IMAGINE THAT…

What a goal! Off the upright, into the bottom corner! A Les Bradd piledriver from just outside the box with only minutes remaining! I couldn’t contain my excitement and did a lap of the garage in celebration. My Notts County Subbuteo table football team were invincible! Each plastic figure, hand-painted in the famous black and white stripes, were numbered too. And even if Eric Probert had a blob of brown paint over the side of his face it didn’t matter. These pieces of plastic, which were flicked to kick, had been elevated to a near reality by my imagination. A beautiful side of humanity that allowed me to create a fantasy world anywhere I chose to use it.

What a goal! Off the upright, into the bottom corner! A Les Bradd piledriver from just outside the box with only minutes remaining! I couldn’t contain my excitement and did a lap of the garage in celebration. My Notts County Subbuteo table football team were invincible! Each plastic figure, hand-painted in the famous black and white stripes, were numbered too. And even if Eric Probert had a blob of brown paint over the side of his face it didn’t matter. These pieces of plastic, which were flicked to kick, had been elevated to a near reality by my imagination. A beautiful side of humanity that allowed me to create a fantasy world anywhere I chose to use it.

Although I managed the best team at school I played in front of some woeful crowds. Ten thousand. Pitiful. Our league rules dictated that each person represented five thousand fans. Any subsequent people, such as parents or siblings, would be an extra quota, multiplied every time they walked back into the vicinity of play. Pets carried an additional value. Andrew Whittard, the manager of frequent league runners-up Tottenham Hotspur had his pitch in an open plan dining room. With a menagerie of animals too he regularly drew crowds of over one hundred thousand! Even with that home advantage Notts never lost at White Hart Lane! I never imagined losing.