Legend

Tiddler's team has now entered the cut and thrust of competitive football - in the East Lancs Under 9's League. The core members of the team have been together since Under 5's and play some exceptional football for their age group. Three of the team already play in the Excellence Academies of my beloved Manchester United and Bury.

JP has just moved from 7-a-side to 11 a-side and is also captaining the school team this year. He marshalls the defence from his position at full back and is mastering the art of the off-side trap to great effect.

So football continues to dominate the domestic landscape, although they are also doing yoga, street dance and have just taken up karate.

As far as I can see, this just means they can kick the shit out of each other more effectively, do a Michael Jackson spin and crotch-grab to finish, then chill out with a half-Lotus and a glass of herbal tea.

Anyway, back to football.

Tiddler's team are currently second in the League and still in the Cup. He was Man of the Match last week, too and we have goalscorers galore in the squad.

But this week came the news that we have just lost a vital left-footed player, who's been snapped up by Blackpool and they don't allow their Academy players to play for anyone else. Gutted.

No matter. Young Ollie - currently playing for a local rival team - has been on trial with us at training for a few weeks now and so we are signing him up instead.

As assistant manager, this is my first foray into the transfer market*.

Negotiations are swift, but there is paperwork to be completed and new registration forms.

I hasten to the League to get everything stamped before Saturday's game.

I give the paperwork a quick check before signing it and stop in my tracks when I see Ollie's full name.

I am actually signing up none other than Ole Gunnar LancsSurname.

I kid you not.

Ollie, turns out to be Ole - whose namesake is a United legend and personal hero of mine.

I take a photocopy of the form for posterity, break out a new kit - (shame it's shirt #11 not #20) and pray that our new signing has the same magic in his boots as the Baby Faced Assassin himself.

*Yes, I know the transfer window doesn't officially open till January, but East Lancs must be in a different time zone.

George II

JP is quietly developing into a pretty good footballer. On Saturday, in the unexpected post-Easter sunshine the under 10's got a crucial victory against one of the division's top sides to keep the threat of relegation at bay. JP won his fourth Man of the Match trophy of the season after an awesome performance at right back. These accolades don't usually fall to defenders, but his team mates unanimously pointed to JP, even before the coach had started his post-match review.

It's just like watching Ferdinand or Vidic (except for the height and the foreignness and the occasional cornrows). He's calm, collected and efficient. No heroics, just tracks the oncoming forwards, times his interventions perfectly and sends the ball sailing back into the path of our forwards or safely into touch as appropriate.

It's a small note of comfort in a week where United's season ended abruptly early and my trip to Madrid got cancelled. Boo.

A couple of weeks ago, as we followed our normal Sunday morning ritual of bacon butties and Match of the Day, Fabregas scored to beat Pires's record of goals from midfield for Arsenal with a strike against Burnley to make his total for the season 14.

I pointed out that United's record for midfield goals is 42, set by Ronaldo. I further pointed out that the previous record was 32, from George Best.

JP pondered for a moment and responded.

 'So he's not Georgie Best any more - he's Georgie Second'

Owen and Out

Friday I wasted two hours of my life calculating the Owen Goal Update.

Minutes after publishing, I got an email saying 'you win' and linking to this.

On the positive side, it means no more Owen Goal posts (if you'll forgive the pun). POAD has given him more coverage this season than his contribution frankly deserves - although he has brought us traffic from people who google him and stumble upon my musings on the subject. So thank you to those Not Rights and Window Lickers - your medication is on the bedside table.

On the very positive side, my roll of tenners is safe and I can plan what to spend my winnings on - avoiding shopping if possible. The bookies are currently offering 16/1 on a United treble, so I'm off to scribble a betting slip and keep my fingers crossed for the Milan game tonight. 

Final tally is:

Appearances: 30/42

Minutes Played: 1160
Goals: 9
Goal Frequency (mins): 1:129
Goals Per Appearance: 0.3

Run JP Run

JP is running for the school cross country team. After his stellar performance in the Manchester Mini Run last year, I'm not surprised. A real chip off the old block. Like me, he obsessively plots his runs on walkjogrun.net and frets about his shoes. We're planning to train together for this year's Great Run event.

