Football (one way 3)

I was, in the last installment, describing my fall out with religion, but digressed into a fashion diatribe, of sorts.

Well, the departure from religion was further fuelled by shiksas and football. Football is the topic for now, the shiksas are a long and involved story, and will have to wait.
Always loved football. Hours and hours playing keepie-up in the back garden; and I recall the time when the ball flew straight through the kitchen window (which was not open), and landed right in the cooking pot. No dinner for one night, no pocket money for weeks. But football has always been a great draw. And the team, the team, the QPR team of the seventies, Stanley Bowles, Gerry Francis, El Tel, Dave Thomas, wonderful team.
And how, you might ask, does this clash with religion? Well, the cub scout's team always played on Saturday afternoons. Long walks along the brook to Gainsbrough recreation ground, footie footie footie. And when I got picked for the Chalkwell Juniors school team, left back, and eventually vice captain, it was Saturday mornings. Tough choice - go to shul or play football. No, easy choice. And, basically, one transgression leads to another. Season ticket for the Rs, even a trip to Wembley, twice, a draw and a lost replay, to a penalty, so close, so close....
And was this the start of the travel bug... fortnightly trips to London as a teenager, mostly alone, independent, calm, and lost in the motion of motion...
And now, nearly thirty years on, I still love to watch the games from afar, Saturday premier league, live, great stuff...