Sunday Sunday – chapter 2: Training Day

Sunday Sunday – chapter 2: Training Day

‘Sunday Sunday’ is the (only slightly) fictionalised memoir of my time in England’s most shambolic, rag-tag, and sometimes brilliant amateur football team. All names have been changed, though any likeness to real people is entirely the point…

In the corner of my eye I saw Robert Johnson standing on the curb. Cigarette drooping from a sneering mouth, he shook his head at the dumb white boy before him struggling along the street. Around me the pubs had spewed out those destined to spew the contents of their evening in one way or another, but off licences were still open and cashing in on the early morning bright ideas to keep drinking.

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Sunday Sunday – chapter 1: White Lines

Sunday Sunday – chapter 1: White Lines

‘Sunday Sunday’ is the (only slightly) fictionalised memoir of my time in England’s most shambolic, rag-tag, and sometimes brilliant amateur football team. All names have been changed to avoid both potential prosecution, and the wrath of several ex-girlfriends…

Outcasts may grow up to be novelists and filmmakers and computer tycoons, but they will never be the athletic ruling class.

A fierce sun hangs over the marshes. I convince myself that my skin is already turning a spiteful pink, so I roll down my sleeves and make the choice to swelter rather than burn. Around us, the pitches are recovering from the near endless barrage of the worst winter in years. The layers of snow and ice that anaesthetised tackles, and saw grown men refuse gloves, have finally retreated; the miniature lakes that saturated the surface and left us feeling soaked for days have evaporated.

Continue reading “Sunday Sunday – chapter 1: White Lines”