Football is, for me at least, a metaphor for life.
I’ve spent time in the National League of existence, trudging through those dark, grey afternoons when every result seemed to go against me and the table didn’t make pleasant reading. We’ve all been there. Looking over our shoulder rather than ahead of us. Wondering where the next win is coming from.
But I’ve had my seasons in the top flight too.
Moments of pure euphoria that had nothing to do with football and everything to do with being alive. Falling in love. Having children. Watching lives begin and flourish. Later, the unexpected joy of grandchildren arriving and somehow making the world new again.
Those were my cup successes. My Anglo-Italian Cups. Not always the trophies everyone else was watching, but the ones that meant everything to me.
I’ve scored away on a wet Tuesday evening in more ways than I could possibly explain here. Some victories are best left between yourself and the floodlights.
And yes, I’ve lost it all too.
Relegation isn’t confined to football grounds. It arrives in relationships, careers, health, confidence and dreams. Sometimes you wake up and discover the league table of life has been updated without your permission.
But life, like football, is gloriously cyclical.
Seasons end. Seasons begin. Heroes become villains and then become heroes again. The youngster with potential becomes the veteran with wisdom. The club written off in August suddenly finds itself dreaming in May.
Forgive the pun, but what comes around goes around.
The game has been a remarkably reliable commentator on life. It has taught me how to endure the rapids during torturous times and how to fully celebrate those rare moments of awe when everything clicks and the ball nestles sweetly in the top corner.
Football understands something many of us forget: there is another fixture after defeat. Another season after disappointment.
Another chance after failure.
Hope is built into the structure of the game. Which is why, despite everything, I continue to believe.
Maybe this time next year Rodney, Notts County will be in the Championship and I will, metaphorically speaking, be a multi-millionaire.
And if neither happens?
Well, there’ll still be another Saturday afternoon, another kick-off, another impossible dream gathering pace in the distance.
Sometimes that’s all you need.
© Ian Kirke 2026 & title image
@ Iankirke.bsky.social