I was just thinking about a guy called Pete.
He lived opposite us, when we moved into our second house in South Africa. He became our instant friend, because we had a swimming pool in our back garden.
After school, we'd often meet up with him, mostly over his house because he had a much better imagination when it came to playing games. His prize piece being a huge sheet of thick plywood, covered with mini buildings, grass, bunkers, bushes, towers, runways, lights and planes. Lots of 'em. He'd built a huge airport, so he could play with his 'Airfix' models. Genius.
He was really cool kid. The kind you'd really want as a mate. Except when he played football. When he played football, he was a cock!
2 parlez:
Was he the sort that used to declare that that goal you just scored wasn't actually a goal because the imaginary whistle had gone for a free kick after you fouled his imaginary player?
He was just a general tosser. It's like he got posessed by another person.
I wonder if it was these childhood experiences like that, that caused me to dislike football as an adult?
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