Even Tiddler.

Which is more problematic.

Although his performance at right back continues to fill me with pride, Tiddler still skips around the football pitch like a girl and has recently taken to Premiership-standard petulance and on-pitch swearing. In the Under 8 League, this is an automatic sending off and he's lucky the ref hasn't heard him yet. The odds on him being the first player to be sent off for the team are so short, I'd have to bet the farm just to win a pot plant.

Owen Goal Update

19 games have come and gone since I last reported and it's perilously close. Despite maintaining unusual fitness levels and a frankly unnecessary hat trick at Wolfsburg which skewed all the figures, Owen's appearance rate and average minutes played haven't improved at all and he remains a bit player.

He compensated for the hat trick with a barren spell of 9 games without a goal, but popped up in the last week with one against West Ham and one at Wemberley.

His fitness isn't that surprising given that he's only played 1 full game since the last report, played less than 20 minutes in 6 and not appeared at all in 7. Sure enough, he picked up a hamstring injury on Sunday which puts him out for a week or two. A third of the remaining possible games are Champions League, and the projected goal tally assumes we'll reach the final. After the performance in Milan last week, I'm optimistic. He hasn't featured in the recent big games against Arsenal, Villa and City, and we still have the Rent Boys and Mersey Reds to play again at home, with his selection unlikely.

Appearances: 30/42
Minutes Played: 1160
Goals: 9
Goal Frequency (mins): 1:129
Goals Per Appearance: 0.3
Projected Season Tally*: 12

* Calculated as follows: His average playing time per appearance (39 mins), goal frequency (every 129 minutes or 3.3 games at current minutes per appearance rate), number of possible appearances left (10 Prem games and c5 cup games), and appearance frequency (currently 71%). So 15 games x 71% = 11 appearances. 11/3.3 = 3 more goals

Festive Spirits

On Saturday we decked the halls with boughs of holly for the annual PTA Christmas Fair; the highlight of which is usually the fire alarms being set off by the bacon butties cooking in the after-school-club kitchen, necessitating a visit from the fire brigade - complete with uniforms, helmets and a big red engine. Whoop, whoop.

Sure enough the bacon sizzled, the alarms clanged and hundreds of mums eagerly trooped outside to await the firemen. Unfortunately, the Headteacher had the foresight to warn them in advance this year, so they didn't turn up. Boo.

I manned the plant stall - baby cyclamen, miniature fir trees sprayed with glitter and snow, poinsettas, begonias, azaleas

and two large trays of grave pots, complete with plastic flowers and ribbons.

For a children's Christmas Fair?

I may as well have rung a large bell and shouted 'Bring out your Dead'.

Turns out they were hugely popular and outsold everything else on the stall. There were animated discussions as to whether Uncle Ernie would prefer white plastic carnations or yellow silk dahlias; sulks when we ran out of pink roses and a heated and serious debate over green holly with berries or variegated holly with purple ribbons for Grandad.

It  definitely raised my spirits, if not theirs.


Owen Goal Update

The figures are looking better this week and my roll of tenners is safe again. The goals are coming from elsewhere in the squad and the City fans will be miserable after doing us a favour beating the rentboys yesterday. It doesn't bode well for Owen when he can't even get a run out in a Carling Cup game or against bottom of the league Portsmouth.

Appearances: 18/23
Minutes Played: 725
Goals: 4
Goal Frequency (mins): 1:181
Goals Per Appearance: 0.22
Projected Season Tally*: 10

* Calculated as follows: His average playing time per appearance (40 mins), goal frequency (every 181 minutes or 4.5 games at current minutes per appearance rate), number of possible appearances left (23 Prem games and c10 cup games), and appearance frequency (currently 78%). So 33 games x 78% = 25 appearances. 25/4.5 = 6 more goals

Misery Loves Company

I rely on iPod Shuffle Karma to tune in to my moods - good and bad - and select the appropriate soundtrack.

