Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop……
In Alice in Wonderland that may have been a reply from the king to a question posed by a white rabbit but from the point of considering how to formulate these ‘blogs’ it seems as good a piece of advice as any
So the beginning. Obviously there is a beginning and an obvious one at that as there is with every new life but from my perspective I have no recollection of that as any kind of a beginning so am probably better placed to start this story at the point of my earliest memories
This again is a strange one. I have memories from childhood but as you get older it’s hard to differentiate between the things you really remember and the things you have seen in photos or other mediums and have then heard the stories recounted by family and friends or even the things that you have just made up over time and now convinced even yourself that it happened
I think these are actual memories but without the ability to travel in time and hold a conversation with myself I am not 100% sure but this potential solution presents time paradox implications that risk confusing the issue even more so I’ll park that possibility and save the creation of a time travel machine till another day and focus my mind on the matter in hand; which was…..
Earliest memories of course.
My reasoning for this exercise(Yes I know I lack focus and the structure of this blog is chaotic at best) is to try to pinpoint early events, experiences etc that have made me into me, what ever me is or am?
What I am or what I is??
Anyway I am rambling, which is a regular occurrence to be honest but I put that down to my crazy aunt from Eastern Europe.
She lived in a one bedroom house with her 7 children who she numbered instead of named, not one to seven as you would expect but random numbers apart from two whom she decided to call both by the same sequence of numbers. I believe it was her bank account PIN number again to aid her own memory skills but no one ever had the heart to ask
I think that ones a real memory from my past. It explains a lot so must be true….
Anyway to be serious. I was born in South London. The first child, the oldest and obviously most important of the 3 boys
I enjoyed a happy and active childhood that was focused around my love of sport. Particularly football. Apparently as early as I could walk I would carry a football wherever I toddled
My footballing teammates across the years will be wondering why that hasn’t translated to a better footballer than the distinct averageness of my abilities that can still be witnessed on the odd Sunday at a Sunday league pitch in Durham.
What can I say. I agree with you all and I am sorry for the disappointment you have experienced at my hands or should I say feet
Aside from that; I can see that football and sport in my early and formative years played a key part in who I am now as a man and a parent. Sport can play an integral part in an individuals development and provides environments to connect people from all walks of life that perhaps wouldn’t have found common ground otherwise.
In addition I strongly believe that a fit, strong body translates to a fit, strong mind. Exercise and sporting activity can provide a much needed stress relief from the busy world and I am a huge advocate for using sport and exercise as an enabler for strong mental health. I am not saying it’s the magic bullet that solves all problems but it works for me.
Both my children take part in as much group sport as can be packed into a week and they love it. I love that they love it and it has even boosted my love of these sports and increased my participation levels and had a really positive effect on my relationship with my kids.
For this I thank my parents. For all the hours they spent ferrying me and my brothers to different sporting events. For putting up with all the incessant questioning, the rainy, snowy days when it would have been so much easier to stay in the house.
That has sparked a memory, which I think is real. I am almost 100% sure for the most part it is accurate
My Grandparents lived in Streatham and there was a dust covered football pitch within walking distance of their home. Growing up we used to visit regularly.
Visiting at least every Sunday for dinner and ice cream and to watch snooker on the telly with my Grandad are vivid regular memories but one such Sunday after already playing little league earlier in the day; I obviously as we all did as a kid was still wearing my kit and was desperate to practice my heading. I think I’d missed a headed chance that morning so wanted to recreate the moment to try and make sure it didn’t happen again
My two brothers weren’t as keen. My dad; never one to turn down the opportunity to play football or to talk me through each and every one of the twenty odd career goals he had scored already had the football under his arm and was halfway out of the door.
But we needed a goalkeeper. It wouldn’t work without a goalkeeper. My brothers remained glued to the snooker. Stephen Hendry versus Jimmy White I think and would not turn down the opportunity for extra ice cream
Step forward my dear Grandma. She already had her coat on. She used to watch Fulham as a young girl and had clearly played the goalkeeper role with her two sons when they were growing up.
Minutes later my Dad was flying down the right wing, he whipped in a perfect cross. I timed my run from the edge of the penalty box perfectly; the cross had the right amount of dip and I connected with a text book header
Into the ground first just as the Peter Beardsley video had taught me. Towards the left corner of the goal
The net was ready to bulge. It looked for all the world that I had dismissed the demons of that miss on the morning
Step forward my dear Grandma. Like Gordon Banks she threw herself towards the ball. Fingertips outstretched, unbelievably she steered the goal bound ball around the post
I collapsed to my knees
The crowd went absolutely crazy.
My Grandma jumped up brushed the dust from her knees; a huge smile on her face
‘Your turn to go in goal now’
If I take one thing from my parents and indeed their parents it is their commitment to enabling their children’s sporting dreams; and as I approach 40 questioning my readiness for ‘adulthood’ if putting your children’s priorities before your own is a sign of being a responsible grown up then I would hope that my children would agree that is one box I can tick ✅
Fit for 40 