I spent all of my student loan on football kits

In my time as mediocre goalkeeper on the recreational football circuit, I am often asked: “Man, what’s up wi’ all the De Gea shirts?” I hope to explain.

In fairness, there is a lot of them

I never quite “clicked” with my flatmates in halls. They were chirpy and I was cantankerous, they loved a social drink and I liked to scowl from behind a wall of used teacups. Being around such zesty individuals was unbecoming – and since having a closet room with an ensuite shower is the dream for those considering a life of self-imposed isolation, and I made the most of this by showering for up to 6 hours a day.

As none of the culturally diverse and smiling brochures will tell you, university endow the perfect conditions for depression to thrive. The pressure on students to shine academically, attend every big night out and otherwise make the most of the fabled ‘best three years of your life’ has led to numbers of higher education students seeking help with depression to more than double in recent years.

Between never smiling in photos and dressing exclusively in Fruit of the Loom t-shirts with Morrissey’s northern face emblazoned on the front, it is fair to say that my status as a miserable old fuck is well earned. Maudlin as I may be, I shared the wild enthusiasm for moving onto academic pastures new. It lasted all of a week.

Who needs meaningful relationships when you’ve got Adidas Predator boots?

There is little point in pretending that my first year was a poignant or otherwise useful chapter. There was no quirky romance with a free-spirited fresher, just indifference with scattered spells of being a complete dick to those around me. An existential panic led me to flee my confined quarters and participate in university football try-outs. A saved penalty and willingness to stand sullenly between goalposts saw me invited to train twice a week.

The kit in action

Of course, I needed equipment. Battered boots a size too small and old gloves wouldn’t cut it. With only a student loan and a desire to wear expensive gear, I took to the internet. I felt actually excited when the parcels arrived. I mistook the Christmas Eve sensation of waiting for a delivery for genuine happiness – and I was hooked.

“What if my kit gets too muddy? I need boots for Astro-turf too! More gloves!” With each week, my room became a veritable kit room filled with Manchester United goalkeeping uniforms, pro-tier football boots and gloves packed with more straps and latex than a fetish workshop. I loved getting my kits printed with the name of David De Gea, my idol – leaving my identity at the door whenever I played. Trying to stop the opposition hitting the back of my net gave me direction where I was otherwise hopelessly lost, I needed to be prepared, right?

How many is too many?

I rewarded myself with purchases for trying to stay involved in daily life, for handing in assignments, for attending the odd lecture – and god forbid, for being sort of okay to the people I met. It was a cycle of excessive self-reward in exchange for trying to get on with life, instead of doing things like staying up all night and passing out exhausted at 6am. In the end it was all for nothing as I realised the course wasn’t for me and dropped out in August 2013.

Two years and maybe like five clean sheets later, I’m doing a much better job fitting in with the peers. I returned to university in 2014 and once more brought the kit-room with me. I buy less of them now, turns out there’s other things to spend money on if you actually leave your room and do things. Dropping out to work out what I actually wanted to study and talking out problems did more for me in two weeks than any amount of buying crap achieved. Maybe this is why psychologists don’t just prescribe retail therapy? Reckless spending among depressed individuals is well enough documented – it’s not until the Student Loan company drops £1,290 into your lap that you realise how quickly money can be spent.

The things I would do for a little of that cash back now, but at least I’ve a good wardrobe for 5-a-side. When I’m asked: “Man, what’s up wi’ all the De Gea shirts? Like, why’d you buy all those?” – perhaps it was the free customisation if you spent a certain amount? Could it have been mere aesthetic preference? Just a nod to a favourite footballer? No, it was because for 90 minutes I could escape the monotony of day-to-day life.