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The only reason that I am on this planet, is because my Father's favorite soccer team, won the F.A. Cup in 1957. It is true! His team won and I was conceived! I'm surprised that I didn't end up with ten brothers, but I guess his team wasn't that consistent!

My Father was a sports fanatic! I guess this is why I am not! Saturday afternoons were misery in my house when I was growing up; It was as if we had some kind of satellite link, on our black and white television and my Father was the coach for every team that played. He'd stand in front of the television, neck muscles bulging and face as red as a boiled beetroot, shouting instructions at the players and telling them how stupid they were.

When my poor Mother would offer my Father a cup of tea, he'd shout at her, then glue his eyes back to the game. Between noon and 5:00 pm on a Saturday afternoon, we had to stop breathing.

One year, my Father bought me a soccer ball with all of the signatures of his favorite team members on it. He'd take me down to our local community sports field and we'd kick the ball around. At eight or nine years old, I wasn't anywhere near the professional standards that my Father thought I was, so he'd get impatient and yell at me. One time, he referred to me by one of the team member's names, in a loud, commanding voice.

My dear Father used to buy me shirts with the emblem of his favorite team on them. Whenever I was in public, people would approach me and ask me questions, sometimes informing me that the team sucked. At that age, I was lucky if I could hold a conversation on tying my shoe laces, let alone defending something I had no idea about.

Those days are long gone now. My Father's team is still around, with different players of course and I will never forget how serious he used to get. Just beware; If your partner wants to name your child, Beckham', Pele' or even Georgie Best', especially if your child is female; Then I fear, it is time to seek counseling!

Learn more about this author, Jon Coe.
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