Monday 3rd January, 2000

So, the millennium bug was nonsense, wasn’t it? I wasn’t convinced that anything would happen but Hassan at school was certain that it would “fuck everything up” and he can be persuasive. Hassan is the second hardest in the year. At the time of writing, Tom is the hardest. I would hate to be punched by Tom.

While it was not the end of the world, I woke up on New Year’s Day feeling as though it was. I had my first hangover. We’d stayed at home on New Year’s Eve and my mum bought a Chinese takeaway kit from Safeway, which was fine although it wasn’t as nice as a takeaway from Dynasty. Dynasty’s business has slowed down since there was a murder in the carpark a couple of years ago.

After dinner, we watched Jools Holland and my mum let me have a glass of wine. It tasted awful but, when my parents were washing up in the kitchen, I refilled my glass and gulped it down. My brother John also gave me a can of Fosters which tasted even worse than the wine. Far too fizzy, it sat in my throat showing no interest in shifting. I put myself through this discomfort because my friend Rick got drunk recently and said it was excellent so I wanted to see for myself.

I was, I think, very drunk because I barely remember the countdown and my mum had to take John and I for a walk around the block to clear our heads. Mostly my head. John keeps taking the piss out of me because I wasn’t speaking coherently and kept repeating myself, saying that Michael Bridges is my favourite Leeds player. I don’t know why I would have said that because he is not. Lee Bowyer is my favourite Leeds player. Is this what alcohol does to you? You make an idiot of yourself and say things that are not true?

On New Year’s Day I still felt groggy when my grandparents and auntie and uncle arrived in the late afternoon and didn’t touch my turkey dinner, instead picking at some nuts and pretzels, barely speaking to anyone. I also refused to do the annual after-dinner magic show which John and I have been performing since he got a Paul Daniels magic set for Christmas seven years ago.

The showstopper trick involves me leaving the room John putting a button under one of three eggcups. If he puts it under the first eggcup, he shouts “Come in!” If he puts it under the second eggcup he shouts “Ready!” and if it’s under the third, he shouts, “Let’s go!” If I remember this simple code I get it right every time. You would have thought this fool-proof but two years ago my uncle rumbled us.

“Go outside again, Andy and I’ll shout when we’re ready. How about that?”

“I don’t feel like it now.”

We still did the trick again last year to a visibly disinterested audience so it’s no surprise that nobody protested when I said I wasn’t up for it this year. At one point I’d held ambitions to be a professional magician but I think that ship has now sailed. Besides, I’ve just revealed the secret to one of my tricks so I’d be booted straight out of the Magic Circle. Paul Daniels would be disgusted.

Instead of magic we went straight into Guesstures. Guesstures is basically just Charades but you must act out something that it is written on a card which a turquoise machine swallows if your team haven’t guessed correctly within your allocated minute. We play this every year.

After my dad successfully got that my nan was acting out The Man with the Golden Gun and won the contest for his team, John asked if I wanted a can of Fosters. I must say, despite my hangover, I was tempted.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, John,” my mum said, snatching the can from him and pretending that she wanted it even though she’d just poured herself a large glass of sherry.

My first hangover has been a steep learning curve. I certainly wouldn’t be able to play football if I was in this state. And that would be a crying shame having got the new blue and silver R9 boots for Christmas. I play at right back so I probably shouldn’t be wearing Ronaldo’s boots, but they are great. I hope I don’t get kicked by opposition players for being too flash. If any of our players wear the red Puma Kings, they get deliberately kicked during matches. This is especially true when we play against teams based in South Leeds I’ve noticed.

I have only recently returned to the squad following an incident at Thursday night training a few weeks ago. During winter we train in Lawnswood School’s gym which is too small now that most of the team have hit their growth spurts. It was a fiery training session — Joe had kicked a door because Safraz was being greedy as usual — and with a big game coming up against Kippax, competition for places was fierce.

Towards the end of the session, our centre half who is from Bramley flew in and slide-tackled me. Slide-tackling is banned when we train indoors for good reason and I landed awkwardly, hurting my thumb. I got up and shoved him. He didn’t move but the pain in my thumb increased.

“What’s the need?” I shouted through teary eyes. “You scranner!”

He didn’t take kindly to this and, without even shoving me back as I’d expected, he smacked me in the face.

“I’m a scranner?” he said as I was clutching my face. “You’re a fucking gloit!”

He was dragged away by his central defensive partner, who is also from Bramley, and I sprinted out of the gym and ran home. I’d hoped that one of my teammates would follow me to see if I was okay but, by the time I got to West Park shops, had to accept that this wasn’t going to happen.

As a result I vowed to never play for Kirkstall Crusaders again. However, following successive Sundays visiting stately homes with my dad who kept taking photos of gargoyles for his slide collection, I reconsidered and called my manager, asking if I could return. He said I could on the condition that I shook hands with the violent centre half. Having been victim to his assault, I thought this deeply unfair but, with the alternative being my dad teaching me the difference between Ionic and Corinthian columns at weekends, I swallowed my pride and made up with my aggressor.

My comeback fixture was against The Gate who are based in Seacroft and had a burned-out car behind one set of goalposts. I came off the bench in the second half and we drew 2–2 which is a good result given that three players for The Gate have beards and one of them has a tattoo.

If I am to get back into the starting eleven, I will need play well at training on Saturday. I have a predicament through; Rick says his brother’s friend, who drives a car, will buy some Frosty Jack’s for us on Friday on the proviso that we pay for his Lambert and Butlers. This seems reasonable and I must admit, I am excited by the idea of getting drunk again. If Saturday is as bad as my hangover on New Year’s Day, it is highly doubtful I will turn up to training, let alone force my way back into the team.

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