I'm glad the transfer season is over and all those over priced football players have finally made their moves. It must have been awful for them, not knowing where they were going to live next year – London, Wigan or Paris. Mind you, there are some nice houses in Scholes.
Being a former footballer myself, I sympathised. Didn't you know? Manchester United had the chance to sign me as a youngster. They declined.
It was natural there would be debate over whom I should play for when I joined the Examiner a lifetime ago.
“Why don't you try the Courier in Halifax?” the lads said.
Oh, how they laughed. But they weren't laughing when I turned out for the Examiner in the Sunday League. I also played in the five-a-side team at the Sports Centre until my transfer. Yes, I was the centre of a transfer tussle as bitter as that of Gareth Bale (left).
Every week, we played a team of builders who were up here from the Midlands. And then the fight started – between me and our captain Martin Hardy. Epithets were exchanged: he questioned my competence, I questioned his antecedents.
The following week the builders offered me a formal contract – I still have it – and put in a transfer bid for my services. The fee? A packet of cheese and onion crisps. It was, of course, accepted: the lads liked cheese and onion crisps.
The builders returned abruptly to Birmingham without notice the next week, a move which I interpreted as leaving me a free agent to rejoin the Examiner. Oh, how they laughed!
What it is to be in demand. I still have that contract somewhere. I wonder if it had a pension plan?