Desire, 21 July 2014
What is it that I crave most? To step onto a beautifully layered grass pitch, watered to such perfection that the 11mm studs on the chassis of my boots delve into the moss like knife on cake.
To feel the my heart resonate like a deep house track in the 85th minute when you are trailing by two goals and to hear the opposition trying to break you with snide comments and two footed tackles.
To know that feeling of winning after your iron lungs have burned defenders, your shirt is soaked with salt, your face is covered in blades of grass and your mouth can taste blood and earth together.
To shed a tear or two for love and for the good of the game.