In 2008, aged 16, I signed for Lewes FC. The club was in ascendancy: newly promoted to the Conference, we had a new stand at the stadium (later paid for by selling our best players, but that's another story), a new Under 18s coach, brought in from the Brighton and Hove Albion academy just down the road, and a new intake of what was, genuinely, the best squad of non-academy players in the south of England. Most of them came from professional academies like Brighton, Bournemouth and Southampton, some released at the big jump from Under 16s to Under 18s, others who had the chance to carry on but turned it down (and if you're wondering why they might reject something as fabled as an U18's contract - known as a 'scholarship' - at a top club by the way, it's probably because that contract entitles you to the sum total of about £60 a week, mandatory residence in 'digs' and a BTEC in Sports Bullshit that you have to take instead of college). Some, like yours truly, came from non-league clubs, having never quite edged their way in on the ground floor. For four years I road-tripped around half the professional academies in the bottom-right corner of the country; three days a week my poor mum picking me up from school and, instead of heading home, handing me a sandwich, a protein bar and a sports drink and driving me two hours down the coast, or up to London, or sometimes just down the road. For those fours years I'd been consistently rejected.

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From Portsmouth, for a chap they flew in from Argentina, from Charlton Athletic for a lad from the USA, Fulham for the England U16s goalkeeper and from Brighton - twice - for a boy who, to be fair to him, was about twice my height and really very good. But I got into Lewes. I think I can say that it was a very good team. Lewes U18s won the top division by a good way, and got knocked out of the FA Youth Cup, in the third round, by the Premier League's Hull City. That Hull City then narrowly lost the next round to Manchester United.

I watched that game against Hull from the stands. I'd just partially dislocated my shoulder for what was the fifth time in my life (and not the last), and was waiting for a scan. I could have saved the shot - and ahead of the next round there'd absolutely have been a United scout to see it.:: Here's Lewes' Stadium, The Dripping Pan. It's quite nice!

I don't actually know. It's a long time ago. Maybe I tell myself I could have saved it in a blaze of glory because it made me feel better at the time - 'if only I hadn't got injured, I'd have won us the game and got signed by the club I've supported all my life'. And then I'd win the lottery and go to the moon. It's embarrassing when you say it out loud, but at sixteen years old, suddenly staring straight at a pile of sagging grades and drifting friends, I think it's probably what I needed to hear. Either way, around about that time I was also playing a lot of Football Manager.

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I'd love to tell you there's a complicated psychological thing behind that but it's not really very complicated is it? I couldn't play football so I played a video game about simulating football. And also you could play it with one arm, which helped. Anyway, when my face (empty silhouette) turned up in FM10 I was absolutely chuffed. You can picture it: me, one arm in a sling, the other clicking away at my spreadsheet video game, a big, stupid grin on my face. I even signed myself for Manchester United. The board really loved that: a club massively in debt wasting time and money on a terrible player, with the legendary Edwin van der Sar on the bench.

They didn't fire me though because I won the Champions League (and because I didn't play myself in the final). As I've got older - not so much growing up as sliding, gracefully, towards my final form of podgy, bitter football dad - I've become less fixated on how brilliant it was to be a player in one of my favourite ever games, and more curious about just how weird my stats were. I'm 5'11, in the real world (really just a shade under but nevermind that), and in FM10 I'm listed as a whopping 6'2 (in fact it's 190cm, so just a shade over, and I'll take every extra millimetre thanks). My actual birthday is in May, not October. I can go on but best of all, I have a weirdly high rating for Eccentricity, the keeper-only stat which governs how likely one is to do something really bizarre, like dribble the ball up the pitch, or start juggling, or something. I honestly don't know exactly what it does because in my nine or ten years playing the game I've never signed a goalkeeper with high Eccentricity - because, if anything, it just means they'll be a massive liability.