The Perfect Combination

We all love to give or have an opinion on things. We love to rank and rate things. We love to compare and contrast. I love all those things. I also love to travel. I also love to watch sports. All this loving combined leads me to one thing – a ranking of my favourite places to watch sport from all the places I have travelled. We’re not talking venues or stadiums, we’re talking top five sports bars baby!

1.       Lagasse’s Stadium – Las Vegas

This is the sports bar of all sports bars and I have been here just a couple of times. The bar is shaped and designed like a stadium, and has a stack load of ridiculously comfortably sofas and couches to watch any of the 20 big screens on the far wall. Words cannot describe this one I’m afraid until you go on a Sunday afternoon and watch NFL there. Book in advance, that’s all I will say, but it is well worth it.

2.       Real Sports Bar & Grill – Toronto

The reason I am writing this blog is because I am in Toronto this week and there’s only one place my buttocks will be perching throughout the day on Saturday! This place is insanely large, has the filthy North American menu that we all dream about (but the obesity nightmare promptly follows), and a huge range of beers. There is literally a television screen everywhere you look – it is just tough to watch them all!

3.       ESPN Sports Bar – Now defunct but was in NYC and LV

Another dream venue for any sports/beer/food fan with screens coming out of your ears and plenty of beer on tap. I have to admit however, the winner for this place was unquestionably the spicy BBQ sauce that came with the chicken tenders – no better taste in the whole wide world. Actually, they sold it on in Vegas at New York New York hotel, but it is virtually the same and just branded differently.

4.       Hooters – Anywhere

Now I know what you are thinking. Rob, you’re a filthy pervert and I shall never look at you in the same light ever again. I’m looking at the screens I promise, just the screens. Oh, and the boneless chicken wings! Who would have thought that they could make boneless chicken wings! Sounds innocuous now I think about it, but aside from those, it is a great place and atmosphere to watch sports. Honest.

5.       Walkabout – Various

Now in some respects, I am not sure this one merits reaching this list – there is esteemed company. What I will say however, is that going to Walkabout to watch any England v Australia game in any sport is fabulous and highly recommended. I’m not saying it won’t be dirty, there may be a chav or two, and the carpets may be sticky, but you will occasionally find a good one somewhere across the UK and have an entertaining session. Ok, maybe I am clutching at straws here.

When I was 16, I worked in Wakefield. They opened a Sports Bar just around the corner from the restaurant that I worked at. As I started work at 5pm, that gave me an hour to watch football before starting work, so I frequented the bar every Saturday afternoon. It was a fantastic place and the kind of place that I dreamed could be exported into my cellar when I grew up and had my own place. Sadly, it did not take long to go downhill. It attracted the wrong crowd, and it eventually had chards of glass on the sticky carpet which promptly tells you to leave a bar as soon as you have entered. Sad but true. I love the concept of a sports bar, but I have yet to really stumble across a gem in the UK like I have in North America which is why the list comprises largely of North American establishments. That along with the fact that watching sport, drinking beer, and eating filthy North American food is great fun. If anybody knows of any awesome sports bars, anywhere in the world, I want to know please. Don’t be shy.

Patriot Games

I need to raise my game.  I enjoy blogging, but I am underperforming. I need to write more. This blog should have come four weeks ago, but better late than never right? I have to write a blog for Onside Analysis next week, so I’m writing a Random one to get back in the swing of things before I get my teeth stuck into that one.

Both my Uncle George and I vividly recall the battles and discussions we used to have when I was a small chap as I raved about how cool Germany and some of my exchange student friends were, and he recalled conflicts going way back to the 40s. We relished the battles then, and we laugh about them now. Maybe it was the respect for each other that we understood the way the other one felt, but neither of us backed down or gave ground.

There was nothing ever racist about those feelings, just the kind of feelings you would have if you had been involved in a war no doubt. The irony about it all, and a key part of my argument was that I loved spending time in Germany and with my German friends because we had so much in common. Similar sense of humour, a beer drinking culture, a passion for football, and in many respects, a pride about their nation......which lends itself to single-mindedness and stubbornness. All the ingredients to make a war, but to make a friend also. The Germans are far more like the English than many other nationalities. They are different, but they are similar. More so than many other countries close by.....read France, Spain, Italy etc.

