The tough road for a Sports Journalist

With more doors being shut in my face than Mary and Joseph at a Premier Inn, everything should be dettering me from pursuing a career in Sports Journalism. But its not.

The prospect of stacking up a student loan bigger than John Daly’s gambling debt, should alone be enough to force me into running as far as I can in the opposite direction. Multiply that with the statistic of people studying Sports Journalism against the number of jobs available, my goal is becoming smaller and smaller in the distance. Even with a degree, that right back that made four appearances for Derby County in the record-breaking 2007 Premier League disaster, still has more chance than I do at ever becoming Sports Journalist. Manu Tuilagi now stands strong in front of that goal of mine.

Back at the place where its about what you know, not who you know; Sunday league football. The place where a shin high tackle earns you a pat on the back, where a clearance into the farmer’s field next door gets a bigger cheer than a defence-splitting through ball. But the one thing that shines importance for me, when stood on the sideline watching a one-sided affair, is no Ray Wilkins commentary talking. The man who believes he can refer to any player of any team, by their Christian name, as if he is attending their family barbeque later that day. The man who’s adjective vocabulary stretches as far as “my word.” After a successful career playing football, it somehow seems to equip him with the appropriate skills to become a commentator. However, he is still placed there ahead of somebody who has studied that specific area for a number of years. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.

Whether its the banter received from your colleagues after the team you support has just been thumped 4-0 by Macclesfield Town in the Carling Cup, or the thought of watching the sports you love, and writing about them. Whatever it is, I want it.

So step aside Tuilagi.