Like a million other fathers and sons, football has always been the thing that connects me and my Dad as much as our surname or clickey toes. We’re united by the feeling that life should never get in the way of the game. Still today if there’s an important adult matter or bad news to talk about on the phone, it’s best done after 20 minutes of transfer tittle-tattle.
Dad recently unearthed this photo of his childhood bedroom. Underneath it is one of mine, circa sometime in 1991 at 7.31. Do kids still clad their rooms in this way? I hope so.