You know - when it just seems to know what to choose, so that you nod in approval at each fresh track and never reach for the skip button.

It's particularly important for those times when you're closer to oblivion than Heaven and it's all you can do to keep breathing in and breathing out and get through the days.

I'm no Julie Andrews. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens don't perk me up and I definitely don't punch the air in delight at wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings.

I have a theory about misery. If it's there, you should go with it, rather than fight it. The last thing you need is conflict. If you're down, happy music just makes you feel worse, because it's so out of sync with how you feel. Miserable music on the other hand, is the aural equivalent of having your hair softly stroked, your temples massaged and soothing words murmured gently in your ear.

It fits.

So when karma lets me down, I hit the Misery Playlist:

Clash - Bankrobber
Smiths - How Soon Is Now
Beatles - Hey Jude
Cure - In Between Days
Alanis Morissette - Mary Jane
Portishead - Glory Box
Pogues - Rainy Night in Soho
Simon and Garfunkel - Wednesday Morning 3am
Peter Gabriel - In Your Eyes
Space - Money
Joan Osborne - One of Us
James - Laid
Andreas Johnson - Glorious
Muse - Blackout
Stranglers - Midnight Summer Dream
Pink Floyd - Comfortably Numb



Owen Goal Update:

17 minutes at Anfield - long enough to get booed by the beach balls but not long enough to score. On to Oakwell on Tuesday and an excellent goal but in a mickey mouse cup that barely meets the bet qualifying criterion of being 'competitive'. Way to pick your moment, Michael.

Appearances: 12/15
Minutes Played: 420
Goals: 3
Goal Frequency (mins): 1:140
Goals Per Appearance: 0.25
Projected Season Tally*: 11

* Calculated as follows: His average playing time per appearance (35 mins), goal frequency (every 140 minutes or 4 games at current minutes per appearance rate), number of possible appearances left (28 Prem games and c13 cup games), and appearance frequency (currently 80%). So 41 games x 80% = 33 appearances. 33/4 = 8 more goals

Dear Fergie

Today I am mostly stiff and sore, but not in a good way.

I spent Saturday in the rain watching JP and Tiddler play football (winning 4-2 and losing 5-1 respectively) and yesterday playing five hours of football to complete my Level 1 FA Coaching Course.

I am a qualified football coach!

Not one for letting the astroturf grow under my feet, I am sending the following to Old Trafford today:

Dear Fergie,

Further to completing my FA Coaching Course I am delighted to enclose my Curriculum Vitae for your attention.

As you can see, I am now ready to fulfil my destiny and step into your size 10s. After yesterday's lack lustre performance you can now retire, safe in the knowledge that your legacy is in good hands.

My grades are excellent.

I would draw your attention in particular to the A* Highly Commended for gum chewing, kicking a water bottle and remonstrating with the Fourth Official, whilst running my hands repeatedly through my hair.

My FA Assessor had the following to say:

'Duck shows a most impressive command of the Anglo-Saxon, although her Govan accent still needs a little work. If she can combine this with her excellent hairdryer-throwing technique, she will have no difficulty in ruling the changing room. I would urge her to embrace the C-word, if she can, as an especially effective way of dealing with BBC commentators and pundits.'

Yours sincerely,

Duck

P.S. Can you leave me your watch?

** BTW - today is Picture of a Duck's third birthday - Happy Blogiversary to me! **

Maximum Break

What's one better than a 147?

Well, this week, a 146.

Mrs. Panther Hunter and I do a regular Tuesday quiz at the Local Pub. We mostly come away with a respectable score, but usually behind either The Burks, The Occasional Table, The Wacky Racers, Us In The Corner et al.

Once, we came away with the last place sweets, but we never, ever get our raffle ticket drawn for the Jackpot Question.

Until this week.

Mrs. Panther Hunter's ticket, #147, is pulled out for the £100 Rollover Jackpot and she elects me to go up to answer the question.

- It is on publishing - the industry in which I work.
- It is about J K Rowling - an author whose works I have read.
- It is an obscure reference to some law suit against some minor publishing house - of which I have never heard.

