Football Metaphors And Real Ale Beards

Guess who we beat 3-1 today?

Stop me if you've heard it before but I love to point out to people who say football is a game played by pampered princes and watched by hooligans that they're missing the point and it's actually a 90 minute metaphor for life. Where else do you get the highs and lows, the pleasures and pain of life played out in front of you in an afternoon while you eat pie and drink Bovril?

I was in a terrible mood for the whole of the first half. I was cold, the football was rubbish, we were one nil down and the amount of players with big bushy beards was getting right on my wick. (When I was young the only men allowed big bushy beards were those who drank real ale and listened to folk music. It's just wrong, all right?)

But then came the moment, a foul on one of our players, that changed everything. A stadium of people with their danders up, a team suddenly galvanised and three wonderful goals. The last one, a cheeky chip from our new Dutch striker had me grinning like a loon. Misery to joy in minutes and all from a few blokes chasing a ball.

When he was interviewed after the game the Dutch striker told us about how prior to signing for us he was a part time player in the Dutch second division. He got up at 5am every weekday to do a day's plastering before training with the club all afternoon. Not that much of a pampered prince after all.