My favourite national team when I was a child was Argentina. My hero in the playground was Diego Armando Maradona. Not the most popular team or player in England at that time, and not now. Diego was amazing to watch, it never mattered to me where he came from. 1990 was a slight shift in emphasis, but for some reason I admired the filthiness and ruthlessness that they employed right until the very end. The very definition of filth. It was more than England ever showed however in my eyes.

I have never been patriotic. The closest I have ever come to the word patriotic is supporting the New England Patriots. As a kid, I took a shine for Everton. Not Leeds where I am born and bred. Everybody else around me was a Leeds fan. I wanted something different. In cricket, I followed Hampshire because I adored the finesse and grace of David Gower, the brutality of Robin Smith and his awesome square cuts, and the bowling action of Malcolm Marshall. It was never Yorkshire.

The only tinges of patriotism I have had in recent years have come while I have been living abroad or living with foreigners in the UK while at Uni. People love to hammer England. I quite enjoy it myself, but it is a bit like me criticising my mother. It is fine if I do it, but god forbid anybody else to have a go! (Not that I would Mum, not that I would!)

I was super sceptical about the Olympics. That was more down to security and transport issues than anything else, but also because i have never been patriotic and I have never been taken by the Olympics. There are too many sports that just do not do it for me – in truth that is the same now. However, I have a new found appreciation for some sports. BMX being one, and Handball being another.

These two photos and moments did it for me. How could you not be taken by such an amazing spectacle? It was however the way in which virtually the whole country united around the Games that was a pleasure to watch. A pleasure regardless of whoever you are and where you come from, but unquestionably a sense of pride that it is your country that has put on this fantastic show. Regardless of where you come from, if you were sat in the Olympic Stadium watching Mo Farah win the 5k and 10k races, I defy anybody not to have had goose bumps. Watching the Jamaican 4x100m relay team was the same.

Maybe I am more patriotic than I would like to believe or show, maybe it just resides somewhere deep inside and it only comes out when it is pushed. Maybe having a father who cheers Brazil at the World Cup, Spain at the Euros, Man Utd in the Premier League, and whoever he has bet on in any other sport, has led to me being just as confused about my roots. The Olympic managed to bring everybody together. It felt a bit like one of our family parties actually. Everybody has their quirks, their differences, but never let that get in the way of a bloody good do. If you don’t like German people, then go to Oktoberfest in the next few weeks, and a bit like the Mo Farah moments, I defy anybody to come back with a negative experience. And if you don’t like me or my blog, then I invite you to a family BBQ next summer...there’s just something special about bringing people together and having a good time – regardless of where you’re from or what team you support.

Sportingly Random

I was hoping that this blog would get written a couple of weeks ago, but I’ve since learning that blog posts don’t write themselves. My first in August…I am officially a disgrace. A couple of my favourite sports writers, Steve Kim of Maxboxing and Peter King of SI, write some of their thoughts in brief flurries and bullet points….and I like it. Sometimes better than just read long sentences, simple as that. Here goes with some of my random thoughts on sport.

I think that the cancellation of UFC 151 is a dark day for MMA. In a nutshell, the challenger in the title fight got injured, the Champion refused to face another guy put forward, and the UFC cancelled the show. I would have been fuming if I was attending and had flights and hotel booked. Fortunately, that cancellation means Jon Jones is going to fight on the Toronto card in September that I may just be going to. Despite any good fortune for me, I am going to boo him. If you want to read more about it, this is the best balanced piece I have read on it all.

I think that Fernando Torres is going to have a fantastic season. Chelsea will play to his style and strengths now Drogba and Anelka are out of the way, and I think it will pay dividends.

I think that I am not late in predicting anything NFL with the season starting in one week. I find predicting a Superbowl winner to be pretty tough as so much is dependent on injuries in this sport, but my tip for surprising outsiders? The Kansas City Chiefs.

I think that sadly, as much as people have made an effort to publicise and promote the Paralympics, very few people will realise it is happening on their doorsteps. Hopefully a couple of British stars will somehow emerge and that will just spark some interest.

I think that if you were not aware, the Football Association have spent £120m on a brand new National Football Centre in Burton-upon-Trent….and it looks amazing. Whether it proves to be a success however depends on the people, the processes and the mentality…..and there is plenty of room for improvement in those areas.

I think that the last few days of the transfer window are going to be frenetic in England. The Euros delayed the market kicking off, but it is in full swing. I am expecting two more Everton signings to put a smile on my face….and yes, I’ll be pressing refresh on my phone from Paris on Friday night and racking up my mobile phone bill.

