In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Toy Story.”
Ah, Subbuteo, my fantastic, plastic, flick-to-kick hobby. Little plastic men sliding around a cloth soccer pitch after a ball that was bigger than them.
My mates and I had are own street league. I was one of three Manchester United fans, so I had to fall on my back-up plan: Luton Town FC. The night before the start of our summer tournament I would polish the bases of the players to get that extra glide. Cheers Mr Sheen!
During one summer I entered the national UK tournament. My mum pulled the plug on that – I honestly would have been slaughtered – but not before the local newspaper had got word of my entry. I made the left margin of the front page of the newspaper that week. Unfortunately, it didn’t help that the main story’s headline read “Forced to Flee By Psycho Attacker”, as my face beamed out to the local readership.
Like most of my teenage passions – grass hockey, tennis, and topiary* – Subbuteo is now confined to the vaults; it may make a return now and again if it takes mine and my brother’s fancy to play – but that is a rare event.
Has it had an effect on how I am today? Well, I’m quite nostalgic, so it fills me with happiness when I take a trip down memory lane.
* I’ve never been in topiary, really; although, I do think it should be an Olympic Sport.
