It's that time of the year when transfer rumours run faster than Gareth Bale. Who is going to quit which club and who's going to join which manager and so on and so forth. For a football fan, it's an exciting time to be alive and not-so-kicking. Besides, the second part is best left to the professional footballers. Given the momentum they enjoy not just on the field but also on the economic scale, they indeed inhabit a different universe altogether. And it's not about the money, which they get in abundance for their services anyway although for a limited period. Imagine playing more than 10 months a year. Imagine being their pounding hearts. Imagine being fitter than a soldier. Imagine hearing your name screamed as you enter the stadium or abused as you leave. Now, imagine how they manage to capture OUR imagination despite knowing that we don't gain a single penny out of their endeavours. Like said earlier, it's not about the money for us. We are just guinea pigs in their social experiments, come to REALLY think of it. They score stupendous goals. We cheer. They bamboozle with their silky moves and fancy nutmegs. We awe. They dive so effortlessly that'd make Louganis insecure. We cringe. They celebrate like hungry robin celebrates summer. We join in. Aren't they awesome? Of course. The awesomest bit about them has to be their stubbornness in not growing up and staying true to their dreams.