The (not so) beautiful game.

I’ve been watching a lot of footy lately; it must be a latent British gene similar to the tea drinking one that didn’t rear its delightful Earl Grey head until I was in my mid 30’s.

Now don’t get me wrong, just because my viewing hours have increased - in no way has this transferred into actual knowledge as to how to play the game. In fact I watch a game now the way I always have done– with a proportionally balanced lack of knowledge for the rules and a ‘people magazine’ type interest in the players. Does that make me any less of a fan....not on your nelly. I drive home and salivate with the knowledge that I’m going to be watching Milan v Juventus or Man City v Chelsea. I oft think 'God there's so much more I could do with my evenings', but watching 22 men run after that ball for 90 minutes is consistency hard to beat. Good grief ( I blame Giampaolo).

With my current diet of at least two or three matches a week I sit on my couch eating dinner, enjoying a glass of wine and wondering ‘how hard can it be to run, pass, strike and fake injury for 90 minutes’? A naive question I know - as I rarely work out for more than an hour at a time and get puffed out after 20 minutes of running (ok maybe 15)!

So one ill advised afternoon I grabbed my dirty rarely used football and went to the park to see what those lads are actually made of . Ladies and gentlemen, my answer was all too apparent ‘sterner stuff than me’! Let me put it this way, the first thing that hurt was my big toe nail and I know how to kick a football!!!

Meanwhile, in honor of his extended stay in Milan, Beckham got a new tattoo!