used to take me to White Hart Lane. Every Christmas, I’d end up witha United uniform and a Tottenham uniform, and maybe an Englanduniform from my mum. If it was soccer – or anything to do with soccer– I was there.Mum wasn’t all that keen on soccer. Her dad was, though, which wasone of the reasons I loved being with him as much as I did. Joe wasemployed in the print trade. For a long time he was over the road fromhome, at the Stationery Office in Islington. Then he moved down to FleetStreet. He and my grandmother, Peggy, lived on an estate just off CityRoad, down near Old Street. My dad went out to work early mostSaturdays.The rest of us would get on the train at Walthamstow and go downto see my grandparents for the day. We had to get there before noon:Grandad would be off about half past eleven if he was going to watchSpurs. Before leaving, he’d come downstairs and watch me play soccerin the little park on the estate. I’m sure Grandad remembers those times:he definitely remembers me breaking his spectacles. I was only about sixbut I was already kicking a ball hard enough that his glasses didn’t standa chance the time I accidentally caught him full in the face.Once Joe went off to White Hart Lane, Peggy would take us off tothe shops. Sometimes we’d go to the West End but, more often, we’dget the bus up to the Angel and go to Chapel Market. I didn’t mind atall. I had to follow Mum and Nan and my sisters around for a bit, but Ialways seemed to wangle a toy or something by the end of theafternoon.We sometimes had pie and mash for lunch in Chapel Streetas well. Once we got back to the flat, Joe would be getting in fromsoccer. Then he’d get ready to go out and do the night shift. Dad wouldpick us up in Wenlock Street after finishing work and we’d all drivehome together.Once I started to get serious about playing soccer, Joe and Peggywould come over to us on Sunday morning. Grandad came and watchedall my games. I liked him being there: he was softer with me than Dadwhen it came to talking about the match and how I’d played. Mumwanted to come too, so Peggy would stay at our house. She’d lookafter Lynne and have Sunday dinner ready when we all came in. Then,Sunday afternoons, we often went down to Victoria Park in Hackney.There was plenty of open space to play soccer with Dad and Grandad,and there were lots of other things to do as well: a big playground, theboating lake and even a little zoo.I couldn’t have asked for anything more and I didn’t, but along cameRidgeway Rovers anyway and took over my life. I was seven, so it’s notsurprising I’m not sure now how it all happened. My mum remembersme being spotted playing in the park and a bloke called StuartUnderwood knocking on our front door to ask about me. My dad,though, reckons there was an advertisement about a new boys’ soccerteam in the local paper and that afternoon over at Chase Lane was asort of trial. Either way, I’m really grateful – and proud – that I was partof that first Ridgeway Rovers team. And the man who set up the teamhad a lot to do with me making a future for myself in the game.Stuart Underwood’s a massive bloke. About 76 inches, with a bigbooming voice and this fantastic presence about him. He was a bit ofa drill sergeant type. I was a little scared of him at first. He could bepretty tough: no matter how young you were, if you weren’t playingwell, in a game or in training, he’d tell you that you were rubbish andneeded to do better, instead of just jollying you along. Stuart was honestwith you. But he wasn’t one of those dads who stood on the touchlineat kids’ games, bawling and screaming. He had this softness about himas well. His own son Robert played in the team, but Stuart seemed likea father figure to all of us. And he had this dream about creating areally good team.Every single boy just loved playing for Stuart and we had this fantasticteam spirit. He’d organize for Ridgeway to play in competitions inHolland and Germany, so we gained the same sort of experience as aprofessional playing in an international tournament. Other fathers gotinvolved, too. My dad took on some of the coaching. So did a mancalled Steve Kirby, whose son Ryan played for Ridgeway and endedup playing against me ten years later in the League. Dad was always afit man and he did running with us, as well as working on our technique.Steve was a bit of a tactician and he used to do positional play, runsoff the ball and that kind of thing. A lot of the time, all three of themwould be there and we’d split into smaller groups: there weren’t manyboys our age who got that much attention paid to their training. Thethree of them – Steve, Stuart and my dad – used to argue a lot, but itwas all in the cause. They were honest people wanting to make theteam as good as they could.It worked. I don’t know where Stuart found them, but we had somereally good players: Ryan Kirby, Micah Hyde, who’s now at Watford,Jason Brissett, who was at Bournemouth last I heard, and Chris Day,who was a lanky center-forward for us but ended up playing in goalfor QPR. It was all about the team, though. Stuart Underwood’s son,Robert, was a perfect example. To be honest, he didn’t have greatability to start with but because he worked so hard at his game, hemade himself into a good team player. That was credit to him, but itwas credit to Stuart and the rest of us too. We never once thought toourselves: he’s not good enough to be playing for Ridgeway.Stuart had to have everything done properly. We always had a decentfield on which to play our home games, like the one at Ainslie WoodSports Ground, which was just a short walk from home. We trainedtwice a week. Stuart lived nearby, in Larkswood Road, and there wasa park there, with decent facilities, that we used to use. One way oranother, Stuart would make sure we had what we