The Kings and I

After a brief Umbro betrayal, Puma's classic football boots beckon me back

- Max Rushden

There is something indescribably beautiful about finding a pair of football boots that fit you perfectly. It is like Cinderella's glass slippers - your foot just slides in, the instep and arches ensconced in the cushioning - or putting Excalibur back in the stone.

Until you go out on the pitch, anything is possible. That boot for me is the Puma King. To be clear, this isn't an advertorial - Herr Puma hasn't given me a brown envelope, or a free pair. They are just the boots that fit. If I had slightly narrower feet and there's no doubt I would be in the pocket of big Copa Mundial. However, since having my own bank account and my own mind, I have given over three decades to amateur football accompanied by the pure black leather and big white tongue of those boots. I haven't always been faithful. Mum put me in Dunlops in the mid-80s. I flirted with Nike Tiempos for a time, but I've always come back.

I can stare at those boots sitting on the shoe rack for hours. The promise they bring: of playing a side-footed pass, of bringing a ball out of the sky with the stitching on the instep or catching a half-volley and caressing it into the back of the net. (Time since last goal: a season and a half. Own goals scored in that time: two.)

The issues really start just above the boot. My hip-groin expert has discovered more arthritis than seems ideal for a 45-year-old. I spend 15 minutes a day with one end of a giant rubber band tied to a broomhandle and the other wedged in the back door, trying to activate muscles that have lain dormant for the best part of half a century.