Could be tomorrow. Might be ten years from now. What you going to do about it?

I've a morbid fascination about the human condition. We all know that we're going to die, right, and yet we manage to put that out of our minds and toodle on everyday regardless. We even know by probability how long we're likely to have and again that seems easy to dismiss. There's a blitz spirit amongst the whole human race - if only we could bottle that solidarity...

Death is always lurking not far from the surface and every now and then our mortality is ripped into full light with a ferocity that terrifies. Sometimes you just cannot ignore the end game.

I heard some horrible news this week. I used to play football on a friday night with a group of guys I didn't know. I knew someone whose partner used to play and I got an invite. It was an example of what I like about maleness - brought together by a common desire to play a game, minimal (but proportionate) rules agreed to retain order and no greater expectation than you play fair and to your individual ability. So it was that every Friday a painter & decorator, a banker, a barber, a window cleaner, a marine (when not on tour), a horseracing stud accountant, an office cleaner, and others whose jobs I never found out came together to play a game they loved, to get a bit of exercise and time away from family and maybe a beer or two afterwards. It was a highlight of my week for a long time.

A core of the guys had been playing at the same time slot together for over 10 years. One of those was Neale - the banker. He had been amongst the first to organise things. Working out the names of who was around to play the next week and finding replacements to make sure there was always an even number of players to make it an enjoyable game.

Neale died a couple of weeks ago.

He died playing football in that same Friday evening slot, amongst that curious combination of close friends and people who just wanted a game of footie and knew someone, who knew someone that played. I don't know the details yet, but I can guess the cause and try not to imagine the reality of it for Neale or those wrenched from saving goals to trying to save a life. Horrible.

It has got right to the heart of my mulling over our inevitable mortality. Neale was mid forties, had a young family. It makes you realise how fragile our existence is... how there are no guarantees... tells you to grab the moment and not wait for tomorrow... Yes. Those and other cliches have entered my head. But they are not where I'm dwelling.

My thought process - Neale's legacy to me - is not to make me think I have to do everything tomorrow because of what might happen. That's just not feasible. You can't sell your house, give up your job, travel the world bungee-jumping and parachuting whilst you;ve got the chance. Because it might not be tomorrow. Or next week. It might be ten years from now. Twenty would still rank as premature for anyone under 50. So Neale's message to me is not to be reckless. Our submission to the capitalist machine means we have tied ourselves in most cases to houses, expectations and patterns of consumption which make it totally unfeasible to stray too far from the rat race unless the Grim Reaper is actually visible.

No, what I take from Neale's passing is a more sober, yet no less important encouragement. Neale was a banker. He also set up the first kids football team in the village he lived in. He also had two really well-adjusted kids and a wife he got on with. His family were always active in sports, community and school events. At his funeral, the local paper bothered to report, it was standing room only. Not because he was a banker. Because he was more than just a job. Because he got involved. Because he made life count whilst he had it. Because he was a good man.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so horrible to go in the middle of doing something you love doing. Even if it is earlier than you expect. Not if you have lived the years that you do get and haven't wasted them in sole pursuit of a comfortable income when you reach that great uncertainty: retirement age.

Just enjoy each day as more than a means to an end for that end may come sooner than you want. Thanks for the game, Neale.

Where are all the heroes?

I’ve just watched The Enemy perform on TV. They create a helluva noise. Angry lyrics spat over power chords. Wall of sound stuff. Trouble is they look young. I’m prepared to accept that most of the top sportsmen and musicians I watch perform nowadays are actually younger than me, but most of them at least appear older. And The Enemy are, frankly, not the most attractive of bands. I don’t mean that on a completely shallow level of physical appearance. More broadly, though admittedly not really any deeper, they don’t look like I aspire to look. Not anymore anyway. They look a bit like they’re trying too hard to be rockstars. If I tried to copy them, therefore, I’d end up being someone trying to look like someone trying to look like a rockstar. I don’t want that (No-one wants that!). I want rockstars to look like, to act like, to be rockstars. And I still want to aspire to be a rockstar, not one step removed.

So what does that mean away from music? One thing I think that is apparent is that heroes change as you grow up. They have to. Doubtless The Enemy are the idols for some, and why not. They’re doing well, they’re playing loud music for a living and are doubtless doing better than others of a similar age and appearance that don’t know how to thrash out a 4 minute anthem. That they are no longer hero material to me is no reflection on their credentials. It is simply that what I can relate to has shifted and what I look up to, what I might aspire to be has changed as my life experience has moved beyond the bedroom of my parental home.

In recent years I’ve seen the closest people to me having to cope with the most horrible things. Almost cruel demands are placed on them when they’re already on the floor. And they’ve handled it. With courage and dignity. These are now the standards that I judge idols against. Not if they can bed groupies and afford a nice car before the age of 21.

I’m not sure it is expected that we have ‘heroes’ as we grow older, but I believe it is really important to hold on to the notion of seeing strengths, qualities and behaviours in others as part of our development. I’m a big advocate of what we can gain by reflecting on our own selves, but there is a world of learning to be had by reflecting on the existence of others. Those we hold up as heroes don’t have to be pinnacles of virtue and achievement. The fact that we’re interested in them will mean that they have something we like – some will be characteristics we want to achieve, some might be behaviours that are less socially desirable, but that we secretly envy. There’s lots to be gained by thinking about what it is that attracts you to your heroes. You might just find out that there’s more of you in them than you realise.