Bring Your Gloves Mate
A lifetime as a keeper for hire
You can envision the school playground scene from just over 30 years ago, hordes of kids chasing the football around in torn up school uniforms, it was the era of sponge balls with chunks pulled out of them, those that when they even glanced across a puddle absorbed extreme amounts of water. Five minutes in goal against the fence saving everything before the bell rang is all it took to direct my recreational football career forever. I never chose to be a goalkeeper; it definitely chose me.
The school captain in the year above had seen this happen and noted it. Low and behold I was asked to practice with the team shortly after. As a child I didn’t grow up playing as much as others, Dad was rarely home and my only sibling was 7 years younger so I only had the playground. For perspective our very small primary school did not have a pool of talent to choose from to compete against the bigger and tougher schools in our seaside town. It was more like putting together the dirty dozen with the top year group only having 16 boys to choose from you would have to use year below and occasionally the one below that.
Never step into great man’s shoes they say and luckily the keeper I inherited the gloves from was a total mess so that really helped my reputation, but what was to come was just an absolute onslaught. The under 11’s game was very different then, no turf, no small-sided games, this was 11 a side on fields that were more akin to the Somme than the luxury afforded to kids now. I remember showing up at my first game for the school and even at full stretch being nowhere even close to reaching the crossbar, slippery under foot, an early lesson was a good goalkeeper always has excuses ready to go! We were beaten heavily every single week and rarely scored, I remember one early game there were tears in my eyes as the ball continually flew past me against these vastly more talented teams, memories of wind just taking shots over my head into the goal.
That season seemed to last forever, I consider myself a strong minded person and no small part was down to that first competitive sport experience in 1991, continually picking the ball out the back of the net and going again. Towards the end of season, I did become more confident and immune to the punishment, and I still remember a save in front of my Mum and 4yr old sister in the top corner I will always cherish to finally help earn our first draw of the season.
That year did do some damage at the time though, I showed up at the all boys secondary school and pitched myself as a defender, trying to distance myself from the gloves. I played a few games for the school alongside the same lads who had punished me the year before, it was very competitive however and didn’t hold down a place. I played for a couple of local teams up to the age of 18 I really enjoyed the defensive role and became half decent, they were not great teams and lost way more than we won but that never bothered me, I enjoyed the challenge, that perverse goalkeeper mindset with back against the school wall being pummeled shone through.
I kept my hand in though in mid to late teens, any time a keeper no showed or got injured, I found myself sprinting towards the goal and grabbing the gloves as quickly as possible. The cloud of 91 had lifted and was replaced with an insatiable mix of enjoying the responsibility, the chaos, the theatre and being that glutton for punishment that I could not escape. I just loved being different.
Next was University and although drinking and parties replaced the relentless football of the secondary school era, I got involved in games that emerged between different flats and towers on campus. It was at this stage I first became aware of the scarcity of good goalkeepers and how treasured they were if you were one. As my reputation spread people would praise my ability, which I knew was partly a ruse to avoid the responsibility of playing between the sticks themselves. However, it felt good being texted out the blue like a Bourne film assassin: “Can you play at 7 tonight we need a keeper?” in the days when getting a text was still new technology and a novelty.
It escalated from there and I ended up playing all over Birmingham, for a while I was the token white male playing in goal for a team in an Asian league, even being paid a couple of quid to guarantee my services. On one occasion I was recruited by a church to play against a neighbouring church, although Christian they clearly didn’t have issues bringing in ringers to secure the win, it was an easy game but got an injury which to this day means I cannot bend my right thumb backwards. Being a gun for hire suited me, someone who enjoys variety and change and does not mind walking into a changing room of strangers as the mystery player.
In 2003 after graduation like many others I moved to London for my first full time job, and very much like life itself, my goalkeeping career got more structured and serious compared to before. With my consultancy job bosses tending to enjoy flamboyant goalscoring positions, I was viewed as a saviour the second I said I could play in goal and quickly invited to join their finance team in the intercompany league. I played every week and honestly felt that being in goal was as important as my work effort when it came to review and bonus time. I played with that team for years every Saturday at Battersea Park, even long after I left the company they still wanted me to play. The enjoyment was replaced with a sense of duty, showing up in cold weather became tedious, and seeing defenders sent off for dissent would now anger me whereas it was all a joke before, now in my mid 20’s goalkeeping was quickly becoming a cross to bear.
Outside of the regular league, there were still a host of random situations I found myself in playing for friends and colleagues, some full weekends away and “Bring your gloves mate” was genuinely born. At times I genuinely did not want to be there as was such a commitment but did it out of duty. There was a tournament in Newcastle where we were knocked out so fast we were back at the hotel still in time for breakfast. One time I flew to Ireland for corporate games and fell out with a dodgy defender work colleague of a friend of mine which left a sour taste for the rest of the weekend. In a 5 a side game in South London I was punched several times by an opposing forward, at another game I broke my foot desperately trying to make a double save. Ever since university, the memories were purely of loss, not a trophy in sight.
It was following that injury I was on crutches riding the London underground waiting for someone to give up their seat that the penny finally dropped that any team who desperately needs a keeper by definition cannot be one that wins every week, it was getting painful in every sense.
It is 2010 and like Beckham before me I moved to the US (for a woman, not football purposes!) and like David, it did give me a new lease of life on the playing front. Back in England, I was predominantly playing with white English men all with a similar skillset. In Chicago I get to play with Africans, South Americans, and Eastern Europeans all with a love of the game and bringing their culture to their play, it has been an education. I will be honest, very much like in 1992 moving to secondary school I did not announce myself as a goalkeeper when I arrived, I was a defender again, once again running from the heartache. I was always a better defender than goalkeeper, learning from the thousands of mistakes I had to witness in front of me over the years, that’s me with the excuses again wink wink! I played in teams that won games and trophies, at long last in my mid 30s I knew what winning was like.
The biggest surprise of them all since emigrating that may shock people in England, for a country whose 3 top tier sports require lightning reactions and predominantly the use of hands..... there are no jobbing goalkeepers in the USA. So yes, with a supply problem I found myself buying gloves and having to “fill in” when needed once again. However, this time was different, I had learned my lesson to do it ONLY when needed and not every week resulting in chastising teammates, getting crestfallen or even injured. There is still no better feeling than surprising people who didn’t know you played in goal and looking the hero, the smile still appears whenever I find myself having to dig deep into the bag to grab the gloves I always deliberately pack in case.
A lesson in life really, do what excites you, tests you, but do it in moderation to keep it fresh and enjoyable. Overall I have been lucky, at 41 I have seen so many friends have to stop playing due to injury so I plan on continuing as long as I can, as you already can tell, golf really isn’t my game.
