Billy's Boots

How would you like to see a photo of my raw, naked flesh reclining in a warm bubble bath of lavender and fairies? I know that’s something you probably get regularly from subscribing to a different kind of website but I just thought that… hey… what do you mean “No thanks, I’m just about to eat and I don’t wanna ruin my appetite.”? Fine… be like that then… see if I care…instead, you can just sit there and read about my latest bargain purchase.

For a good few years now I’ve been playing five-a-side football once a week but increasingly I get frustrated by the length of time it seems to takes for me to move around the pitch trying to retrieve the lung I just coughed up. Some have suggested that this might be explained by my advanced age, nicotine addiction, excessive pizza diet, inherent laziness and general aversion to physical exercise of any kind but of course I’ve always suspected that it’s because I’m not wearing the correct footwear.

My traditional, flat-soled trainers – or “gutties” – whilst comfortable and functional for “dress down Fridays” or short walks to the corner shop for a pint of milk, have not provided the stability and grip required for modern, artificial turf pitches. So on Sunday, when I happened to be passing a local sports store, I went in to see what type of 21st century technology might be on offer and approximately three minutes later I emerged with these impulse-buy babies.

Now at this point I’d like to explain that they were on the “everything must go” bargain shelf and were priced at an unbeatable £10. That in turn, I’m sure you’ll agree, allows me to gloss over the fact that they seem to be adorned with the *ahem* national flag of England, a design feature I didn’t notice until later that afternoon when I was marching round my garden admiring them in the autumn sunshine.

But I wore them in anger for the first time last night and WOW… my theory about why I’ve been so slow and cumbersome in recent years was proven correct. Journeys across the pitch which used to be measured in minutes now seemed to take mere seconds and such was the constant speed and associated wind-rush generated that I had real trouble trying to light my mid-game cigarette. (Just kidding kids… mid-game cigarettes are only for flat-soled losers. Obviously.)

The effect of the in-built Super Moulded Stud-Like Thingys™ also caused great confusion with my team mates as they attempted to pass the ball to me only to find a space filled with dust ‘cause, as if by magic, I’d already shot off in a different direction. And that’s when it happened.

I was heading towards goal at a speed which could only be described as “breakneck” and spun round to receive what turned out to be a severely underhit pass. In the past, my flat-soled gutties would have slid to a gentle stop but in trying to apply the brakes and collect the ball, the Super Moulded Stud-Like Thingys™ dug into the turf arresting the progress of my legs whilst the momentum of my upper torso sent me into a spin. Confused by the achievement of flight without wings, my brain decided to abandon all thoughts of a safe landing and chose my already scabby knee as the first point of body-to-ground contact when I returned to Earth.

Man, the blood was gushing so bad I though I might need another transfusion but I managed to grin and bear it and I avoided cleaning it up too much so I could get home and take a photo of it to prove how brave I’d been. And here it is.

Hey… you were right… it really does ruin your appetite…