I hit the ball with all my remaining strength and hope, and was relieved to see it hit the net (Picture: Nathan O’Hagan)

As the ball sailed through the air from my teammate’s majestic pass, I controlled it with a deft flick of the outstep of my right foot.

I bamboozled the defender with a Bergkampesque pivot, before volleying unerringly into the far corner with my left foot.

And the crowd went wild.

At least, that’s how it all looked in my mind’s eye.

In reality, the ball was probably toe-banged aimlessly up-field, where a lucky bounce took out the defender.

Then, unable to run any further than the 20 yards I’d just managed, I hit the ball with all my remaining strength and hope, and was relieved to see it hit the net.

Far from the noise of a non-existent crowd, my goal was most likely greeted with light applause from my teammates and, if it looked anywhere near as good as I imagined, perhaps a ‘nice one, Nath’.

This game very quickly became the highlight of my week (Picture: Nathan O’Hagan)

I banked this moment as one to dissect later, over a post-match pint.

That post-match pint, along with my regular anti-inflammatories intake, provided a little extra pain relief. And at the age of 45, I feel soreness in ways that were once unimaginable.

There’s not a huge amount a person can do to stop the encroachment of these aches and pains, but rather than it being a contributing factor, I’ve found the overall improvement in my fitness by playing regular football undoubtedly increases the ability to fight them off.

Just as important are the very real mental health benefits of playing a team sport such as football.

I played football obsessively from eight years old, to a decent level in a very competitive local league for my team, Poulton Athletic, my school teams and a couple of trial games with Tranmere Rovers.

Then, aged about 14 or 15, with my attention diverted by a growing love of music, I just… stopped. I still went to watch Everton semi-regularly, but barely kicked a ball for about two decades.

Moving from Merseyside to Northamptonshire in my early thirties in order for my wife to be closer to her mum, I suddenly had to think about how I’d establish a new social network, something made doubly difficult by the imminent arrival of my first child.

As someone with ADHD and ASD, I’d always kept a tight social circle, but this forced me out of my comfort zone

Some of the most stressful things a person can do are relocating, starting a new job, and becoming a parent. I was doing all three at once.

Making new friends isn’t something that comes naturally to me, and in the early week and months after our move, I was beginning to feel increasingly isolated, which quickly began to impact my mental health. My low moods were becoming the norm, and I was losing weight.

Luckily, someone in our antenatal group invited me along to their Friday night five-a-side game. In an echoey sports hall in Daventry, surrounded by middle aged men, I instantly fell back in love with playing football, and this game very quickly became the highlight of my week.

The post-match pint quickly extended into regular Christmas nights out (Picture: Nathan O’Hagan)

The natural release of endorphins and serotonin from that hour’s exertion was invaluable, and the improvement in my mental wellbeing was instantly noticeable.

And it wasn’t just the game itself. It was everything that came with it.

Playing with a bunch of strangers, I was also forced to work at the social niceties of making conversation, finding common ground.

As someone with ADHD and ASD, I’d always kept a tight social circle, but this forced me out of my comfort zone, and has undoubtedly improved the social skills I was previously lacking. These improving skills would prove useful as I began a new job, and also gave me the confidence to turn up at other games for an occasional extra kickabout.

Have you made friends in unexpected ways? Have your say in the comments belowComment Now

The friendships forged on the football pitch are unlike those developed elsewhere. During that hour on the pitch, an unspoken and unquantifiable bond develops, and then grows over time.

One whereby, without wishing to sound melodramatic, you almost feel like you’d die for the person playing next to you, despite the fact you may know them only by their nickname.

Though many of us may only have been on first name terms, it was nice to have people outside the immediate circle of friends and family to discuss things with, either on the touchline or over a pint.

Things like being a new parent. The fact that nobody else seems to have a clue what they’re doing in that regard was reassuring.

The post-match pint quickly extended into regular Christmas nights out, where even those whose knees/ankles/backs had finally stopped them playing would make an appearance.

Until I got back into playing football, my fitness had been largely gym-based, a pretty solitary pursuit. Football, by its nature, is a far more social way to keep fit, with its need for communication, compromise and cooperation.