Watching the Ryan Giggs special a few weeks ago that looked back over the Welshman’s illustrious career gave me a cold sweat. Ryan Giggs can’t be close to retirement surely? He’s only, what 28… 30… 33… 34! I remember his first ever game on Match of the Day. Now he's close to hanging up his boots.
At White Hart Lane this year I overheard a couple of blokes talking about Tottenham’s left sided problems and I began nodding to myself in silent agreement as they discussed David Ginola and how special he was on our left side.
To my horror, one of the chap’s sons, he looked about ten, piped up with, “Who was Ginola, Dad, was he that good?” I could have cried. Then it dawned on me. Ginola’s peak time at Spurs was in 1999. Nine years ago. When that young lad would have still been in nappies.
Life moves on. Of course it does.
I must’ve been a naive fool to think that my footballing world would not succumb to the inevitable. I will miss the names of those players I grew up watching and knowing intimately through their statistics and club records but I look forward to the new names that are sure to become the biggest of the big.
I look forward to being able to take a step back and say, that lad’s a bit special, and comparing the new breed with the old, with a big bright pair of rose tinted specs on.
Of course I'll scream and shout. Passion doesn't diminish as you get older, nor should it.
I am still young myself. As a 25 year old in the prime of life I appreciate now that football, like life itself, changes and moves on with the rest of us and as a fan I realise that my appreciation and understanding of the game will change with it.
Perhaps Bill’s words of wisdom were even truer than I first thought.
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