Boo.

I retake my seat and apologise to my partner.

The next ticket drawn is #146 - my ticket!

- It is on books - my thing again.
- It is on a book I have read - The Big Sleep
- It is by an author I know - 'Raymond Chandler'.

Mrs. Panther Hunter and I split the £100 and go home happy.

The next day, I get an unexpected £25 cashback cheque for my car insurance. £75 up on the week. We celebrate with new astroturf boots for me, JP and Tiddler.

I also win an eBay auction for a red lace Christmas party frock - for £3.

Tonight we have invested in a lucky dip national lottery ticket..... This time tomorrow, we'll be millionaires.

Owen Goal Update:

With his broken fanny fixed, Sicknote was back on the field for the home game against Bolton and managed 82 minutes without a goal.

Appearances: 9/12
Minutes Played: 319
Goals: 2
Goal Frequency (mins): 1:160
Goals Per Appearance: 0.22
Projected Season Tally*: 9

* Calculated as follows: His average playing time per appearance (35 mins), goal frequency (every 160 minutes or 4.5 games at current minutes per appearance rate), number of possible appearances left (29 Prem games and c15 cup games), and appearance frequency (currently 75%). So 44 games x 75% = 33 appearances. 33/4.5 = 7 more goals

Owen Goal

There are some things that shall remain sacred and the allocation of the number 7 shirt at OT to only those special ones worthy of the honour is one of them.

I can just about reconcile myself to the fact that He Who May Not Be Questioned signed the Scouse Dwarf, on the basis that it didn't cost any of our hard-earned Fan Cash, but I just cannot bear to see him sporting 7.

Of course, when HWMNBQ signed Ronaldo and paraded him in the same shirt, there was widespread criticism that an untested young showpony from Portugal should be entrusted with the legacy of Beckham, Cantona, Robson, Coppell, Best et al, but no-one can argue that it was ultimately in safe hands and he proved himself more than worthy.

But Owen - whose pedigree owes more to Darren 'Sicknote' Anderton than to his predecessors in the Sacred Seven - will never reach those heights for United. He can barely reach the physio's table at Carrington.

I think he can score goals, but only if he's fit enough to play and I don't believe he will be - at least not consistently.

So following our Keeganwatch tradition, SkyBet and Lanky Shaq have my roll of tenners on Owen scoring less than 12 competitive goals this season.

Appearances: 8/10
Minutes Played: 237
Goals: 2
Goal Frequency (mins): 1:119
Goals Per Appearance: 0.25
Projected Season Tally*: 11

True to form, he's now out with a groin injury so his possible appearances drops week by week.

I'm quietly confident.


* Calculated as follows: His average playing time per appearance (30 mins), goal frequency (every 119 minutes or 4 games at current minutes per appearance rate), number of possible appearances left (31 Prem games and c15 cup games), and appearance frequency (currently 80%). So 46 games x 80% = 37 appearances. 37/4 = 9 more goals.**

** Maths teacher's daughter. Genes will out!

Highs and Lows

High

So JP and Tiddler did the Great Manchester Mini Run on Saturday following their inaugural run last year. They were both 'going for it' so I made sure we were at the front of the 2000+ kids waiting for Usain Bolt and Haile Gebrselassie to fire the starting gun. JP came an astonishing 8th, yes 8th, in an equally astonishing 6 minutes and 21 seconds. Tiddler wasn't that far behind him having finally discovered how to run without skipping. But then they're both slim and weigh about as much as a bag of fluff, so there's very little to carry round and they're aerodynamically streamlined.

Low

Unlike their mother, who had to try to keep up with them (failing miserably, I'd add here) as the 'designated accompanying adult'.

It was only when I crossed the finish line that it dawned on me that doing a one mile sprint race the day before the Great Manchester Run wasn't the best idea I've ever had and totally wrecked the months of training I'd put in. I never sprint. I'm definitely built for endurance rather than speed and came away red-faced and limping. Not good. Next year I shall watch from the safety of the finish line. The whole course is barriered off and marshalled so even Tiddler couldn't get in much trouble on his own.

