A letter to my dear departed Dad who keeps entering my (football) dreams Feb. 4, 2008

Dad, the game has changed. It’s no longer one on one, but move and pass. Loyalty less to one team, but career-moves every season or so. Contact isn’t what it was – the referee embarrasses you – makes you see red, should you get stuck in. Players want to play but are mindful they could get sent off or sidelined if they are over physical and get injured. Players once played through niggling injuries like complete cartilages gone but now you’d be found out after seconds (by the cctv) should you have as much as a nervous twitch.
The ashfelt where we used to stand is gone. The Rookery position where we you used to stand is now a no-mans land between two sets of supporters. Many of the players names are unpronouncable but the Diddie David Hamiltons of this world have become better at prounouncing them. At Watford a player was deported only to be hailed back through public outcry. You can’t park in the streets by the ground like you used to as people living near the grounds tend to have their own cars now.
There are no characters left now in football, everybody is an athlete or a professor of the game but then comes Jimmy Bullard and Kevin Keegan so I’m talking rubbish. The game keeps reinventing itself and you would love it now.
Gotta go, African Cup of Nations is live on tv and the mighty Cameroon are taking on the well organised Tunisians. I know, they were joke sides in your day.