I thought the first time was the best, the most amazing feeling in the world. Coming into training and getting that small package. Ripping it open and the smell exuding from every part of the freshly pressed shirt in front of you. A smell that says, "you've made it." Picking it up, staring at it, turning it around to see your name emblazoned on the back, having to pinch yourself to make sure this is all real. These are all checks the uninitiated need to go through.

I have played in friendlies, in qualifications in front of thousands upon thousands of screaming fans but this is different. So there is an injury on the pitch, the crowd are devastated. But this situation helps one person, me. You feel for your teammates, you really do, but the profession has taught you that one man's misery is another man's gain.

I put behind me the feelings of guilt as I head to warm up, running past both home and away fans. There is a strange hush in the stadium. As I watch my teammate hobble to the touch line I am called back in. I feel excitement as I unzip my track suit top. Like Superman ripping open his shirt I reveal the strip underneath, it looks like the ten other outfield players on the pitch but to me it dazzles more. The brightest shade of this colour I have ever seen. A smile tries to sneak its way onto my face but I suppress it, I do not want people to think I am happy about the injury but deep down I am.

The fourth official holds aloft the electronic board, my number lights up a dark mood in the stadium. As my teammate, aided by physios, moves past me he gives me a disappointed smile. I try a look of "I'm sorry," but my face gives away the insincerity of the gesture. Almost dizzy I run on to the pitch, my heart tries to leap out of my chest but I push it back, making sure any urge of being overwhelmed is sent to the back of my head.

As I look around at the 50,000 strong crowd I expect them to cheer, to chant my name, to offer songs of encouragement. Instead there is worry and fear across their faces, I am not their hero, not the one they want on this hallowed turf. Their hero, their messiah, has just limped off, a crumpled mess.