High

So I limped off to Old Trafford to watch United win the title at home for only the second time since the Premiership started and ensure that the Fat Spanish Waiter has an empty trophy cabinet again.

Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
We're going to Italy
Que sera, sera

Low

So I was stiff and sore yesterday morning - and not in a good way. My 55 minute target was out of the window as dosed to the eyeballs with Ibuprofen, I was just looking to break the hour. It was close all the way round and I was relying on a sprint finish to clinch a sub-60 time. As I passed Mr Duck Senior and the Little Ducks on the Cheering Bus at 9k, blowing me kisses and waving their giant foam fingers I tried to kick for home.

Nothing happened. My legs just wouldn't respond. The petrol warning light had been on for at least 2k and now I was down to vapour. I finished in a tantalisingly close 61 minutes. Boo.

High

So a little despondent and VERY stiff and sore, the Little Ducks and I headed for the Local Pub and a celebratory lunch. We had steaks and Belgian waffle stacks and I reflected on the fact that I improved on last year's time, came 2000 places higher than last year and 639th in my gender and age group. I also raised over £500 for Cancer Research. Not bad for a lame Duck.

Things You Encounter When You Haven't Got Your Gun #6

Champions!

No, I'm not being premature here, although after 3 points on derby day yesterday, United edge ever closer.

Top of the League and THAT'S A FACT, Rafa.

No, Tiddler's team have just won their East Lancs. Under 7's Strictly Alphabetical Order Because That's Fair Division with an impressive:

Played 20 - Won 17 - Drawn 1 - Lost 2 - Goals For - 101 - Goals against - 27

We had a presentation night last weekend, at which they collected a huge league trophy, half the size of the proud captain, who kissed it and held it aloft in finest premiership tradition while the crowds cheered.

Tiddler himself collected his individual trophy and was photographed with the League trophy. Last month's Flock of Seagulls look has been replaced with a Floppy Tulip*, but the smile was worth a thousand jars of hair wax.

The United Junior Academy Manager came to watch an Under 7's tournament we were participating in at the weekend, and we got a sneak preview of some of the teams we'll be playing next year in the East Lancs Under 8's Tough Division. The boys were somewhat disappointed when at the end of the group phase, the organisers announced over the PA that everyone was a winner and would be getting certificates.

Our success-hungry Tiddlers looked confused. Who won? When were the semi-finals and finals? Was anyone going to Rome?

Can you imagine the outcry if at the end of the Champions League Group Phase UEFA issued certificates to all the teams, with a press release congratulating everyone on being winners just for taking part?

I think not.

And in a double TYEWYHGYG whammy, I am not eligible for a ticket to Rome because last summer when I renewed my season ticket, I opted out of automatic Carling Cup tickets. Had I known that this penalty was in the offing at the time, I would have gritted my teeth and resigned myself to watching the reserves progress through the Mickey Mouse Cup, with a Champions League Final ticket at stake. So there will be no mooning over Messi for me in Rome in 2 weeks.

Boo.

* Starts out as an impressive Beckhamesque mohawk, but with fine, long blonde locks, droops and twists to resemble a floppy tulip after a few minutes despite a ton of hair wax.




NB If you're wondering why POAD has been silent for a few weeks I don't really have an answer I'm afraid, other than my dreaded insomnia has been back and Nothing, I repeat Nothing is funny when you're sleep deprived.

Early Kick-Off

'Star Player - Emanuel Adebayor - attack 96 points'

It's 5.30am.

I know it's 5.30am because it's still dark outside, and a reminder that the crocuses might be out, but Spring is still a week away.

The Little Ducks are playing Match Attax Football Cards on the landing outside my bedroom.

'Man of The Match - Ashley Cole - defence 82 points'.

Our Dogforaweek is still quiet downstairs, but I know that once I put foot to carpet, his Steve Austinesque hearing will kick in and his bladder will demand that I take him for a tour of The Lampposts of Friendly Drive 1967-2009.

I resign myself to another early start and reach for my dressing gown.

