I went to watch cpunk junior play his first game of footie for his new school last Friday. It's a fiercely academic, competitive place, with ultra tough entrance requirements, and is costing the family cpunk some Â£12K per year to send the little darling to as a 'day boy'. In the Autumn term they play rugby, and junior has established himself in the 1st XV for his year as a flanker, but the spring term features soccer and the future love-God extraordinaire has managed to get into the squad for that too as a central defender. This particular game was part of the first round of a Cup competition for schools from throughout the south-east and it was with unqualified pride that I watched from the touchline. Pride that he is doing so well at school; pride at his dazzling display in the first half; and yes, pride that he is, so far as anyone can tell, the first boy in his year... ever... to get a red card, made even more special by the fact that it was in his first match. It seems he took exception to some unhelpful advice he was receiving from one of his fellow defenders and it was probably only a lack of big match experience which led him to utter the immortal line: 'Felix, why don't you shut the fÃ¼ck up, you fÃ¼cking tw@t' in his loudest possible voice, during one of the quietest moments of the match. Whoops! As the marching orders were given, I would have to admit a slight froideur developed between me and Felix's Mum and Dad who were standing next to me and were keen to point out that they weren't paying out all that money for their son to be called a 'fÃ¼cking tw@t' by all and sundry but, in the long term, I expect he will benefit from the advice. That's my boy!