On a back pass to the opposition’s keeper I creep up, walking, waiting to pounce, waiting for him to take another touch then BAM, I sprint full pelt at him when he’s furthest away from the ball given his touch. He panics, probably looking in to the red of my eyes seeing a madman, coming for the ball, MY ball. “Oh no, I hope I can clear this ball in time, otherwise my arse is grass” his face seems to say. He shapes to kick, to clear - I jump, turning my back to the ball, I feel the satisfying thud of a Uk regulation size 5 Mitre Monde V12 Match Football hit the smalls of my back. I land, satisfied that I’ve comprehensively pressed the goalkeeper in to making a mistake, they’ll think twice before passing it back to him now. But wait… on landing, I’ve turned to see the trajectory of the ball. It’s looping! It’s looping right over the keeper! It’s in! I’ve just scored the best goal of all time! I spring away to celebrate with teammates, who are all too shocked to celebrate with me. I make for the corner flag, albeit alone, to dance in front of the away contingent - a dog and his owner, and our 2 substitutes don’t seem to recognise what salsa dancing is. But that doesn’t matter, I had done it. It was I, Maxim.