I’m Vincent, a lifelong football fan and graphic designer. I grew up in a family where from an early age football was woven into our weekends: match-day outings with my dad, uncles and cousins, the thrill of standing shoulder to shoulder on the terraces and that shared sense of belonging. Waiting outside the pub before the match with a can of Coke and a packet of Tudor pickled onion crisps (it was the 1970s, after all!), they’d argue passionately over line-ups and predictions while I listened, soaking it all in—in awe as we made our way to our usual spot on the terraces. They’d regale me with tales of the great players of the past: heroic goals scored against impossible odds, near-superhuman feats that seemed to cast today’s stars in shadow, each story more vibrant than the last. I’d drink in every word, carried along by their excitement and convinced those legends were truly in a league of their own - even though I’d never seen them play!

I also vividly recall watching in awe the 1978 World Cup with my dad on our old TV: the sights, sounds and colours of Argentina’s matches—especially the ticker-tape displays that felt otherworldly - leapt from the screen. The South American flair and sheer passion seemed to pulse through the TV, and I could see my dad’s delight in my wide-eyed wonder. It was the only World Cup we shared, and its magic has stayed with me ever since.

I still remember getting my first scarf—now tucked away safely in the loft alongside my dad’s—a rite of passage for every young fan. One night, at my first midweek European tie on a dark, cold winter’s evening, the floodlights loomed overhead like steel sentinels, lighting up the sky like something out of War of the Worlds. Inside, the official attendance might have read 67,000, but we all knew it felt closer to 80,000—so packed you couldn’t move or even slip your hands into your pockets. The crowd surged and swayed, shouting and singing; the atmosphere electric, the air thick with noise, anticipation and the unmistakable smell of alcohol. Exiting the stadium, pressed so tightly in the mass that my feet barely touched the ground, I felt the sheer power of those collective moments.

Hearing that first roar when a goal went in was something else entirely—like the roof lifting off the stadium and my eardrums under physical pressure. I’d never experienced anything like it before or since. Football isn’t just a game; it’s identity, connection, nostalgia and family—the soundtrack to our lives, stitched together by memories and iconic moments that are both precious and fragile.

Those passions and memories revealed how powerful football moments can be—how they connect us to the people and places we cherish. Although I didn’t know it at the time, that inspiration would lead me to create Graficona one day: a small business dedicated to capturing unforgettable football moments in art and design.