Scott of the Antarctic never had to play left-back against Burlington

The very first time I played for Dinton Casuals some seven years ago, I was placed at left back. I’m not sure, but I think we were playing Burlington, and I was given the task of marking a bloke with red hair and a beard who, it later transpired, was the brother of someone playing for the Casuals.

It transpired because at one point during the game there arose a “heated exchange of views” between the two brothers. I immediately went into Kofi Annan mode and tried to moderate the situation by placing myself between the warring parties.

The inevitable upshot was that the bloke in the beard started threatening me. My noble gesture of mediation had drawn me into the murky cesspool of filial relationships. What was also significant was that no other player from either side attempted to intervene, either to placate the arguing brothers or to rescue me from what had fast become a rather dicey situation.

I mention this incident not to advertise my credentials as a relationship counsellor but to draw attention to what an unforgiving place the left- and right-back position can be.

I’ve always referred to left-back as the footballing equivalent of Siberia: a cold, unforgiving place from which many never emerge. The fact is, you have to use your weaker foot (assuming you’re right-footed); when you get the ball you’re exposed to the marauding depredations of the opposition forward-line; and when you haven’t got the ball you’re frequently chasing the opposing right-winger – often one of those super-sprightly middle-agers who, in an earlier incarnation, had been south of England 100 metres champion.

Looking back, there are only three positions that I’ve never played in for the Casuals: centre-forward, central defence and goalkeeper. In fact, some of you may recall my 45-minute cameo one Sunday last season as centre forward for a depleted opposing side, in the course of which I blasted Mark Poulton’s goal with a 30-yard scorcher that I know he and many others still talk about in hushed tones.

I also recall briefly playing keeper once during a Casuals summer kickabout over on the astroturf by Teddington Studios. I touched the ball only twice, on both occasions to pick it out of the net. That little episode has served me well since, however. Whenever there’s a goalkeeping vacancy, Paul Sankey always pipes in with a reminiscence about my torrid 10 minutes between the sticks. I confidently predict I will not be donning the grapefruit vest for the Casuals before I retire.