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I never kicked ball until I was
seven years old, and times are I
wished I never kicked ball at all.
I remember the night that I fell
in love with the game (and so I
should because it has being a
tempestuous relationship ever
since). It was one sunny evening
after a World Cup '82 group match
involving Argentina I'm sure.
There was the weekly game going on
in our front garden with the usual
collection of neighbours and
friends. I played that evening and
loved it.
I soon went from being a handy
keeper to an outstanding
midfielder. Well it's true, I have
enough in my life now to be
ashamed and embarrassed about
without being modest about my
unbelievable skill as a youngster.
Up to the beginning of my teens
soccer was my game. It was my
whole existence and even the
sleeping hours were taken up with
the thoughts of it. One dream
revolved around Don Howe drinking
tea with my ma in our front room
at home when I walk in from
school. My mother introduces him
as Mr Howe, who would like to sign
me on a schoolboy contract to the
Arsenal Football Club. But how
often do dreams come true? After
the age of twelve and the height
of my footballing brilliance my
star quickly began to fade. I went
from being the best ball player in
my hometown and captain of the
town under 12's to being a bench
man for the three years in youth's
soccer.
What went wrong? I wish I knew.
Maybe it was disillusionment. I
remember looking at a soccer
sticker album when I was eleven
and been struck by the fact that
of all the Irish internationals,
none of them came from outside of
the country's main metropolitan
areas. What hope had I as a
Tipperary lad? My despair with the
game or more specifically my own
game was absolute by the time I
was 18. An involvement with youth
football ruined more than my love
of football. It had an adverse
effect on even my own self-esteem.
Lads who I once laughed at for
possessing the collective skills
of a knock-kneed monkey were getting
the nod ahead of me by the time I
reached the youth stage. Still I
swallowed hard and turned up every
week to patrol the touchline and
offer the few words of
encouragement to the others. Sure
isn't that what soccer is all
about. A team game and no place
for egos here son, if you don't
mind.
It has been nearly twenty years
since I first fell for the game.
And it's funny because as much as
I have loved and lost because of
it I still strongly regard it. And
sad as this may sound, I will
never have another love like it,
be it a person, past time, or
material object. Never. Well,
maybe never.
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