The Battle Behind the Badge
Dugout Diaries
A player can score the winner on Saturday, laugh in the clubhouse and post a smiling picture online. By Sunday night, that same person can be sitting alone, wondering how everything became so dark.
That is the uncomfortable reality football still struggles to discuss. Non-league football is brilliant at creating community. It gives people somewhere to belong and something to look forward to. But beneath the badges, banter and matchday photographs, people are fighting battles most of us never see: depression, addiction, drugs, gambling, debt and thoughts they are frightened to say out loud.
I am not writing this as a trained professional. I am writing it as someone who has lived it.
My own struggles began long before Dugout Diaries. Childhood trauma left me with PTSD and depression, and for years I tried to silence what was happening inside my head. Cocaine, weed and gambling became ways of escaping. They did not solve anything.
They simply buried the pain temporarily while creating even bigger problems around it.
Addiction lies to you. It tells you that the next bet will recover the money, the next line will make you feel confident and the next escape will finally quieten your mind. Before long, you are no longer chasing enjoyment. You are chasing five minutes where you do not have to feel like yourself.
My life eventually reached its lowest point with a near-fatal overdose. I was found outside Tesco by my friend Mello, taken to A&E and later sectioned at Meadowfield Hospital, where I remained for more than a month.
I could dress that story up, but there is nothing glamorous about it. There is nothing rock and roll about addiction, hospital wards or watching the people who love you wonder whether you will survive.
Sarah stood by me during a period when I could barely stand myself. Recovery did not happen overnight, and it was not one heroic moment. It was painful, gradual and built from hundreds of small decisions to keep going.
That is partly why football means so much to me now.
Non-league football gave me a community, a voice and an opportunity to turn some of that pain into something useful. Through Dugout Diaries, I have spoken to people inside the game who are carrying far more than a kit bag. Players worried about being released. Managers living with constant criticism. Volunteers dealing with financial pressure. Supporters using Saturday afternoon as their only escape from a difficult week.
Football can save people, but we must stop pretending football people are indestructible.
The changing-room culture can make honesty difficult. Someone says they are struggling and the automatic response is often a joke or a quick instruction to “man up.” Banter is part of football, and I love it, but there is a line between having a laugh and making somebody feel that admitting pain is weakness.
Gambling is another issue the game cannot ignore. Betting is wrapped around football so tightly that losing money can start to feel like part of the matchday experience. For someone already struggling, the Saturday accumulator can quickly become secret accounts, borrowed money and desperate attempts to win back losses. Drugs can follow a similar path: something social becomes something necessary, and something necessary eventually takes control.
Clubs do not need to become hospitals or counselling centres. But every club can create an environment where asking for help is treated with the same respect as reporting a physical injury. Appoint somebody trained to listen. Check on the player who suddenly stops attending. Speak privately to the volunteer whose behaviour has changed. Put support information where people can actually see it.
Most importantly, ask twice.
“How are you?”
“Yeah, fine.”
“No, seriously—how are you?”
That second question might be the moment somebody finally tells the truth.
I survived, rebuilt my life and now try to help others experiencing depression through football. I am not ashamed of where I have been.
It is part of me, but it no longer controls me. If telling my story makes one player, manager, volunteer or supporter realise they are not alone, then it is worth every uncomfortable word.
Football celebrates comebacks every week. Mine did not happen under floodlights, and there was no crowd cheering when I began rebuilding. But it remains the biggest result of my life.
Check on your teammates. Check on your mates. Check on the loud one, the quiet one and the person who always appears to be laughing.
Behind every badge is a human being.
See you in the dugout.
I made it through. You can too.
If you are struggling, tell somebody today. Samaritans can be called free at any time on 116 123. For urgent mental-health support, call NHS 111 and select the mental-health option. If you or somebody else is in immediate danger, call 999 or go to A&E.
First published in Dugout News, Issue 002, Sunday 16 August 2026. Republished here in full.
