"Ok that's enough.....enough I said take the kick and lets be doing that quickly please."
 
The referee was  losing his temper with the usual showcase piece of male competition and the thin line between wining and losing.
 
" Miss it... you do not deserve to win this on a penalty... lucky lucky son of a bitch... you're whole career is based on luck."
 
No way mate..... no way
 

Disappears from the match, tha noise of the crowd into silence. Deep thought...

I wasn't always the lucky man I am perceived of today. Run over by my brother's bike at the age of six. Fell off my own bike at the age of seven and broke my ankle. It was then I decided to give up life in the fast lane and decided to stick two feet firmly on the ground. It seems more secure for a start. It was not instantly drawn to football, but I seemed to be good at it straight away.

I played in all the teams one had to play in to get into a position of being scouted. I was unaware of this and so was my family. They took no interest in my playing football. They found it below our class, although funnily enough, I played with all the boys who lived down my street. I never really knew they were snobs until I grew up. Yes, so that was last year I guess.

But as for being lucky... no way really. I was abused and called all the names under the sun and excluded from the Oxford Dictionary. I was hacked down at every attacking opportunity. I often thought I should play act to get more free kicks. But at amateur level there is no real concept of skill passing and technique let alone good acting. I had to mix it up with the rest of the game. 
 
I came home in bruises and once a broken leg and a black eye. That was a bad challenge and if that was part of football my parents would never have let me play again. I diverted there concerns into making them believe that I was clumsy and had fallen over and went down the stairs. They really became concerned then which was... unlucky really. They sent me to see the GP as they thought I had low Blood pressure or diabetes. The GP took one look at me and knew what had happened. Bad luck. But he didn't squeal on me and reassured my parents that there was no medical reason for my black eye and broken leg but that I could be fixed at ‘The General' in a few days and back playing football in weeks.
 
I made sure that I stayed away from anyone resembling a gorilla on the pitch but it was difficult sometimes as they had a knack of finding you. Sometimes they would take the trouble of travelling from their end to yours just to give you that ever so special ‘welcome to the game tackle.' I would not mind but their managers and their fans seemed to applaud this behaviour. I should have stuck to cricket.
 
I progressed though, despite my attracting special attention from the brain dead during the game. They always said I had talent and commitment and could have a future in the game. I had never really considered that at all until I signed for the non-league clubs and it started to change it terms of earning money.
 
There was still the negotiation with the brain dead but less of them. And even the brain dead could sometimes show some real skill. I started to enjoy playing in this area more and more and then came to move to a club. Well, what was I to say.
 
But it wasn't luck, it was a failed attempt at bike riding and a scrape with the gorillas in school football that had to be negotiated to get here. Also, even at this stage my parents still did not take an interest. They keep mentioning university for some reason, but all I wanted to do now was to play football more and more. I was also seeing it as a way of earning money as well, which made it important now, as I had no real future in education only scraping two GSCE's in English and Art. That was lucky... as I never revised or did any study towards them, I was too busy playing football every day in the park with the men and at the club during the day. School started to become less important for me.
 
 
It was at this stage that my brother decided to give up the will to live and was diagnosed with leukemia. It was not satisfying enough he could ride a bike before me but he had to pass away before me as well. But when he became ill he started to take an interest in my career. A bit late I know, but nonetheless welcome, as he was the only member of the family that did ever.
 

He started to come to all the matches, even the away ones. Often people would ask me who the ill one was. When I replied it was my brother they just stared at me and looked embarrassed and walked off. Never really understood this behaviour, but it was always the same. He started to come and my form really improved. It would be fair to say, I went that extra yard because he was there. Also the fact that this could be his last experience of life, I did not want it to be a bad one. But then there was the time I went that extra yard, fouled someone and got sent off. My brother ten minutes later collapsed and was taken to ‘The General'. I thought that was it, his last experience of me was seeing me sent off. Unlucky would you say? However, he recovered, and I learnt to use the idea of ‘going the extra yard' with better timing and control.

To get here in the final also was a hard and difficult battle for me, no luck involved. I had to travel on a plane to away games. I was terrified of flying since I had seen the series ‘Lost'. I had to have a whisky to calm my nerves. I felt like an alcoholic taking a drink sometimes five o' clock in the morning. But it had to be done. The fact that the ground wasn't beneath my feet since the bike problem as also a real concern. At take off I became a frightened child of six again.
 
Anyway, I was not Berkamp and wanted to play in every game possible. I would forgo the anxiety I had because I knew there was a game of football at the other end. This sometimes kept me sane, but no always and company during the flight was not forthcoming. It was usually the psyhio who drew the short straw and had to sit next to me. She was very unattractive and very unsympathetic as well. Not that was lucky. If only a lovely air hostess took pity on me, but they were even harder on me than the psyho. What ever happen to one's feminine side. Did gay men take it all away from some women?
 
Despite the joy I had of flying to and from games we played well. I also was playing well, and my brother came to most games, home and away. It was good to have him around but he would not sit with me on the plane either. Was it me? But it was good to have him there but he was growing thinner and paler all the time.
 
However, we all got through the qualifying stages, and the first second and third rounds. But the fourth round luck was definitely not on our side. We were playing in Serbia, the crowd were hostile and racial abuse was shocking. I mean I am no prude.. but really these people really were racist and full of hate towards us. The referee was a timid fellow and the game was dangerous for the players, as the tackles were on the whole, not legitimate in this day and age for the game. We had two players injured and one send off for violence, but really, the referee should have sent their whole team off and the supporters for that. It was hard to stomach the injustice of this, but we still played the game. It was important to focus upon this as this could still work for us. We scored a break away goal in the 88 minute. I crossed from deep to our number nine who never really headed a ball ever. But on this occasion he did and it flew it the net. If only he used his head more in the complete sense he would be class.  Alas, we won it and deservedly so, and the trip on the plane back was not so traumatic for me.
 
The semis. My brother was taken ill again, but not on my account. It was the illness and this was really getting the better of him now. It would not be long. I wanted to win the cup when he was still around more so now. We won the semi final but a handsome margin. We were playing excellent football as the season was coming to a close. It seemed that we had started to gel at the right time. Particularly for this competition which was our only hope of silverware this season.
 
We had made the final, but my brother did not make it with us. It was a real shame. He was so pale and ill at the end. It was a relief it was over for him really. But I was so grieve stricken that he did not see me play in the final. But he saw me play all the way there, I suppose. After his death, I also lost form, my mind was elsewhere and I was dropped to the bench. I lost my position to a young lad who looked frightenly better than me despite his age. That wasn't luck, but I suppose his injury before the final was and here I am.
 
Whistle Blows     
 

I have not been lucky... I have worked to get here... we and I deserve this.

 
Hear the kick of the ball.
 
The scream off the crowd
 
Winning Goal and commentary from the radio confirming victory in the last minute and kick of the game.