Greatest sports achievements as a child.

We'd play football on our break in secondary school. There was this area of asphalt about the size of a tennis court, with about a trillion tiny little pebbles on it. If you ever fell you'd always stand back up with a dozen of them embedded into the palm of each hand until you swept them off.

It was a caged area, and we'd use the door frame - slimmer than your domestic door frame, for example - as goals. If you lashed the ball through one of them, it's a goal. Simple. It never went out of play really, because on one side was a brick wall, and on the other side there was this....metal....stretchy....wire stuff. I don't know how to describe it but you'd know it if you saw it. I wonder if they make it anymore because I'm not sure I've seen it since.

Anyway, I'm in plenty of space, near enough to the opposition of the goal. I hated getting the football. It always felt like the entire world was watching me when I did get it; not in a narcisstic way, but a very self-conscious way. I didn't want it, but this fella lobs it over to me nonetheless. I control it on my lap and, with the ball still in the air, I deftly side-foot it over the keeper, lobbing him. It drops through the goal frame, bouncing a foot or so beyond the 'line' and that was that. One of the Arsenal boys scored a very similar lob at Villa Park years ago - I mean in terms of the actual technique, not that I hit it over someone's head first.

But yeah, it wasn't a game-winning goal, and the whole team didn't come sprinting toward me. It wasn't a Disney moment like, but to me it was. Inside I was thinking, 'I can't believe that happened'. It was such a ridicuously good goal. In terms of difficulty, it would've been classed as a good goal even if it was full-sized nets, what with it being on the volley and all, but as I said, we're talking a skinny door frame.

My lob had to be high enough to go over his head, but low enough to actually drop into the goal. It also had to be precise enough to go through this coffin-sized door frame, too. In other words, my execution had to be perfection. And it was. And yet it wasn't. Sad thing here is that I struggle with perfectionism - like, a lot. It's such a wicked thing. Even when you do achieve perfection in something, if even for a moment, you cynically chalk it down as a fluke, which I did with that goal for many years. Did I mean to do it? Yes. Could I do it again? Maybe, maybe not, and that was the inner argument I used to discount a moment of brilliance.

Eventually I learned to appreciate it. Now I use the goal as an anchor. I use it as a reminder that perfection does not exist and therefore chasing it isn't all that practical. Even when you attain it, it isn't enough.