Jonathan Liew’s piece on the end of his football career struck a chord, or perhaps a tendon (Some guts, no glory: end of my amateur football career brings painful realisation, 20 May). His comment that top players can count on “trophies and triumphs, medals and memories” is true for a few. But for most of us who’ve played team sports, wins may come yet trophies rarely do.
Many revered professionals, though well-paid and regularly picked, retire without silverware. Does that diminish their sporting life? I don’t think so, but perhaps they do. I’m pleased for Harry Kane that he’s finally in a team that’s won something meaningful, as I was when my own team, West Ham, lifted the Uefa Conference League trophy in 2023. A winner is a winner, at whatever level, and they can all eventually retire having won at least one competition.
I understand Jonathan’s feeling that the only connection with elite athletes is “the sacrifice” and “pain and punishment”. But I’d argue that the true link is the desire to play, to compete, to give your best. After a 41-year break, I’ve taken up cycling time trials again. I’m slow, but as fellow competitors point out, faster than everyone sitting at home. And post-race, I hobble around just like the 28mph riders; the effort is the same, even if the results are very different.
Jonathan should celebrate his football days. He’s played more, and better, than most of the armchair pundits ever will. And now? Well, he could try cycling: easier on the knees and ankles, great cardio, and there’s still a pint and a laugh at the end. Good luck!
Nigel Hoggart
Bradwell-on-Sea, Essex
• I, like Jonathan Liew, also recently made peace with amateur “career” retirement. Having lasted 25 years playing at various levels of the Donegal junior league, the time felt right to finally hang up the Copa Mundials (the boot of choice, despite a brief ill-fated dalliance with Nike).
Unfortunately, I was unable to go out on a high note, having suffered relegation from the Donegal premier division on the last day of the season. I have no doubt my body will appreciate the decision. As will the younger members of our squad – who inexplicably frequently rejected my choice of dressing room music. (The Prodigy’s Fat of the Land is surely still popular with the young folk, right?)
Park running, swimming and cycling will become my new physical pursuits. All noble and worthwhile, but absolutely nothing will replace the feeling of lacing the boots up and crossing the white line. It’s been emotional.
Colin McNicholas
Bunbeg, County Donegal, Ireland
• My heart goes out to Jonathan Liew, whose excellent article beautifully captured those feelings experienced on the day you realise you have to hang up your boots.
My “career”, played out in the Wensleydale Creamery League no less, was cut short by injury at the tender age of 26, so Jonathan can perhaps think himself fortunate to have nearly reached 40 before having to call it a day.
And anyway, I have some good news for him. There’s always walking football. I began in my 50s and still get a childlike thrill every Thursday evening when I don my trainers and for an hour can still pretend to be Colin Todd, sweeping majestically in defence. As long as you can wander around the artificial grass, and stay upright, you can continue to dream what it must be like to be great.
Ben Ruston
Richmond, North Yorkshire
• Oh Jonathan, don’t despair! I play regularly with a group ranging in age from 19 to 68 and, afterwards in the pub, a fellow sexagenarian and I toast the miracle of playing the same game at 60 that we were playing at six years old. Hell, we’re better than we were as six-year-olds! Get yourself some physio, some kinesiology tape, those funny knee guards and play along with your own kids until you either fall off your perch, or they sell off your pitch.
Mark Reid
London
• Have an opinion on anything you’ve read in the Guardian today? Please email us your letter and it will be considered for publication in our letters section.
