We’re watching the football from the bright new stand behind the dug-outs, with its shiny chrome roof. Me, my girlfriend, her four-year-old daughter. Neither of them have been before: Suzie has has never ‘got’ football; Scarlett hasn’t yet worked out the concept of sport. The match has started badly for Lewes with an early Yeading goal. On a bumpy pitch, in the first half, the team, in their black and red striped shirts, haven’t managed to string three passes together. Quite frankly, it’s a boring game. Looking at the match through different eyes, I start to wish I’d let them do something else with their afternoon. But in the second half Lewes begin playing some magnificent football. The floodlights come on as dusk descends: Suzie rises from her seat when Lewes score their equaliser. I look into her excited eyes. She hugs me. “Come on Lewes,” chants Scarlett, picking up on the excitement around her. The team starts pressing for a winner. Then, from deep in the Yeading half, the ball gets hoofed into touch. It arcs its way towards us, getting bigger and bigger. In slow motion I realise… that if I don’t act… it’s going to hit… Suzie, direct in the face. I stick out a fist, and connect with the sweet spot. The ball rebounds back onto the pitch. My hand hurts like hell, but my girlfriend’s intact. “I’d have got out the way, anyway,” she says, and settles back into the game. Lewes score two more goals, Yeading pull one back at the death. It’s breathtakingly exciting stuff. Scarlett only asks to go home once. “Lewes got three, Yetting got two”, she announces after the game, putting the requisite fingers up, demonstrating a new-found understanding of the nature of competitive sport. “When’s the next game?” asks Suzie. She might just be hooked. It’s not until December 6th, sadly. Enjoy the week.