Sporting Roots

Anybody who vaguely knows me, knows that I am particularly passionate about sport. Since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, I have been a staunch Everton fan and most folks who cross my path are aware of this. Whether you went to school with me and no doubt abused me frequently, somebody I worked with and no doubt abused me, or you’re a family member or friend and have no doubt abused me, you’ll know who my team is and you will know how passionate I am about them despite all the abuse and poor performances. Randomly, two people recently called me a glory supporter – not many Evertonians can be accused of that, but it is true. I started supporting them in the mid-eighties when they were at the peak of European football. It’s been downhill ever since.

Among my first memories was Diego Maradona in 1986 and I was instantly fixated with him and the game. The truth is that it was always inevitable that I would work in sport, study sport, love watching sport, read about sport, live sport. From as early as I can remember, sport was on our television. It could have been tennis, it could have been NFL, you name it, we watched it. It was the same 25 years ago, and it is just as prevalent now if you show up at my parents’ house. Dad worked evenings and weekends, so we spent a lot of time growing up under the auspices of my mum – thankfully for Junior Bobby, Kath loved watching sports and it all grew from there.

As an eight-year-old, I can vividly recall getting a book for my birthday on the rules of NFL, which I recited and learned as I watched the game. Watching was not always possible – bed times as a child can be terribly restrictive especially when you’ve never been a great sleeper and I would listen to the radio coverage of the NFL quietly in my room – half listening to the radio and half listening for the creeks of the staircase. Of course, that was assuming my sister didn’t grass me up.

Dad has always enjoyed watching sports but for a slightly different reason. If he has a bet on a snail race and it is televised, he’ll be flicking the channels trying to find coverage. That is no doubt why I always had an attraction to data and betting, even if I fell into my role with Smartodds.

When HJ lived in Calgary and I spent a lot of time over there, I heard about this new device which allowed you to watch television over the internet if you had it connected to a cable/sky box and the internet. The Slingbox was to become a lifesaver on my travels. I picked one up in Calgary, took it back to the UK and connected it to mum and dad’s television. I had hit the jackpot. The issue with the Canadian box in the UK was that one feature did not work – the remote control – so for a good few years, if I wanted to watch something, I would call or text my folks asking them to change channel. They bought me a UK one last year and I can now change it myself – I can only apologise to them and my niece and nephew who are frequently disturbed by Scooby Doo being interrupted by Uncle Rob who wants to watch a random cricket game even though I am a ninety minute flight away. No wonder kids believe in magic.

I love my parents for many reasons and in many ways, but their love of sport and how it rubbed off on to me, along with a number of other characteristics goes a long way to explaining me. A good friend of ours often reminds me of how he watched the Stanley Cup Final with my mum from a hotel in Cologne as I drifted asleep for a period and Mum, watching at home, and him watching on my laptop via the slingbox, stayed the course at 4am. How many parents stay up til 4am to watch a Hockey match? HJ is in Innsbruck this week and I have stayed up til 3.30-4am every night watching Hockey or NFL. So if you wonder why I may be a little abnormal in doing so, look no further than my Mum.

It is funny how those kind of Stanley Cup moments stay with you and always will. In the last few years, I’ve attended a considerable number of sporting events, and I have tried wherever possible to take my parents to them. Christmas and Birthday presents are never easy these days – it’s fair to say that the culture nowadays is that we buy something if we need it. Given that they are sport fans, I like to give them ‘moments’ and ‘memories’ as gifts. Maybe it is an excuse for me to go also, I won’t lie! But more than anything, it’s my way of thanking them for instilling my passion for sport. I’m banking on neither of them reading this blog, but I’m looking forward to the next one I have lined up if I can somehow pull it off.

The Devil Is In The Detail

I think we all have an optimum way of working. Some folks like to work in complete silence. Some folks like to work on their own. Some folks like to work in an open plan office space. Some folks like to work in the mornings. Some folks like to whistle while they work. That annoys me. Some folks don’t like to work.

Personally, I enjoy working. I made it my mission when I was a fresh faced but spotty boy from Leeds at school to work in something I loved and enjoyed. I saw my parents work so hard, such long hours, doing work that they didn’t particularly enjoy to give me and my sister a good start in life. I don’t like the fact that they had to, but I am eternally grateful. So I made it my mission to do something I enjoy and that something was sport. Football would be the ideal thing, but sport would keep me motivated to work and to work hard for the long forty-plus year slog we all have to make.

When I was young, I pretty much found my optimum way of working. If it was something I was not interested in, I just did enough to reach the next level. My mum showed me my school reports a month or so ago and it was hilarious to read the comments which are as appropriate now as they were twenty years ago. If it was something I was interested in or could tailor to football such as a random poem or story in English, I excelled.

The other thing I noticed when I was young was that I had a tendency to work best under pressure. That usually meant doing work at the very last minute. In some ways I am incredibly organised and meticulous. In other ways, I only produce my best when the pressure is on. During my working life, the same has always applied. I have always sort the high tempo intensity that brings the best out of me and it is what I enjoy.

In terms of working environment, I am not one to particularly revel in working in silence or on my own. Give me an airport, a room full of people, loud noise and music, all kinds of disturbances, and I am able to find my own silence and solitude in my head to work. I am reasonably fortunate to be able to do that. Given the travel and the hectic lifestyle I have often led, it has been the only way to progress.

I was always a nighthawk and still am. I generally produce my best late at night. Maybe it is another case leaving things until the last minute, I am not sure, but it is something I have always enjoyed. Whether I had to write an essay through the night, research and analyse football matches, or general stuff, the night has always been my friend. I sit here right now at 4.30am writing this blog and I am enjoying every moment. If you are reading this any time before 6am, then I apologise and hope you can go back to sleep.

My other place of great thought and contemplation is the loo. I kid you not. Instead of a magazine, try take a problem or issue to the loo next time, and give it some rational thought. It is amazing what you can come up with sometimes on the throne.

Not everything works for all people. HJ is an early bird and gets more done in the first few hours of the day than I get done before 3pm. My way is certainly not the best way, that I am sure. But it works for me. The devil is in the detail and working out our optimum way to work or live is pretty important for me.