'Why are you playing on the landing outside my bedroom, waking me up instead of staying in one of your bedrooms?' - I demand.

JP drops his shoulders, sighs and rolls his eyes.*

'It's a Cup Semi-final' - explains Tiddler.

When the light of comprehension fails to flicker on my face, JP adds

'Neutral Venue' **


*I hate that. I hate that. I hate that. It's getting so that it invokes a Pavlovian response in me. As soon as I detect the first hint of a revolving iris I find my nails digging into my palms and a pique of inadequacy welling up. By the time he reaches his teens and really knows it all, I shall be sitting in my dressing gown all day, talking to the Stick Insects and licking the barred windows, while Dido plays on an endless loop in the background.

**He doesn't say 'Duh', but I can hear it clearly in my head

The Price of My Soul

Yesterday, I did a very bad thing.

We did a great local walk to Jubilee Tower at Darwen - known affectionately as Thunderbird 3. We climbed to the observation platform and surveyed the familiar landmarks we have walked over the past few months, including the wind turbines at Scout Moor which we walked last week. Elegant, extraordinary and spectacular. I loved them.

Anyway, on returning from the walk, we headed to the pub to watch the game against Chelsea.

Hang on, I hear you cry. Shouldn't you have been at Old Trafford in your seat, where no-one else can sit when United are playing, for as long as you live?

Yes, I should. But someone offered me £110 for the ticket, and I didn't have anyone to look after the Little Ducks for me to go anyway, so I took it!

So there you have it. I am a sell-out! The price of my soul is a measly £110. I feel like I sacrificed a puppy.

This year, as has become traditional, I had 10 pints of Guinness - on my nails. A belated Happy New Year to all.

Celebrity Stalker

Lizzie's daughter Juju has been over from the States via France for Christmas and it seemed only fitting that she should take in a game at the Theatre of Dreams as part of her visit. I usually park on the street a few minutes from the ground to avoid the gridlock and to save the extortionate cost of so-called security parking -whose attendants are there when it's time to take your money but seemingly absent when the actual business of guarding your vehicle has to be done.

I was therefore slightly perplexed when a car pulled alongside us as we were preparing to leave the car under a street light. The driver gestured for us to wind down the window and advised us against leaving the car in that particular spot - taking us for first timers, I believe.

I assured him that I had been parking there for years and was prepared to take the risk. But nevertheless, thank you Nigel Pivaro - aka Terry Duckworth, for your interest.





Incidentally this wasn't the first time Mr Pivaro has been my Guardian Angel. A couple of years ago he spent some months guarding a building site adjacent to my office and looking up at our windows.

To be honest, despite Corrie's best efforts to perpetuate the Terry Bad Boy Duckworth image, he's not particularly big or threatening without his make-up and without Jack's pigeons as back up, but I'm now slightly concerned that he might be stalking me...


Either that or he's out for revenge after the incident with Marlon.

Scout

'Hello. Is that Duck, from East Lancs Under 7's?'

'Speaking - I reply, putting down my paintbrush carefully, trying not to get emulsion on the new and completely unworkable Nokia E71 I have been issued with - my hints about the object of my desire going entirely unnoticed at work.

'It's Junior Academy Manager here from Manchester United. I'd like to arrange to come and watch your Tiddlers play this weekend.'

On the scale of Coolest Phone Calls I Have Received In My Life Ever , this is right up there with Philip and Fern ringing to give me £7000 on This Morning.

I refrain from leaping up and down, or blurting out that I'm a Huuuuge Fan and Season Ticket Holder and set about a professional to professional discussion about our tiddlers, their performances so far and the competition in the League. I hope he's picturing me sitting in my office, with an assistant and everything - player contracts at my fingertips, match videos and training schedules spread out before me.

Standing in Tidder's bedroom, spattered with paint, wearing low slung tracksuit bottoms* and an ancient baseball cap doesn't really convey the right impression.

Weather permitting he's coming to the next game. I dust off my sheepkin coat in preparation.



*Not a fashion statement. With no elastic left in the waist I have no option but to show off my pants while decorating.

