of about 8 games so winning was not top of the agenda, however being informed by our manager I would be playing up front I wanted nothing more than to score against my sworn enemies.

As I took to the pitch my Dad had come to watch and on the odd occasion I'd hear him shouting some generic football instructions at me of which I was too busy dodging two footed career enders to take any notice of. Coming off at half time my Dad told me I could have had about 6 penalties if I'd gone down in the box and that if they come at me again to take the fall and get the penalty.

At 90mins I hadn't fallen once, take that fuckers!

The score was Wick Dynamos 8 - Rustington Park Youth 0

I cant help but relate this to my job situation, I'd rather not go down. I suppose that's why I'm not a footballer.