Without the 'p'

Sporting achievements in our lives can represent a highlight, a sense of worth and a few moments, in recollection, of extreme happiness.

An achievement does not have to be of Olympic proportions, mentioned in record books or deserving of  honours and a civic statue.

As time passes, that goal scored as an Under 11's Cub Scout against arch rivals the 2nd Barton Troop takes on mythical, misty status. There is a large, mob like crowd, a commentary, TV coverage and an action replay on a perpetual minds-eye loop.

The reality was of course a lumpy, grass starved, dog dirt streaked pitch at the Recreation Ground by the Rope Works, a spectator count of 4 of which 2 were canines, a scrappy, ill tempered game with occasional scratching and biting, a painful grazed knee and my scuffed, hurried toe poked effort off both posts and out through the holey netting. The 2nd Barton's said it had not actually crossed the line but Miss Bennett, Akela, our Leader and the Match Referee ruled it admissible. She knew nothing about football but was kind.

It was nevertheless glorious, more so because a few of the 2nd Barton were crying out of a sense of injustice.

Mine was the only goal my team managed but giving a degree of respectability to our opponents' 15 goal spree lead.

I think that I was carried, held aloft by my comrades, at the end of the game but it could, as easily, have been a sensation created by low blood sugar levels. A bit of an out of body experience.

I have to my name only two sporting trophies. They were for cycling.

Trophies is, in the context of my awards, a generous word. I have seen monstrous shiny plastic edifices on the shelves in many houses which resemble scaffolding rigs holding up the ceiling but on closer inspection have been awarded for third place in a darts match or runner up in a pram race.

It is big business, the supply of sports awards items, as I saw in a small well stocked emporium in a city centre side street.

Every conceivable shape, size and extravagance was catered for in gold column plastics, silver sheen plastics and onyx embossed plastics. The structures could be customised to a particular sport with a small ,round or oval plate depicting a rugby player in full flight, footballer perfectly balanced for a strike on goal, angler casting, darts player poised and throwing, a clutch of high scoring domino's or a mini-moto-bike jumping a hill. Spin off products, more on a seasonal and sentimental basis were for World's Best Dad, Mum and Grandparent. A few rude and lewd erections celebrated prowess as a lover. I am not sure where these would actually be displayed in a residential setting.

My small haul of cycling awards actually came from a bit of a purple patch in the same year. They were presented to me as part of a season long competition within our own Cycle Racing Club, comprising about a dozen riders, male and female and covering an age range of 13 to 70.

I got a couple of placings in local events which earned points and I was the fastest on the day in a 25 mile individual time trial. The tally of points, 15, was the lowest ever in the history of the club competition. My time for 25 miles at 1 hour, 1 minute and 5 seconds was a personal best but our star competitor was off form having argued with his mum and dad about staying up late during the days leading up to the race. I can sympathise with his parents. It was after all a school week and 14 year olds need their rest at a critical adolescent development stage.

My awards were small and shield shaped in wood effect plastic and with a stainless steel crest, just slightly smaller and engraved.

They were displayed in a prominent position on the living room shelf when I was still living at home amongst the swimming, music festival, attendance certificates and graduation photographs of my siblings.

When it was time to set up my own home the trophies were briefly on show before being relegated to a box on top of the kitchen cabinets. I was understandably proud of them. In the following years of cycle competition I attempted to add to the collection but soon realised that they represented the peak of my achievements.

I still stumble across them out on occasion such as spring cleaning the kitchen or looking for that elusive size of single screw or nail in odd storage containers.

The plastic mounts and the stainless steel have separated at the top connection and swing loose. The stainless steel is in fact a bit stained and may not be bona-fide material. The brittle hinged stand on the back has weakened and refuses to stay rigid.

The mis-spelling of my surname is, as ever, a bit of a disappointment.