Fresh Air, FA Cups & Fantasy Points
Lessons from my father, Manchester United, and the long game of FPL. Dad and I, on the rare occasion of a steam engine in our backyard - where the journey really began, family, football and Manchester United. It’s 1976. I’m eight years old, sitting at a family wedding in a hotel ballroom filled with laughter and clinking glasses. The air is thick with the smell of roasts, potatoes, and rich stews — that unmistakable scent of cooking meat and onions that clings to every curtain. The aroma of whiskey and stout drifts through the room, heavier than the conversation, as uncles prop up the bar and aunties nurse port glasses. My dad leans over the table and announces — to no one in particular — that I’m not feeling well and need to get some fresh air. I protest immediately. “I’m fine,” I say. But then comes the sharp kick under the table. Dad drops his voice and whispers, “Say you don’t feel well.” Next thing I know, we’re slipping out of the reception. I half expect a walk outside...