I have a ticking time bomb inside me. It's not a serious illness or anything like that but it is something that gave me plenty to fret about during the last year or so. That might sound melodramatic but at the age of 32 with a wife, two kids and a mortgage, the prospect of life without a job was scary.
RETIRING has always been in the back of my mind. When I got injured almost a year ago – rupturing my anterior cruciate ligament at training with St Mirren – and I had to go and see the surgeon, he said ‘Listen, this is going to take 11 to 12 months and even then you may have to consider stopping anyway.’
I’VE been daydreaming a lot lately. In my mind’s eye it’s late in the season and St Mirren are on the brink of promotion back to the Premiership. I’m on the bench and there are just five minutes to go. Jack Ross tells me to warm up, then I’m getting stripped and the next thing I’m on the pitch and nodding in the winner. I see myself celebrating with the fans and then the realisation hits me that we’re back in the top flight.
CAN I let you in on something? Believe it or not, football is taking up more of my time than ever. I kind of thought that when I was ruled out for a year with a mangled knee I might find myself at home with the family. But I’m involved with the game just as much, if not more, than I was when I was fighting fit.
UP, down, yawn. Up, down, yawn. Up, down, yawn. Leg raises, those incremental steps back to a fully functional knee, are, I’ve decided mind-numbingly boring. I didn’t realise it at the time because I was too caught up in my rehab, but, they are. Not that everyone is sympathetic to a footballer in rehab mode, mind you.
