First trophies of the summer

We arrived at half past eight on a grey Sunday morning with a camping chair, a flask and absolutely no expectations. Seven games later we were standing on the touchline with wet eyes, watching him lift his first proper trophy above his head.

He played every minute he was given. He chased back when the game was won and he chased back when it was lost. In the semi-final he gave the ball away, sprinted thirty yards to win it back, and then turned round to check the coach had seen it. That was the moment of the day for us — not the goals.

A word for the team he plays with, too. Eight-year-olds who pick each other up, share the ball and clap the other side off the pitch. Their coaches deserve every bit of the credit for that.

He was asleep before we hit the ring road, medal still round his neck. First silverware. We do not think it will be the last.