The End Of A Footballing Era.

Twelve years now I've been taking my extremely handsome son George to his football training on a Wednesday evening, and to the match on Sundays.

Great ball control!               Click on pictures to enlarge.

That has finished now

This Wednesday just gone, was the last training session for his team, and on Sunday they will play their last match together, before they all go their separate ways, and head off into manhood.

When he strikes the ball, you had better get out of the way!

Twelve years I've been taking him to play a match on Sunday mornings. Rain, hail, sleet, or snow. I have stood on the touchline, cheering the boys on.

I have been soaked to the skin, and frozen to the bone.

He may be the smallest on the pitch, but he can still knock you flying!

I have been told off, warned off, sent off, called rude names, challenged to fights, and been the challenger. I have a tendency to get carried away you see.

I have been a referee, a linesman, a white line painter, a clearer up after wayward dogs, a filler in of holes, and a litter picker.

My extremely handsome son George.

I have paid the training fees, and the match fees. Although I have to admit that on occasion, when I have been short of money, I have avoided catching the club treasurers eye.

Look at the size of that goalkeeper! Is George bothered? Not a bit.

I have paid what I considered to be ridiculous prices for astroturf boots and football boots.

Despite my dislike of buses and coaches I have travelled miles on them to away matches.

I have cried with my son at times, but mostly we have laughed and had fun.

Twelve years.

I wouldn't have missed a minute.