I think I will be pretty annoyed if the NHL and the players do not resolve their issues and get this season going. Nothing good is going to come of it aside from some dollars being shifted in one direction from the other. Disillusionment among the fans is the most likely outcome, and particularly in those cities where they struggle for support as it is. Sort it out.

I think that Falcao is the best striker in world football right now. It is a matter of time before he moves (I heard he was linked with Chelsea today), and I would love to see him playing in England. If only Arsene Wenger and Arsenal would splash £40m on a player.

Farewell

When I write a blog, it’s usually because I have random feelings and random thoughts. Tonight I have strong and sad feelings and strong and sad thoughts. My eyes are streaming as I type this, but if there’s one person who deserves a blog and a mention, it is Malcolm Patterson.

I met Mac almost six years ago. I started dating my wife six and a half years ago and I followed her to this amazing island of Prince Edward’s…if I am brutally honest I had never even heard of it prior to Hannah Jane. I worked for a consultancy company specialising in the betting industry. Meeting this special family and these special grandparents was tough enough as it was but I had major reservations about meeting the wife-to-be’s family as I undoubtedly had to explain my career path and gambling is hardly the easiest choice to explain…especially in North America. I went for the analysis and data in football point of view, and mentioned, if somewhat glossed over, the betting angle.

I rapidly learned that none of that really mattered. I wasn’t judged on what I did, I was being judged on who I was and am. I hope I didn’t disappoint. The reverse angle didn’t disappoint in the slightest. Malcolm and Nellie have always made me feel like their own….I cannot quite imagine what being one of their own actually feels like.

Malcolm passed away this evening, and all I can possibly explain or hint at is how sad I feel tonight. I am very much like my dad in this sense, and I take loss hard. Of all the aspects, characteristics, qualities and weaknesses that I get from my parents, this kind of emotion undoubtedly comes from my father. Dad takes things hard, and always has. That is far from saying my mum doesn’t….anybody who reads my blog knows exactly what I think of her. This particular side of me comes from my dad though. Most of the guys that will read this will no doubt want to rip me apart because of it, but you’ll know what it is about and it is one of the reasons why a. we are friends and b. you are reading this.

Two and a half years ago, Malcolm and Nellie came to Leeds for Christmas. HJ and I have a principle whereby one Xmas is spent in one country and one in the other, so we split time between both families. Mac and Nel came to Yorkshire at the grand old age of 84. I cannot quite describe what that meant to HJ and me. I had it in mind to propose to my girl, and their presence made it the perfect setting. After I gathered the courage to propose, we told our parents and then went into Malcolm and Nellie’s room. It was shortly before supper and they were fast asleep on the bed. We stirred them gently and broke the news, and their eyes lit up.

Fast forward a couple of years and tonight all I can picture is Mac and my girl rocking the dance floor in a Halifax bar. Their attendance at our wedding meant the absolute world to the pair of us. Just as the presence of my family from Yorkshire coming all the way to Nova Scotia did. Weddings are funny old days that bring out different emotions in different people. For HJ and I, we could not have wished for a better day than 4^th August, 2011, and that was in no small part due to the presence of Mac and Nel.

I have known Mac for six years. I cannot imagine how it would feel tonight having known him for 32 years…..or more….or less. I would not dream of downplaying any relationship that he had. What I can say is that knowing him for six years, six weeks, six days, six hours, six minutes…..you would quickly know this gem of a husband, this dad, this grandfather, this friend….and this grandfather-in-law.

My mum’s dad passed away when I was pretty young. I can recall the fifty pences and the boiled sweets that he used to give me when we visited. I can recall his large ears and him sitting in the armchair at Florence Mount. I wish I knew him better….and I wish I hadn’t inherited his ears. You can’t win ‘em all. My dad’s dad was Spanish, and I was older when he passed, but again, was never able to spend as much time as I would have liked with him as I saw him maybe once or twice a year if I was lucky. He had a sense of humour, much like my dad, and much like me. Small minds think alike, but we found it. I am blessed to have the family that I have, they are amazing. Mac was the perfect granddad, and I’m going to claim him, as I have done the last six years, as my grandfather. I can only wish to have had that kind of relationship, with that kind of gentleman, for my 32 years of existence.

