When I was ten I was friends with a group of kids who were a year or two older. We played football every waking moment and I was always conscious I wasn't as good or fast or strong as them as I was slightly younger.One Saturday we went to a nearby park where a local youth centre was holding a mini football tournament. The idea was you turned up with your mates and registered then played as a team against kids from the neighbouring areas to yours.I was one of the weaker players on our team but we were good and made it all the way to the final. The team we were playing against to win the tournament were from the area over from us which was known for being rougher and more deprived.The team had this one kid who stood out as he was the best player, he was skinny, borderline malnourished and he had dark hair but with the top bleached blond. We nicknamed him Badger.The final game was really close and Badger kept them in it and it was a draw at the end of the match. So it went to penalties. However, the catch was we had to take the penalty from the other end of the small pitch using our weaker foot with no goalkeeper.As the worst player on our team I took the last penalty. There was added pressure as all my teammates had scored, and all of the opposition, including Badger, had scored apart from one player. This meant all I had to do was take the penalty with my weaker foot; score and we'd be champions winning a small trophy each.One of the organisers asked me which foot I usually kick with. I'm usually right footed, but one of my groups jumped in, saying 'he's left footed!' I went to correct him but he gave me a threatening look which told me to 'shut up!'I suppose I went along with it as I know my weaker foot was poor and there was a good chance I'd miss. I also didn't want to let my team down. So I took the penalty with my stronger foot. I cheated. I scored the penalty and we were crowned champions and each given a little trophy. As we were leaving a saw Badger making his way home looking disappointed. Our walk home was mixed, some of the group, including the one that said I was left footed, were celebratory, some of us were disgusted in ourselves for the way we'd won, especially over such a talented opponent like Badger.The trophy I took home, that everyone asked me about, became this awful beating heart, evidence of my disgraceful cheating. But more, it was evidence of my own self doubt. If I'd corrected my friend and took the penalty properly we might have won fairly. But I didn't, and the trophy made me feel weak and like a cheater.The following summer I joined a new football team. The captain looked familiar but I couldn't place him. He was skinny, with dark hair and he was a great player. In training he asked me innocently which foot I kicked with. 'Right' I answered honestly. He smiled in a knowing, self satisfied way. The bleach had died out, but after this exchange I knew my new team mate was Badger.The lad I cheated the summer before to win a small piece of plastic was now my teammate and captain. We became friends, and he never mentioned the tournament I cheated him out of. I didn't either. But he knew, and was the bigger man, on both occasions. I never cheated again in my life.