A Rather Embarrassing Confession

I have always wanted to be a professional footballer. When I was a child I used to dream of playing for my boyhood club, I was certain that it was my destiny to become the greatest player that ever lived. There was only one barrier separating me from the glory that lay on the field; I was utterly crap.
The dreams never left me though. Instead of dreaming of the future I dreamt of an alternate reality where I could kick a ball in the direction I wanted it to go. I got a call one day from an old friend, who was creating his own Sunday League team and wanted me to join. I was ecstatic – It wasn’t Barcelona or Arsenal but it was good enough for me.
On the opening day of the season I was in the changing room preparing for the match, surrounded by old friends - fellow failure’s on the football field. We were all really confident that we would win comfortably; the other team were apparently rubbish. We lost 17-0.
Every Sunday I woke up at 7am to travel to some distant football pitch in the freezing cold, only to get beaten badly and humiliated. I kept on going though, and eventually our obvious lack of anything even resembling ability attracted the attention of the local paper. The wanted to come and watch our next game, which happened to be against the best team in the league. Our manager reluctantly agreed, and the following Sunday we were greeted at the ground by a reporter and photographer eager to share our shame with the rest of the local community. By half time we were losing 12-0, having been torn to shreds by the opposition. The second half was much the same, and by the closing minutes we had lost count of the score, when our winger started running with the ball. He dodged flying tackles and ran as fast as his little fat legs would carry him, right into the opposition’s penalty area, where their goalkeeper fouled him. Penalty!
Our two fans went wild, screaming with sheer joy and hoping that their team would score for once. However, nobody wanted to take the penalty, the prospect of missing was too unbearable to even contemplate. I volunteered; my teammates patted me on the shoulder and wished me the best of luck as I placed the ball on the penalty spot. This was the moment I had been dreaming about all my life. It was my destiny.
The referee blew his whistle and I ran towards the ball, failing to notice the large rock on the grassy surface. I tripped on it and began to stumble, managing only to toe punt the ball gently past the wrong side of the goalpost. It was without doubt the worst penalty kick of all time.
A week later I got a call from a relative telling me that my picture was in the paper. I opened the edition and was greeted by a large picture showing my penalty miss. The corresponding article was rather odd. Although the journalist doubted whether we would be able to beat his daughters under 9’s team, he commended our spirit and ‘refusal to give in, even though it is painfully obvious they are the worst team in the county.’

Some of you may think that the moral of this true tale is to never give in, but it isn’t.
This is it:

Life is shit. Deal with it.