The memories are hazy. I know that I would lie on the floor of my bedroom, which I shared with my older brother. I remember the notebook was red. I think I was Glasgow Rangers.
What I mainly remember is the game itself. I had written down a league table, created a fixture list, and I would roll a die a couple of times to determine the score of football matches. Then, for the one team I had deemed mine, I would write an imagined match report in the notebook – assigning goals to favourite players, describing wondrous crosses and terrible fouls – and then update the league table accordingly. I was playing a rudimentary pen-and-paper Championship Manager – or, maybe depending on my age, pen-and-paper Sensible Soccer. I remember it was an act of obsession.
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