Competition | 26 June 2010

In Competition No. 2652 you were invited to submit an extract from the autobiography of a sportsman packed with as many clichés as possible.

The World Cup will no doubt provide a feast of words and phrases that have had the life squeezed out of them, as well as ample opportunity to mock players and pundits for their unimaginative use of language. But no less a literary giant than Kazuo Ishiguro has come to the defence of footballing clichés, describing them as poignant and beautiful. ‘At the end of the day’ was singled out by the Booker prize-winning author as an expression of stoic ruefulness that comes close to reflecting the true human condition.

That and the classic ‘Early doors’ (which, I was disappointed to discover, was not in fact invented by Ron Atkinson but dates back to 1902, when it was used to indicate the moment when theatre doors were opened for the riff-raff to scramble for the unreserved seating) featured prominently in an entry in which you all gave 110 per cent.

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In a situation like deadball situations, I was absolutely up for it ten times out of ten. In a nutshell, that was what did the business, because, frankly, when all’s said and dusted, you get stuck in or the crowd goes mental. You have to pick and choose your moments, which you can’t just pick and choose, and show what your foot is made of. You practise until perfect, like your life depended on it, then absolutely step forward, and curl it like there was no tomorrow. And I was blessed with two feet, actually: I could score from all over the park, and I used to drop it into the box as sweet as nuts in May, and someone could do the business, or the keeper could watch like a kid as it sailed over him.