Sat in the cottage a couple of weeks ago, the phone rang, and it was an organisation asking if Malcolm was still willing to volunteer his time to helping out those in need. He had put his name down some weeks earlier to help out. That was who he was, and what he did. If I was a betting man, I’ll say that there won’t be a better attended funeral in Montague, Charlottetown or PEI for years to come. You’ll be missed Mac, sorely missed and as much as I’m not a fan, I’ll raise a rye and ginger for you xo

When You Say Nothing At All

If you know me, then you have probably heard me talk or read something I have written about Mia. She is my six-year-old niece and is one of the most adorable people I know. Before she learned the art of speech, Mia was often seen biting, spitting, or throwing the biggest tantrum you would have witnessed. This all made sense if you knew her mum when she was a kid. Bratiness however transformed into adorability.  If you haven’t adopted one of my favourite words, this is the kind of transformation examples that you will see in the dictionary under the term bouncebackability. We wrote her off. Cute kid, but the biggest brat of all time and Super Nanny was needed. She learned how to speak and the frustration resided and being able to express herself vocally reduced the need to inflict physical and mental pain on those around.

She received her school report last week and I’ll take a quote from it.

“Mia is a popular member of the class and she has a close circle of special friends. She is also one of the most thoughtful and sensitive children I have ever had the pleasure to teach.”

How fortunate Mrs Bell never her met her four years or so ago.

My job in the betting industry taught me one thing. As passionate as I have always been about football, I have developed an ability to remove emotion out of certain equations or decisions and to try to evaluate things on their merits and not be swayed by any biases I may have. It is not easy. Maybe I am biased with Mia. Maybe every kid’s report was similar to that and Mrs Bell has five standard templates that she copies and pastes from one to the next.

Kids come out with pearls of wisdom all the time that usually crack you up. One of the joys of being a parent, uncle/auntie, grandparent etc. Mia has had her fair share and I have yet to meet a kid like her. Last week she told her mum that when Nanna passes away, she is going to move into her house so that she can be close to her. I have not managed to break it to her yet that Uncle Rob will be selling up and putting that cash on black in Vegas. I’m sure she will understand one day. I have however never come across a kid who thinks as deeply as her. I recall bursting into tears after sitting in silence for hours one evening when I was a kid and just mum and I were home. I begged her not to die and to live forever. Mum never made the promise but said she would be around for a long time. Mia is not as naïve as I clearly was, but she is already up to speed a certain realities of life that completely belie her age.

I have always been a deep thinker. I suspect that comes across in my blog and words, perhaps more so than in my personality, but that is tough for me to judge. I’ve always been attracted and have warmed to fellow deep thinkers. As I have gotten older, I find myself surrounded more and more by ‘thoughtful and sensitive’ people as my inbuilt filter system has weeded out many of those lacking those traits. I can only hope and try to reciprocate the thoughtfulness and sensitivity, and get the very most out of those relationships.

I have been thinking a lot recently about the same theme that Mia was referring to. She is on one end of the age scale, and there are folk I know and care about on the other end. None of this business gets easier, but like Mia, we try find ways to deal with something that is inevitable at some point. Who knows, maybe by the time I am old and Mia is grown up, there will be a live forever injection we can take. Although after somebody told me yesterday ‘what?! You’re only 32!?’ I’m not sure it is something I’ll be signing up for in any rush.

Mia is on to something however. No, moving in is not the answer or solution for me, and Uncle Rob’s share will go on black, rather than red due to my obvious distaste for that colour. It is the moments, the words, the gestures that imprint in our minds long afterwards. There is something hugely reassuring we can take from any key relationship in  our lives and that twenty years later, you know precisely what they would say, what they would do, what they would advise and what facial expression they would pull. I am not going to stop asking or seeking for any of the above – I’ll still talk to everybody and ask the questions, bits of advice. If I know you well, I just know what you’re going to say or what you think. It’s how I approach and deal with things in this complex world (read my head) that we live in.

Things To Do

Burns and I are famous for making to do lists. Busy lives and busy minds require some kind of organisation and we make streams of 'things to do' lists. They are generally extremely useful and help us remember things which could quite easily slip the net...occasionally they do. When you have 'write a to do list' on your 'to do' list, you know you're in trouble.

I have three to do lists on the go, and I usually write them twice a week. One is for my company Onside Analysis. One is for my website www.jumpinsport.com. One is for personal stuff. There are items that sit on all three that have been on for far too long that need zapping - and I will use this blog as motivation to zap one on each tonight.