It's Just Like Watching Brazil

After two years of intensive training, East Lancs Under 7s League Football has started in earnest for Tiddler. The season had opened with 7 straight wins including 2 with scores in double figures for us.

It's Just Like Watching Brazil, I thought.

On Saturday, however, we tasted defeat for the first time against another, as yet unbeaten side, although it could have gone either way.

This Is How It Feels To Be City, I thought.

As predicted, Tiddler is one of football's natural defenders and spends the game prowling the 18 yard line, protecting the keeper and watching for danger. It does mean his chances of scoring are few and far between and largely restricted to corners and free kicks. Twice the ball fell to his feet from a perfect corner on Saturday. Twice he balanced himself, turned and shot in one movement. Twice I prepared myself to leap in the air screaming like a mad eejit...

Tiddler's blonde head is just visible, lurking behind the girl defender.

and twice the net failed to bulge, as the keeper gathered the ball at the first shot, and the second went narrowly wide of the post.

So near and yet so far.

I console him with the fact that if this were fantasy football he'd have as many clean sheet points as some of our strikers had goal points, so his contribution is as important as theirs.

Speaking of fantasy football. JP, Tiddler and I have entered teams in a fantasy league this year. Tiddler and I languish somewhere around 20,000th, but JP is right up there in 1000th place in the country. He spots players coming into form and makes canny transfers week after week. Unfortunately there's no cash prize in this one, but next year I'm signing him up for the ones with the Big Money - provided I can prevent him from ratting out on himself for being under 18.

Football Matters and Size Matters

5.57am - 'Children are smaller than their mums and dads, but some dogs are bigger than children'.

I'm sensing it's a rhetorical question and offer no response.

Blackout linings and blinds are no deterrent to a determined Tiddler, who knows it's morningtime much earlier in June than in winter. Either that or he's in league with the Birds to make my early mornings a misery.

The Little Ducks have been totally gripped by Euro 2008 - sticker books, charts, learning Portuguese (United fans) and Spanish (Mersey Reds), but mostly from comics, so I'm not planning to ditch the phrase books just yet. They've been staying up later than usual as well to watch the first half hour of the evening games, and their first questions of the day have been, who won, who scored, which minute... (apart from at 5.57 today).

It's heartening that for them, the football is everything. As far as I can tell, most of the country is ignoring the tournament without an England team's presence. As a Welsh person, I have yet to see my national team qualify for a tournament, but never let it stop me watching.

Tiddler had a second friendly game last week, and my first chance to cheer him live. It was fantastic. The opposition turned up in full matching kit - warm-up routines at the ready and a girl! 'They're a feeder club for a local League 2 side' - confided another parent.

I needn't have worried. Our Tiddlers were 3-0 up inside 10 minutes and 5-0 up at half-time. It was just like watching Brazil. Now, on some level, seeing opposition faces drop each time our striker got the ball, you want him to slip up. You want them to get a goal back, because they're 5 and 6 years old and this is a friendly. But then you remember that this is football and scream till you're hoarse.

Our coaches had a stronger sense of what's right than the crowd and substituted Tiddler and 2 others at half time. The game ended 6-2, and I tried to feel happy for both teams.

We then had a penalty shootout, with everyone having a go from both sides. Our keeper saved 8 penalties - yes E-I-G-H-T. Our boys put most of theirs away.

There is an air of expectancy around the ground. The coaches sense that this could be a special group. There's potential with a capital P, and our Tiddler is part of it. I will definitely be getting a season ticket for this.

In other news. We are moving house at the weekend, so there may be some service interruption for a short while. Please talk among yourselves.

Reasons to be Cheerful

Part I

I wasn't the only Duck pounding the streets of Manchester at the weekend. On Saturday JP and Tiddler ran in the Great Manchester Mini Run for 3-8 year olds. One mile around the City of Manchester stadium. No mean feat for a seven- and five-year-old.

They raised £160 for the new children's hospital, got T shirts and medals and better goody bags than we did on Sunday! I ask you. You run 10k and all you get is a packet of lemon-flavoured pine nuts and seeds, and a tube of extra strong mints!

