It’s Barking, 1978. We’re playing an away match against the Under 9 Tigers, and I’m in goal, being the team’s only goalkeeper, and despite my repeated request for new kneepads being consistently denied. “Ain’t got the funds, lad” was the constant refrain from the manager, Keith, ever clad in his suede coat, gold chains, and cashmere polo neck: the standard uniform at the time of people who had large status in small towns.
]]>