If you’re eight or ten or twelve and your dad’s just recently started taking you to Craven Cottage, you’re probably loving life at the moment.
Most of us get into football because of the excitement of it, the hero worship, and the strange thrill of seeing a small round thing manipulated so expertly. We like to see players doing things we can only dream about, then we like to be part of the crowd celebrating these feats.
It doesn’t get much better than a Premier League hat-trick on a dark winter’s afternoon, leading your team back from the brink of disaster to a five goal walloping.
So if you’re eight or ten or twelve and you were there on Saturday there’s not much doubt about what you’re telling everyone about at school today, about who you’re pretending to be in the playground.
Played, Clint. That’s what it’s all about.