Time & Perspective Quote by Craig Johnston

A year in a car park, ducking Jack Charlton, is the kind of detail that turns football mythology into something grittier and more revealing: greatness as a mix of obsession, embarrassment, and improvisation. Craig Johnston isn’t romanticizing a training ground; he’s confessing to a DIY apprenticeship carried out in the margins, where the only “facility” is concrete and the only coach is your own compulsion.

The name-drop matters. Charlton, the no-nonsense manager, stands in for institutional football: authority, scrutiny, the blunt calculus of who belongs. “Hiding” signals a player who feels unfinished, maybe even illegitimate, and decides that secrecy is safer than being judged mid-process. It’s a small act of rebellion that doesn’t look like rebellion at all: not defying the boss, just refusing to be seen as raw material. The car park becomes a backstage space where identity is built before it’s performed.

“Practising my skills” lands with a wry understatement. Skills are supposed to be honed in sanctioned spaces, under supervision, with permission. Johnston frames them as contraband, something you smuggle into your game because the system might not reward that kind of artistry, or might coach it out of you. The line also hints at class and access: when you don’t have the right pathway, you invent one.

It’s a snapshot of a broader sports truth: discipline isn’t always polished or photogenic. Sometimes it’s a kid alone, rehearsing competence until it becomes undeniable.