For £2.99, I figured I couldn't really lose.

When you become a dad, you dream of times you'll share with your child. When you're English, and you have a son, one of the things you dream about is football. Sitting watching matches with your boy, kicking a ball around the park - oh, the fun you'll have.

Unfortunately for me, my son was born in America. They don't do football over there. They can't even get the name right. Still, it was my duty to try and indoctrinate him, or if necessary, bludgeon a love of football into him. I'd watch any game I could on the telly, but he wouldn't sit with me for more than three minutes.

"Right", I thought, "I know what to do". So I bought a football, and a football goal, for the back garden. It was great. I figured we'd start small, and have him taking penalties against me, and I'd let them in and he'd feel great and he'd love football. Instead, he'd run up to the ball, kick it hopelessly to the point where it wouldn't even reach me, and then run off, laughing, to do something else. And somewhat dejectedly, I'd stand and take penalties into an empty net, while he was off running around the garden, being American.

This is what my son was turning into.

And then, one fateful day as I was out in the garden, kicking the ball around by myself, something awful happened. I was dribbling the ball around, dodging past nothing in particular, and I hit a shot on the turn, towards the goal. I caught it so sweetly, and it flew towards the target.... and it hit the post. But with the frame of the goal being just thin and made of plastic, the ball went straight through it and broke the post into not two, but three pieces. I was gutted. My morale was at an all-time low. And worse, my son would never love football.

Now, though, we're in England, and football is everywhere. My hopes were always high that I'd manage to convert him (although not in a creepy, Hollywood-Star-Scientologist way). Turns out I didn't even need to try. All the kids at school play, and so it didn't take long for Aidan to get involved. But what REALLY changed things was a two year old copy of Fifa found in Game's bargain bins.

Even the merest possibility of a new recruit was a reason to be happy.

We got home and loaded it up. I was a bit concerned that it would be too awkward for him, with all those buttons. He's big for his age, but he's still only five. Still, I figured, he could be a good team and I'd be one of the worst. That way, he could win and feel great, and I wouldn't get bored because of the handicap of playing with duffers.

Just three games later, and he's beaten me 4-0. And what's worse is, I was actually trying to win! Of course, I just had to play as a top team and crush him, out of a sense of pride and fatherly duty. But that doesn't happen any more. He's pretty good. He can actually hold his own in a game against me, and even win fair and square.

A damn good thrashing can put anyone right.

It's incredible, the amount of attention he pays to any football, now. We were watching Arsenal's last game at Highbury, and Aidan said, "Look, there's Dennis Bergkamp!" He recognised him from FIFA 2004. Six months ago, he didn't know a single footballer. Now he's complaining because "in my game, Kasey Keller is in goal for Tottenham, not Paul Robinson." Surely time for an upgrade, and the delights of Pro Evo?

And finally, the day came when I knew that my efforts were complete. On Friday 9th June, Aidan woke up at five to seven in the morning instead of his usual eight o' clock, rolled over and asked, "Daddy, is it the World Cup today?"

A very good place to start? In this case, yes.

Thank you, FIFA Football 2004. You've helped me to make my son English.

July 2006

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