I remember fuck all about 1990. I was 7/8. I was first getting into football because of the World Cup (probably) and because of my hero, Gary Lineker, started supporting Spurs although my earliest actual memory is the 1991 cup semi. It's also the year my now best mate started at our primary school, although I don't really remember that either.
My only true memories are some of the first games of Cubs football I played. Losing 5-3 to a team widely regarded to be the league whipping boys, I remember. That one hurt. Start of the next season we went to their patch and demolished them 7-1. I remember that like it was yesterday. I set up the first three and scored the fourth myself. Coasting 4-1 at half time, the manager took me off to let one of the younger, smaller boys have a turn. I was livid... "you bastard" I thought. I'm having the game of my young life, and you take me off at half time?? I'll never play this well again, prick! I stood on the touchline and watched my mate Dave Brown add three more to the goal he'd gotten in the first half, including a penalty which had I been on the pitch, I'd have definitely taken. All I could think was how angry I was to not be sharing in such a glorious win, right to the last minute. "I hope you're happy, cunt" I thought, staring daggers at the coach that at that point, I felt like had crushed my dreams of ever truly achieving what I might in football, even at youth level. I never forgave him for that single substitution, even after another two seasons as manager and player, even in the intervening years. Never forgot, never forgave.
So if you're in heaven right now watching me type this..... thanks, dad.
My only true memories are some of the first games of Cubs football I played. Losing 5-3 to a team widely regarded to be the league whipping boys, I remember. That one hurt. Start of the next season we went to their patch and demolished them 7-1. I remember that like it was yesterday. I set up the first three and scored the fourth myself. Coasting 4-1 at half time, the manager took me off to let one of the younger, smaller boys have a turn. I was livid... "you bastard" I thought. I'm having the game of my young life, and you take me off at half time?? I'll never play this well again, prick! I stood on the touchline and watched my mate Dave Brown add three more to the goal he'd gotten in the first half, including a penalty which had I been on the pitch, I'd have definitely taken. All I could think was how angry I was to not be sharing in such a glorious win, right to the last minute. "I hope you're happy, cunt" I thought, staring daggers at the coach that at that point, I felt like had crushed my dreams of ever truly achieving what I might in football, even at youth level. I never forgave him for that single substitution, even after another two seasons as manager and player, even in the intervening years. Never forgot, never forgave.
So if you're in heaven right now watching me type this..... thanks, dad.
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