needed. When wehad important games, like Cup finals, he’d insist on us eight and nine-year-olds wearing a collar and tie. One important rule was that if youdidn’t turn up for training in the week, then you didn’t play at theweekend; it was as simple as that. It was a good habit to learn: I alwaysmade sure I was there and that I was there on time. I loved the traininganyway. Lived for it. But it was also another reason we had such a goodteam: Ridgeway Rovers always went about things the right way.With so many boys’ sides, you notice the most talented players. Theymake a big fuss of the individuals in the team. That wasn’t allowed withRidgeway: any showing off and you’d be brought back down. It was allabout the team. In no time, we were starting to win games ten-andeleven-nil and people could see there was something special about us.Professional clubs started scouting our players, and I think West Hamasked about me when I was eleven. But Stuart, Steve and my dad haddecided that there should be no need for any of us to be involved withclubs until we were older. If you were training with a professional club,the rule was you couldn’t be training with a Sunday League team at thesame time. I knew I didn’t want that, I wasn’t ready for it. We all stuckwith Ridgeway. I think, in the long run, those rules were why so manyof us went on to make a success of ourselves. We learned aboutcommitment and dedication right from the start.I had to learn about not playing soccer too. Because I was smallerthan most, I used to get my share of knocks. Dad had drummed intome that, most of the time, the best thing to do was just get up and geton with it, like I’d had to with his mates over at Wadham Lodge. Hetaught me a lot about avoiding injury as well. As a winger – and becausepeople were starting to hear about me a bit – I often had a defendertrying to give me a kick. Dad worked with me on keeping the ballmoving, releasing it quickly once it was under control. That still helpsme keep out of scrapes as a professional player. And it’s the best wayto play. When I was about ten, I did have one layoff through injury: thekind that happens to lots of boys. Running and jumping all the time,especially on hard fields, ends up jarring knees, shins and ankles. Withme, it was my heels: pins and needles at first and then, later, achingduring and after games. I tried putting bits of foam in my boots buteventually I had to have a complete break from soccer. I couldn’t play,I couldn’t train. Couldn’t even have a kickabout over at the park. Thatwas the longest five weeks of my life and, in a way, I’ve never got overit. Having to watch soccer instead of playing it still has me climbingup walls.Ridgeway Rovers was a great time for all of us, not just the players.Our families got involved, whether it was washing uniforms, driving usabout, coming on trips or raising funds. That team was together for sixyears, which meant our families were, too. And you can’t spend thatamount of time together without becoming pretty close. I rememberMicah Hyde’s dad, Ken, used to have dreadlocks: him and my dad –short back and sides – would be stood on the touchline together on aSunday for the Ridgeway game. The parents used to organize dinnersand Friday night dances to help raise money to pay for the team. Eventhough it was Dad who took us for training, my mum probably put inalmost as many hours on me and my soccer, despite her job as ahairdresser. She was the only one of the mums who drove, so if therewas a minibus run she always ended up with the job. When Dadwas out working, Mum would be the one who got me to where Ineeded to be, when I needed to be there, with the right stuff ready inthe right bag.Looking back, it must have been quite hard for my sisters, with somuch of our family time being tied up with my soccer. I’ve spoken toLynne about it since and she says she did feel a bit left out by it all.She’s three years older than me and had her own friends and just goton with her own life. Even so, when we were at school together Lynnewould always stick up for me if there was any trouble. One lunchtimeat Chingford High, I remember having an argument with an older boyin the dinner queue. He ended up whacking me out in the playground.It was Lynne who took me home. She made sure I was all right andthat the teachers at school knew what had happened. Soccer, though,she didn’t really like at all. We’ve both got our own families now: Lynneand her husband Colin have a girl and a boy, Georgina and Freddie.Even though we don’t see that much of each other, I’d say I feel closerto my older sister these days than I ever did when we were young.It was different with Joanne. I was five when she came along. I canstill remember standing in the kitchen at home and my dad coming inand telling me she’d been born and me bursting into tears. I reallywanted a brother, of course. But we got on fine: if I wanted her to goin goal in the back garden, she never said no. She just trailed after meall the time: to soccer, the park, the shops, everywhere. Joanne’s ahairdresser now, just like Mum, and it’s only in the last couple of years,since she started working and I got married, that we’ve stopped beingtogether so much like that. I suppose she had to grow up eventually;and so did I. Sometimes, though, I do miss having my little mate around.I’m sure Joanne misses running around with big brother as well.Mum always tried to make sure we sat down together to dinner asa family. That was when she and Dad would try and get me to tell themabout what I’d been doing at school. I do the same with Brooklyn now.If I ask him, I usually get the same response my parents got with me:nothing. It wasn’t that it was a secret or anything. It’s just how kids are,isn’t it? When I was at primary school, I’d be around to help with meal