Most of the kids dream of playing in the Premier League. And I was one of them. I grew up playing and kicking a ball against a wall, pretending to be one of those well-trained and professional footballers and hoping that one-day people would chant my name and roar for me. But now? I play football professionally in the second division. But no one chants my name. Not really.

You won’t know who I am; that’s the point. I’m one of the hundreds of land grinding it out below the glitz and glamour of the top tier. We travel on buses, not private jets. We play on pitches that sometimes feel more like farmland than stadiums. We get a few thousand in the stands if we’re lucky. And when it rains, which is often it’s cold wet, and no one cares that your hamstring is tight or your personal life is falling apart. Dont get me wrong, I’m genuinely grateful for this and always feel lucky. I get paid to play the game I love. But it’s a job, not a fantasy, to me. Contracts aren’t always guaranteed. One injury, one poor season and youre out. You hear stories of mates who were released at 22 and now work at a call centre. Some cannot even watch football on the telly anymore. It hurts so much

The pressure is constantly there, reminding you how you should make a life out of all of this. Youre always on the go for the next deal, the subsequent approval or the next contract. And the media only cares when you screw up. Fans love you when you score and slaughter you when you dont. And the pay is decent enough, but not as much as you think. Outside the Premier League, you’re not buying Bentleys. You’re saving, praying your knees hold up until 35.

And mentally, it’s excruciating. Youre expected to be tough, focused and loyal to the club even when the club isn’t loyal to you. You miss weddings, birthdays, funerals. You live out of bags, eat at service stations, and spend your nights in budget hotels before early kickoffs.

But still, when you walk onto that pitch, and the whistle blows, and the ball’s at your feet, you remember why you started. For those ninety minutes, it all fades. It’s just football again.

I have no clue where I will be in the next 5 years; maybe I’ll be playing or I’ll quit. But there’s a world of footballers that you dont get to see on your TV. We play for pride, for the team, and for the game. We do not need the headlines, but we know we keep the game alive.

We are always on the other side of the football.