I was 12 in this picture, and closing in on the peak of my sporting career. I’ll always look back fondly on the fun and community of growing up in a football family
My dad made sure my two younger brothers and I were raised in a Chelsea household; the shed at the back of the garden was, we were told, where Arsenal supporters belonged. Growing up, we went to all the games at Stamford Bridge, competed in our local little league as though it were the Premier League, and followed Dad to the pub to watch Sunday matches (the cheeky chips and J2Os were at least half of the allure).
I’m pretty sure I’m 12 years old in this photo and closing in on the peak of my sporting career, as I got ready to play football at a nearby park with my siblings Jevan (then nine) and Kiran (just four). Although we didn’t always have the money for the expensive new kits every season (I’m sure you can spot my mismatched camo shorts), we always had something Chelsea to wear. My dad would often dodge the high ticket prices by taking us to watch the women’s team play, as well as the under-21s, where you would witness great talent at a fraction of the cost.
