Sunday League

“I love the smell of queef Deep Heat in the morning!”

Ahhh… The cold and dirty concrete floors, the broken wooden benches, the odour of damp and muddy boots not cleaned from the weekend before, the oddly fitting long-sleeved shirts with holes in them, the unmistakable scent of Deep Heat burning your retinas, the pitches covered in ice, and the lad who always forgets his shin pads… The typical football dressing room at 9.45am every game day.

It’s been four years since I hung up my 11-a-side boots, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it. I played for the best part of ten years and scored some screamers, broke some bones, and made some friends for life. I was late to the game but I don’t regret any of it… I could go on for ages about my entire career with all the highs and the lows, but we all know life is too short for that!

Like most English kids I started playing football as soon as I could walk. You were brought up with a ball at your feet. I didn’t know a single friend that didn’t have a small goal in their back garden. After school you’d rush home to get changed to go straight back out again purely to play football, whatever the weather. Growing up in England in the ‘90s was amazing! We were all football mad. I grew up watching the Premier League, highlights on Football Italia and going to Hartlepool United games every other Saturday. My dad would throw a few layers of clothes on me, find some sweets for half-time and occasionally buy me a mince pie before we went into the stands. When we played away I remember we were checking Teletext as the scores came in, back when we used to play in the old Division 3 (now League 2). That’s what started my obsession with football. At that age, seeing the joy that football brought to my dad every time I goal went in, it made me want to get out there more than anything and do it myself!

The buzz leading up to Euro 1996 was incredible! Football was coming home on the 30th anniversary since we won the World Cup in 1966. You could feel atmosphere everywhere you went for months leading up to the competition. Not to mention “Three Lions (Football’s Coming Home)” was being played non-stop and was in the top 10 for nine consecutive weeks! It’s still a banger that provides hope, joy and brings back memories for every England supporter! It was back then that I decided that all I wanted in life was to become a footballer, and I wasn’t alone. From a young age I went to summer camps and tournaments, and was coached by ex-professional footballers. Back then I was on the school team when we used to play in black and white. I specifically remember scoring a goal just short of the half-way line, hitting it over the keeper, then being swarmed by my own players. Football was pretty much my life growing up as a child. But once I got to the age of ten I soon realised that I was never going to make it to that level, but it’s better to come to terms with it early than chase the impossible dream. Whenever people used to ask you “What do you want to be when you grow up?”, a “professional footballer” unfortunately wasn’t an answer.

I didn’t play football much during my teens. Instead, we ended up listening to punk rock music, going skateboarding and playing in bands, but I still went to the games when I could. This was during the golden age of players like Thierry Henry, Ronaldinho and the “Galacticos” at Real Madrid, before Messi and Ronaldo dominated football. It was only when I was in my early twenties that I found out about Sunday League football and considered signing up. It took a while to get back into playing football, especially 11-a-side, but once I found my feet and the right club I was banging them in for fun. I scored here and there for a couple of teams without really knowing anyone and I was only when an old friend from school asked me if I wanted to join a team called Pittington FC that I found the right club. I was starting in a team that went on to win promotion twice in two years and I was scoring double figures every year. Unfortunately there were also lows that included breaking my collarbone, wrist and the ongoing back problems that led to me calling it a day at just 30 years old. Once the injuries started mounting up I was never the same despite playing for a couple of other teams afterwards.

Walking into that dressing room before your first game is always a strange one. You don’t know most of the lads walking in but by the end of the day you don’t forget them. Everyone has their own spot in that dressing room and I was lucky to find one that didn’t belong to anyone. It also helped that it was the start of a new season. You’d be sitting in the world’s smallest dressing room with the club’s shorts and socks on that have been worn and washed so much they’re now two sizes smaller, waiting for the manager to call out the starting eleven. My name was always last as a striker and I always wished they would call it from front to back to save the suspense, but that would make no sense. The buzz of hearing your name called and knowing you’re starting the game, waiting for them to open the kit bag so you can grab your number 10 shirt. After a couple of games you wouldn’t even have to get up as someone would be passing you that shirt before they’ve even found theirs. The manager gives a team talk which is usually along the lines of “let them know you’re there”, “get into them early”, “play what you can see”, “pass and move” and “let’s play some good football”. Then you march out of that dressing room with ten other lads that will have your back no matter what. The grass shining and crunching beneath your boots on a freezing winter morning with your adrenaline pumping. You’d warm up, smash a few shots at the poor keeper from 30 yards then get ready for kick off. The feeling of being part of that team who put their bodies on the line, then turning around and seeing pure joy on their faces every time you bang a goal in is something I’ll never forget!

I may not have become the professional footballer that I always dreamed of, but Sunday League for me was about as good as it gets!