![]() At six years you think God answers every one of your prayers, so I’m thinking Beckham has to score. The ball balloons out of the man’s kick, above the defensive wall of four, a trajectory which beats the purpose of a defensive wall to begin with. The silence found its way into our sitting room as well. There fell a patient silence around the stadium. David Beckham stepped up to take the free-kick. I remember a foul outside the penalty area. It was a hectic match, all the great ones are. Weeks later, I recall watching a sea of red on the TV. “And you should tell your dad you want to watch David Beckham.” I said sawa. “I’ll call you Beckham from today,” he said. “Manchester United-(Sir) Alex Ferguson?” I didn’t. Like David Beckham-you know him?” I said no. The day we got acquainted, this ankal had a subtle grey, burnt wood smell of cigarettes and beer about him. ![]() He told a lot of stories and my parents would in-turn laugh about. In this case, it was someone who was around my old man during weekends. They didn’t necessarily have to mean a blood relative, but rather someone who spent their time a lot around your parents. At the age of six, I was learning to use the words uncle and aunty loosely.
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