Being prolifically and consistently no better than average with my big clown feet, it dawned on me around about the age of puberty (and the realism and maturity that being 24 provides) that I wasn't going to make it as a professional footballer.

I had dallied with the idea for far too long, and fluffing open goals against Milton Mount United (who I later transferred to on a Bosman free .. fact), really should have been a clear and unequivocal demonstration that I'd have to seek talents in other areas.

So something I'll never know is how it feels to score a goal that lifts the roof off a stadium packed with passionate supporters. The reason I am left musing over this on a Friday morning is as a result of all the 'Ince to Blackburn' talk. I remember the Guvnor banging one in for United against Rovers back in the early 90s and sliding back to the centre circle like one of those big slabs of stone at a curling match.

On the rare occasions I've got my shooting boots on and banged a few in playing in 5-aside leagues, I've generally peeled away from goal a bit Shearer-esque, but with a solitary finger raised almost inferring 'I'm the man - I told you so', which, on reflection, is slightly naff.

Of course there are many other goal celebration options. A 'Robbie Keane' would probably leave me paralysed and always regretting stuffing in a 30-yarder in the Cup Final, a 'Roger Milla' at the corner flag could have serious ramifications for my credibility should all of that hip-jiggling cause me to inadvertently break wind at my glory moment, and a 'Shefki Kuqi' gutbarge to the ground may start small tremours in outlying areas of Indonesia given my incredible current propensity for Marks and Spencers carrot cake.

My most likely reaction to seeing the old onion bag ripple would be to find myself totally overcome with emotion. Either I'd flake out on the spot, or would find the prospect of 60,000 eyes bearing down on my stupid feet a bit too much to take, and I'd run at full pelt away from goal, towards the manager, straight past him, down the tunnel, out the ground, and straight onto the number 38 bus.

Think I'll leave it to the professionals ..

<<back to diary home