Our fears over Tiddler's running were groundless. As soon as the race started, he set off like a mad eejit. He was buzzing and beat JP by a decent margin. I wonder where he gets it from?

Part II

Tiddler had his first football game on Sunday and I missed it. There was the small matter of the Run, so I do have a note.

They played another tiddler team from Bolton and won 4-0. Get in! Identical Twin's tiddler scored a hat-trick and has trials for the local League 1 side. We have a decent goalie, a boy who can throw in half the length of the pitch at 6, and an utterly brilliant, two-footed, pin-point corner-taking, fast, can-pick-any-spot-in-the-goal-and-put-the-ball-there midfielder. I want to adopt him. His dad's pension plan is a cert. Still, we have him on video, so in 10 years I can sell the footage to the Red Tops when he's playing for United and dating Apple Martin.

Mr Duck took the camcorder, so that I could have my very own Match of The Day, but then was so engrossed in the action, he forgot to follow it with the camera lens and I spent a frustrating time watching off the ball footage, while parents encouraged and Coach shouted instructions -

'TIDDLER, STOP SKIPPING!'

So despite the Mini Run, our little Michael Flatley is still at it, it seems. But he tackled like Wes Brown, defended like Nemanja Vidic and went forward like Patrice Evra when the opportunity arose.

Part III

Mr Duck has gone to St Andrews for a spot of golf, so I booked a babysitter and headed to the Local Pub for the small matter of the game last night. It wasn't the same as being there and I felt more than a pang of regret, but it came pretty damn close, as the passions rose and the faithful willed Van der Sar to save us. Which he did.

Que sera sera
Whatever will be, will be
In Moscow we made it three
Que sera sera

So I'm still grinning.

Are You Pondering What I'm Pondering?

It was the usual Sunday morning Match Of The Day ritual. JP commenting in a stream of factual yet inconsequential narrative and Tiddler gawping idiotically, with one hand down the front of his pyjamas.

JP plots, plans and exercises his rather scary intellect memorising the Periodic Table and remembering exactly what he has eaten for the past 7.5 years. Tiddler giggles when someone says the word fart and is fascinated with his willie.

'Who wants Flake icecream?' I asked yesterday. Tiddler's two hands shoot up.

JP then waves his legs in the air as well. 'I've got 4 legs up, so I want more than Tiddler'.

'I've got 5 up including my widgie', announces Tiddler, trumping JP and earning himself an extra scoop.

'They're Pinky and the Brain!' remarked Mr Duck in a perfect, revelatory moment of clarity.

Virginity #2

Losing your virginity has been covered by me before, and yesterday, I'm proud to say, was Tiddler's turn.

For the last home game of the season, Tiddler came with me to OT for his very first game. He has been going to see the Mersey Reds with Mr. Duck and JP of late and has been sporting a Gerrard shirt and singing 'Fernando Torres, Liverpool's number 9' in lieu of 'we all know that Johnny is going to score'.

This was effectively damning me to a life sentence of going to the Theatre of Dreams alone. Not exactly a stretch in Strangeways, I know, but sharing the experience with my son and not having to rely on Amazing Dave to take me when I'm an OAP, was something I have been dreaming of since JP and Tiddler were born. I grew up in a family of Mersey Reds and then married one. It couldn't be my misfortune to rear two as well, could it?

It was utterly brilliant. He pored over his programme, munched his way through a big picnic and it was my delight to thrust him aloft in his United shirt for each of the four goals. My fellow fans welcomed him, tousled his hair and shook his hand, as we marched imperiously towards retaining the Premiership crown.

I took him pitchside for the lap of honour. The proximity of the Great and the Good, smiling and waving just for us, or so it seemed, hopefully secured a corner of his Tiddler heart for the future. He may never share my passion and OT may never be the one place in the world where he feels truly alive, as I do, but as we walked back to the car, eating chips and gravy and singing Viva Ronaldo, I felt a small flicker of what I recognised as hope. Life is good.