The first two lists are pretty self explanatory and comprise of all the things I need to do for work. The third is completely random. It may include booking flights, it may include ordering something online, it may include reviewing my personal hygiene. Possibly the funniest moment involving my to do lists came in a senior management meeting a few years back when the owner of the company enquired as to whether I had cut my nails yet. He had caught a glimpse of my personal to do list. There is simply no blagging that one to be honest.

The main purpose behind the to do list is to ensure that I remember to do everything I need to do and on time. It came from seeing my mum constantly making shopping lists for what food we needed, as well as lists for what needed to be cleaned. My dad makes them frequently though I can't quite worked out the horse's name or which race meeting it is in.

Aside from the general reminder purpose, I would say that possibly the most important element of the list is being able to put a single line through each item. You would never think such a little bit of ink would make somebody so happy. The sense of achievement comes from acknowledging a job done and that is an important part for me.

Writing a blog should never form part of a to do list however in my view. Yet after not writing one for a while, it did last week. It should come when it comes, a bit like my mum's Yorkshire Puddings....you have to mix the pudding thoroughly, pour into the tray, leaving the oven door closed, and patiently wait for them to rise majestically before serving up. The alternative is a flat flavourless pudding with no real substance. You can't force, rush or plan something like a Yorkshire Pud or a blog and although your head or to do list may be telling you it is time to write a blog or make some Yorkshires, they'll come to you when you wait patiently and deserve them. You deserve a blog today. I deserve some Yorkshires next week.

Secret Garden

One of the best things about Lausanne and what makes the prospect of leaving some day so difficult is moving away from our friends. It is going to happen someday, we all know that. We just do not know when exactly, and we all know we do not want to be the last ones standing. There is a six month rule in place whereby anybody departing must give a six month notice period. Having worked a six-month notice period previously, I know how tough that is, but this is more important than that.

Some of our most memorable trips have been together as a group. Barcelona, London, Carolina, Nova Scotia, and Madrid have all been fantastic trips which everybody will remember.  There have been a couple of weddings along the way, and there are a couple more to go. Sharing these moments, these trips with our fab group of friends, is special, and I know they will stick in my memory.

There is one place which is special to HJ and me. I planned a surprise trip to St Tropez when we were studying together over Easter 2006. Hannah was desperately trying to woo me, and I was just playing it cool as always, but thought I’d whisk here away somewhere pleasant. I have no real idea why I came up with this place, but I just felt my hot girlfriend at the time would enjoy it and it looked the ideal place to relax. As with virtually all trips we make socially, it was worth spending the time to read the reviews of all hotels and find the best place, and I stumbled across a gem.

The first place we ever went together was a filthy and romantic weekend in Leeds. Filthy because it was -5c and HJ’s eyes almost popped out of her head when she saw what some of the ladies were wearing on a night out. I thought they were overdressed personally. And romantic because it was Leeds. Ok, perhaps that is still part of the filthy bit - I cannot quite blag that any more after many of our friends visited Leeds on my stag do. But it was around the birth of my adorable niece and for that reason, along with it being the first trip with HJ, it made it memorable to me.

The first more exotic trip was St Tropez however. We have been virtually every year since, and sometimes a couple of times each year…….every time we have been to the same hotel. When we went after I finished working at the Euros in June, it may have been our ninth or tenth time there. The staff in the hotel are exactly the same as when we first went there and most of them know us now. It took a while, and it is certainly cliquey….picture us turning up the first time with our backpacks….they had to drop the value of the rooms that weekend due to us lowering the standard. Our last visit was memorable because of my friend behind the bar. I have had lengthy discussions with him the last couple of times I have been. He is a good looking, smooth French chap, and if one was inclined that way, he would be a dreamboat. However, he has the memory of a sieve and should have been born 190cm, blonde, and with crazy heels. I ask for a cheeky beer, and he asks if we have ever been to St Tropez before. I reply yes. He says, ‘…but this hotel?’ I reply yes, only eight times. No clue but quite funny really.

It kind of feels like spending time in a French version of Gossip Girl. Hard to describe unless you see it. Needless to say that Burns and I keep ourselves to ourselves and largely stay clear of the Chucks and Serenas…..that reference was included for a number of my Gossip Girl fan readers….I’ve never seen it myself. It is however a special place because it is our place. It is a place we’ve never been with any others. It is a place we have come to know well, and enjoy. It is a place that had the first time we visited been a bad experience, we may never have gone again. It is a place that we made a pact on – that we will never go with anybody else. There is something magic about that.

