The Hand of God
Dave, 40s, reminisces about a happy event.
2-3 minutes
I owe everything to football. Yeah literally everything. All this; the house, the car, clothes, food, drink … Everything.
I mean I’m passed it now. I couldn’t do it again. Cos I’m not as fit as I used to be… hence the belly! Too much beer. Not enough exercise. Know what I mean?
Cos it’s hard to go out without being recognised.
I mean, some people wanna shake my hand, pat me on the back, raise a glass in my honour – which I don’t mind admitting is a bit of a buzz … while others – City fans – just spit, or swear, or go off on one about how I should be ashamed of me’self and how dare I show my face in public … which is ironic, since I’ve shown a lot more than that!
But that day, the day I kicked a ball into the back of the Wembley net after a sixty yard dash, the crowd cheering, egging me on … yeah, it were a dream come true.
Almost like I was one of the team…
Yeah, that has to be my proudest moment.
I done a cartwheel to celebrate, saluted the United fans, stuck a finger up at the City end and was in the middle of a victory dance when some jobsworth in an orange jacket tackled me to the ground and the police had to get involved.
They tried to arrest me. Course they did. But nudity in public ain’t actually a criminal offence – “as long as you don’t intend to cause alarm or distress”. Which I didn’t. It was purely for my own amusement – and well, also to rattle City, you know, upset their flow. But upsetting the City is not a sexual offence.
And as far as United were concerned it was a stroke of genius and I deserved a medal.
Not cos of the streak itself, but cos of the immediate aftermath. The hullaballoo. You know, the geezers wrestling me off the pitch, the police shielding my helmet with theirs – so to speak – half the crowd loving me, half of them hating me …
But it worked to give United a chance to regroup, chat about tactics or whatever it was they did – and five minutes later, WHAM! They was one nil up and City was in pieces.
Brilliant.
The United manager called it Divine Intervention! And you should have seen the headlines. Maradona and his hand of God had nothing on what they said about me. Zero to hero overnight, and the publicity what followed was a gold mine.
I started up a tiktok, got advertising deals, got an agent, wrote a book (what they made into a film – out on Netflix in the New Year) … and I hardly pay for anything these days.
I still get the occasional brick through my window and the odd bit of hate mail, but getting my kit off and scoring that goal was the best thing I ever did.
© Wendy Storer 2023