Wednesday 02/03/11

This time last week I was within a few minutes of putting a quid on Arsenal winning the quadruple, at generous odds (I thought) of 200-1. Luckily my easy-going attitude to risking money (even a pound) was overcome by the realism of the event and I never followed through with the idea. Smartly so, it seemed. I should’ve bet that Arsenal wouldn’t win the quadruple, which probably wouldn’t have had such long odds but at least my cash would’ve been guaranteed. Still, there's always the Emirates Cup.

If the depression brought on by the Carling Cup final is getting to me, it’s the joy-inducing thrill of competitive 5-a-side that can get me out of it. It’s about as grassroots as it gets (before you have to start playing on grass) and much more fun than seeing Arsenal get spanked in embarrassing circumstances.

I don’t think I’ve played any sort of competitive football since the age of ten when, in year 5, my school team was drawn against a local year 6 team in some cup competition and we were roundly beaten. A year is quite an age difference, developmentally, when you’re ten and it was pretty stark that the opposition were older, stronger and less well off than we were (in our green private school football kit) which gave them the hunger to tear us alive.

We lost, comfortably. I don’t recall the scoreline but we conceded perhaps half a dozen goals. My attitude then, as a forward, reflects now in that I’m sure if I was given sufficient service I’d have bagged a fair few in reply to the kids (or men as they appeared in comparison to us) whose knackers had dropped. I imagine it’s how Niklas Bendtner would feel if he didn’t get half a dozen chances a game to score. I say that on the evening he scores a hat trick, but it was against Leyton Orient.

No disrespect to Orient. Actually fuck it. If Bendtner can score a hat-trick against you then you, as a club, should be ashamed of yourselves. I have no respect for a team that lets him do such a thing.

It’s comforting that 12 years on I can now keep up with most adults and play almost as an equal. As a footballer, I’m arguably more petulant and selfish than I was as a child. If we were playing with my own football it’s probable that I’d have picked it up and gone home with it in protest to a poor pass or rubbish finish. It’s not though, so I’m obliged to stay and given I pay good money to participate it is important that I get my money’s worth.