Murder on Gdansk Floor

If you read my blog, you likely read it due to the Facebook update. If you are on Facebook, you will have likely have seen some random pictures of me in Gdansk, Poland over the last three weeks.

I left UEFA around 18 months ago, but have been fortunate enough to have been invited to work on some Champions League, Europa League and now the European Championships as an external. I struck lucky in Gdansk with the Spanish in town, a fantastic group of people to work with, and a fantastic city. Gdansk is a cool place, though we actually spent more time in neighbouring Sopot. Both cities are in Northern Poland and are on the Baltic Sea, which means beach time baby. I managed to visit the beach twice. Once at 5am for a vodka-fuelled swim, and another time for a short part of a run which was clearly a bad decision. As a side note, Sopot will host the 2014 World Indoor Athletics Championships and I am sure it will host a fantastic event.

Weather-wise, we were not so lucky. It rained most days and was quite cold most of the time. We had one glorious day of 30c but unfortunately it was Spain v Croatia, and I was wearing the full suit. Not ideal, and with a classic blue shirt on, you have to wear the jacket if you're prone to sweating like me.

Events like this are somewhat unnatural from a work perspective and so much depends on the people you work with. The hours are long, and it can be reminiscent of Big Brother as you spend a lot of time with your colleagues. My team were fantastic to work with - everybody did their jobs, we all had sufficiently decent musical tastes (I did not subject them to Barry or JBJ though), and we had laugh after laugh, picking up a few nicknames along the way which cannot be printed. All in all, a thoroughly enjoyable experience.

What did I learn from Euro 2012?

…..that as much as I tried to dislike Jose Reina and Fernando Torres when we interviewed them due to their Liverpool connections, I could only find them incredibly friendly and normal.

….that as glamorous as it sounds to be working on a European Championships, it is three or four weeks of incredibly long hours and hard work. I am not saying it was not fun, but it is not easy.

….that working behind the scenes with players and coaches is a fantastic experience. I learned some amazing secrets that are not in the public domain….and unfortunately, they will remain that way!

….that some people can deal with pressure and stressful moments, and others cannot in all walks of life, and I am thankful that I generally can.

….that the people of Poland are extremely friendly and fun with Sopot & Gdansk ranking up there on my list as fun places to visit.

….that the Irish fans are fantastic. The results were miserable, but the fans are an absolute credit. They just have fun, simple as that…nothing more, nothing less.

….that Twitter has become the place for breaking news and coverage in sport. It may have struggled to cope with the barrage of Tweets at times, but that is where it is at these days.

….that I have said it before and I will say it again, as much as I have enjoyed the tournament, the quality of it is not as good as the Champions League in my view.

….that Polish vodka is dangerous and should not be mixed with beer. Or Jaegermeister. Or Mojitos. Or anything else.

….that my favourite t-shirt in Gdansk was on that had ‘GERMANY’ printed in bold across the middle, and underneath it read ‘I’m actually Greek but we’re sponsored by Germany’. Hilarious!

Age and Beauty

When I was younger, I wondered whether older men and women viewed fellow 60/70 year-olds as sensationally hot and attractive, just as I viewed a 21-year-old hotty when I was around that age. Does the 70-year-old granny walk past the pub and all the old guys’ heads turn with a cheeky whistle or two? I like to think that I was a bright kid, but I was certainly prone to getting sucked into some ridiculous misconceptions. There were others. I used to think gravy came from graveyards and Vicks Vapor Rub was made by Vicars. It took some time to live those down too.

Age, growing up and getting old is a funny old thing. I spent two weeks in the UK in May, mainly in Leeds doing a coaching course. The early stages of the course are based around youth football. There are certainly important technical lessons that I learned, but the overriding factor for me were the social aspects of coaching, and how you should treat the players. My favourite coaches or teachers were the ones who created the most enjoyable working environment and that got the best out of me - I generally believe that to be the case regardless of whether you’re a 11-year-old kid chasing a ball around a park, or a 40-year-old office worker.

