Watched my lad play football this morning, always the highlight of my week when it's on. He plays where I used to, centre midfield. I was fairly decent I like to think and fond of leaving a boot in when necessary. Weak as piss though, I used to cause a bit a chaos and leave the big lads and hard nuts to sort it out.

The pitch today was a quagmire, the team we played are local rivals and it was clear from the off that our lot were going to get kicked all over. They were bigger, probably better and incredibly dirty. I've always told my lad he needs to be harder in the tackle, he's a good scrapper but sometimes dangles his foot rather than going all in. He was up against this skilful, little ginger kid, Bremner type. First five minutes he smashed into my lad, studs down the ankle, left him hobbling. Later on, they're both going for the ball and this kid manages to grab my lad and throw him down in the mud, ref played on. Second half and we're 2-1 up and under real pressure, my lad plays a ball through and again their lad comes in late and leaves my lad in a heap.

I shouted over to him and gave him the Keep Fighting clenched fist. And then it happened. The ginger kid receives the ball at his feet and it gets stuck in the mud. My lad takes his chance, comes hurtling in from the side and absolutely clatters ginge, crack! Takes the man, ball and three pounds of mud. The kid's left in a muddy heap, moaning and groaning. The ref gives nothing and leaves him there. My lad, as is his nature, simply jogged away and got on with the game (I'd have bent down and ruffled his hair). Job done. I was bursting with pride. He was getting bullied and did the right thing. The ginger kid went nowhere near my lad for the rest of the game. And we held on win somehow. Splendid stuff.