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“The crowd cheer at Cocker’s control of the bicycle, skilfully avoiding the dog turd next to the corner shop” – I Spy, Different Class.

I was never a cyclist but long ago, I used to play a fair bit of football in the park beyond the corner shop. There was generally two of us, and the game never had a name. Never needed one.

We played in the swings, which had good and bad points. They were high, and had a crossbar, which was good. But they were swings, so people sometimes used them as such.

One would play in goal for ten shots, and the other would take the shots. Because I was a bit older than my opponent, I used to shoot from a little further back, but I was all about dinks and lobs anyway, and tended to only go for power on volleys or if I was annoyed.

We used to commentate, though, oh yes.

As I recall, it was always better after scoring, it would be all “leaving him with no chance” as the one man goal celebration went on and the keeper fetched the ball from the bushes or, ideally, the field behind.

The goalkeeping commentary was brief, because you’d put the ball straight back into play and be facing Trevor Sinclair or Ray Wilkins (me) again. “The crowd goes wild as he tips the ball onto the crossbar and even manages to avoid the baby swing, too”

It seems so long ago. Well, it is so long ago.

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