Spending time with my family over those two weeks was a pleasure as always. I get as much satisfaction from spending time with my ridiculously adorable 6-year-old niece Mia and feisty ‘destined-for-the-UFC' nephew Max, as I do with the older folks in the Leeds crew. Time ticks by but the people are the same. I noted another myth while at home when my Mum said that time goes by too fast – the days, weeks and months just fly by….and nothing gets done. Well Mum, time ticks by the same as it always did, there are still sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, 24 hours in a day. And more importantly, you fill your days, weeks and months constantly. It is far better than sitting at home all day counting the hours. The days go so much slower when you look at the clock, or have nothing to do. Sometimes when I wonder where the time has gone, I think about what I have achieved, places I have been, and people I have seen, and I realise that is where the time went.

During those two weeks in Leeds, the experiences we all have at different stages of our lives, and how we interact with people of different ages was on my mind in a combination of random thoughts. I have heard a few people say that your 30’s are the best years of your life. That may have just been somebody feeling sympathetic towards me when I hit the 30 mark. So, ever the analytical mind, I decided to take a look at the various decades of one’s life and the general characteristics and experiences that you go through to try work out which decade was actually the most enjoyable.

The Noughties

You spend a fair amount of this time having absolutely no idea what you should do, but you just get on with it. You don’t care what others think, you poo and pee all over and start to say things that make older people squirm….somehow you’re still loved and adored by all. You will never learn and absorb as much in a decade as you will in this one.

The Teens

You still have no idea what you should do, but you know what you do not want to do – and that is more or less anything your parents or teachers want you to do. You care what everybody else thinks, but you don’t want to show it or let people know that you have developed those things called feelings. Somewhere just before the middle of this decade you wake up one morning and realise the same or opposite sex are quite appealing after being in denial for years, but you have no real idea how to deal with that until later in the decade. The decade of ‘trial and error’.

The Twenties

The harsh reality of work has almost certainly kicked in and it is ‘find your way in life’ decade. You realise that having your own money to spend is amazing, but actually, with all the responsibility that goes with it and all the people wanting their share of it, you recognise that being a student was not so bad after all. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to travel, probably to put off the work issue, escape it for a while, or buy some time to work out what you actually want to do for a job. You don’t realise that most other people in life do not love their jobs and have just fallen into something. You just know that you don’t know what it is exactly that you want to do for the next 40 years. Retirement sounds like a distant dream.

The Thirties

The decade of the ‘ticking clock’. If marriage and kids have not happened yet, everybody in your family is likely to be wondering if you are gay or have the cojones to ask the question. There is a different pressure in this decade, and that realisation comes when you find yourself submersed by students in a bar one night, and realise the hotty in the corner has more chance of being your child than your lover. Once you realised that, you can relax, be confident in yourself and get on with enjoying life. You’ve got some great relationships, many of which will be keepers as you realise that if you are friends with people as this point of your life, it is because you want to be friends with them.

The Middle Ages

Another type of pressure in this decade, and that realisation comes when you find yourself submersed by students in a bar one night, and realise the hotty in the corner is your child and there is a smooth guy chatting to her, and he is bigger than you. You are however happier going to the old pub that does not have televisions or music for a good old chat rather than a dance. Everything becomes that fraction bit harder physically, but you are still as sharp mentally. The youngsters of today are keeping you young, if you cannot match them physically any more, you are darn sure you’ll imprint your wisdom on them. You still don’t really know what you want to be when you grow up, but you would like a career change or to work for yourself. You’re at the halfway mark of your working life which is a grim thought. The decade of ‘painful realisations’.

The Fickities

At this point you are counting the days to retirement and thinking about all those amazing trips that you would love to do….and you realise they are pretty similar dreams to those you had when you were a Teen, but children, work, mortgages always got in the way. There is still some time to go however work-wise, but ambitions are a fraction lower, and you are in survival mode in what is possibly the only real time in your life where you are wishing that time went faster. The decade of ‘The Final Countdown’….and if you are that old, you’ll know the song too.

The Sixties et al

All those thoughts and dreams that you have been weighing up in the last decade can now become a reality. Or can they? Income is possibly reduced and you do not have the earning power, and you are reluctant to spend as although you cannot take it with you, you do not want to run out. While you should in fact be selling your house, move into rented accommodation and blow all your savings in a methodical manner, you are thinking of legacy and what you can leave for the kids. The kids who are actually big bad adults themselves now – let them look after you a little now. You have worked for some forty years, and now you should be enjoying life. The decade of ‘Nike – Just Do It’.

The End (of the blog)