This is a strange phenomenon. Man’s attraction to footballs. It really doesn’t matter where you are or who you are with – if you see a football, you HAVE to kick it. It’s in your DNA.
You could be on a romantic stroll with a loved one, enroute to a wedding or on your way to a job interview, if a football comes into your line of vision and you’ve been born with a penis, you’re going to go after it like a dog with a bone. You end up hoping that the five year old’s having a kick-about in the park will accidentally send the ball your way, allowing you to curl a 20 yards pass back to them with your left foot; or that you’ll be going past a Sunday League game and one team’s a man short; you can step into the breach and become a hero – footballing fantasies that take you back to your childhood and your deluded memories of missed opportunities. I COULD HAVE BEEN A FOOTBALLER, IF ONLY I’D GOT THE BREAKS!
I recently went on holiday to Italy and I took my girlfriend for a drink in a really posh hotel – we couldn’t afford to stay there but could just about foot the bill for two boozy beverages. Anyway, we went for a wander around the grounds to see what the lucky guests had at their disposal and lo and behold, we came across a five-a-side football pitch. No-one was playing on it, but there in front of one of the goals were TWO FOOTBALLS! TWO!!! Despite her best attempts to point out far more interesting things like flowers and lemon trees, the die was cast. My mind was made up. I pulled her towards the pitch. My vice-like grip meant that her reluctance to enter our own Theatre of Dreams was in vain. I moved towards the footballs. I did some keepy-uppys. And then I slammed the first ball into the unguarded goal. The ripple of the net was music to my ears. I took the next football and slammed it hard against a post. Football on metal. AMAZING. My girlfriend was not impressed – nor was she when I celebrated a goal by lying on the ground, Charlie George style, nor later, when I spoke in glowing terms about the hotel’s toilets. But to me, this was as close as I was going to get to playing for AC Milan. Kicking a football, into an empty goal, in Italy.
So next time you see a man wandering past a field, a park or a street where there’s some football being played, you’ll know why he’s distracted; why his mind is elsewhere. It’s because he’s clocked an opportunity to satisfy man’s most primal urge. Not sex, but football.