The 273rd last day of my 20s

“He’d be in the top 1 percent of babies in terms of football skills.”

- me, to my brother, about my nephew George

Sometimes, my brother holds his son up and we play kick-to-kick. When I kick it at him, his eyes focus intently on the ball until it reaches his feet, and on a good day, he can kick it back a couple of feet. He already knows the principles of presenting, controlling and passing that the Dutch system is famed for. He can even do a lairy sort of flick step-over that I’m trying to iron out of his game until he’s gotten better at the basics.

It’s not bad for a 1 year old baby who can’t walk.

Sometimes, I look at George and I marvel that his potential is unlimited... within reason. Of course, it’s highly unlikely that he’ll play for Arsenal (Wenger has a problem with Australians, it seems), or have the technical skills to play for a top-class continental club unless he’s scouted early by an Ajax or a Barcelona and taught how to play properly. But if he really wanted to, he could probably carve out a career as a mediocre midfielder in a suburban weekend league. And that’ll be awesome in its own right.

And you know, there’s no harm in dreaming that he’ll one day run out at the Emirates in a red shirt with white sleeves...

So on the 273rd last day of my 20s, I’m feeling the days trickle past like sand through an hourglass, and I suppose, so too are the days of our lives. Worked today, ate a lot, came home and mucked about on the internet. I had a look at my entry on the 364th last day of my 20s, when I was still panicky and motivated about the fleetingness of youth. And I start to think that I should be doing a bit more in my last year than I’ve done at present.