40 years on… a MIND THAT NEVER SWITCHED OFF

PART 3…

When Obsession Became My Superpower

Long before football became my life, I was always searching for something to immerse myself in.

The first thing I attached myself to was books.

At school, we had an annual charity reading competition where students raised money based on the number of books they read. Most kids enjoyed it. I took it to another level.

I read hundreds of books. Some were short. Some were long. Eventually, it wasn't even about the stories anymore. It became about the challenge. The next book. The growing tally. The feeling of accomplishing something that very few others were willing to do.

Looking back, I don't think I was simply trying to win or raise the most money.

Reading gave me something to focus on. It quietened the constant stream of thoughts racing through my mind. For those moments, everything else disappeared. It was just me and the next page.

Then my attention shifted to something completely different handwriting.

I spent hours with a cursive workbook, carefully tracing and rewriting every letter until they looked exactly how I wanted them to. Eventually, I developed my own handwriting style and continued refining it.

Most people would probably wonder why a young boy would spend so much time practising handwriting.

I don't really have a simple answer.

I loved seeing myself improve. Every page was a little better than the last. That sense of accomplishment-built confidence, and that confidence became something I wanted to experience again and again.

It simply became the next thing my mind latched onto.

Even today, if I slow down and take my time, my handwriting is still something I'm proud of.

Looking back, I can see these weren't just random childhood hobbies. They were clues. Once something captured my interest, I didn't just enjoy it—I immersed myself completely.

There were basketball cards to collect, organise and trade. Hours spent shooting hoops in the driveway, determined to make one more shot than the day before. Then there was rollerblading through the streets in true '90s fashion, carrying my ice hockey stick with a street hockey puck. The Mighty Ducks had just come out, and I must have watched it at least twenty times. I'd skate down the road imagining I was an ice hockey player, always trying to go a little faster or learn something new.

Then there was always a football.

The same little boy who had devoured books and practised handwriting for hours found a ball.

Before long, I was juggling relentlessly, setting myself targets and refusing to stop until I reached them. My first goal was 100. I couldn't wait to tell my coach when I finally got there. Then it became 200. Then 500. Every milestone simply created another one.

The obsession never really stopped. Well into my late teens, I'd put my earbuds in, press play, and disappear into my own little world. It was just me, the ball and the music.

The brick wall beside my grandparents' house still has a dent in it from the thousands of balls I kicked against it. I'd spend hours experimenting—one touch, two touch, one bounce, no bounce, standing close, moving further away, striking the ball with different parts of my foot. I wasn't just practising. I was experimenting, learning and chasing improvement.

Even into my teenage years, I'd head to the local school or park, find a wall, put my headphones on and practise in complete solitude. Looking back, those moments weren't lonely—they were peaceful. For the first time all day, my mind became quiet.

Looking back now, I realise football didn't create that obsessive drive.

It simply became the perfect place for it to live.

It became my outlet. My escape. My form of meditation before I even knew what meditation was. When I had a ball at my feet, the noise in my head disappeared. By the time I climbed into bed at night, my body was exhausted, my mind was calmer, and for a little while, everything felt still.