I wrote a song called Little Hugo and it briefly entered the UK iTunes Rock Chart.
Not because I’m a pop star.
Because sometimes a story just lands.
Little Hugo is a story about a kid who should be inside the stadium.
But isn’t.
He’s fifteen years old.
Working a burger van outside the ground.
Apron on.
Grease on his hands.
Old black and white ball at his feet.
When the orders slow down he keeps the ball up beside the van, listening to the roar of the crowd from inside.
The truth is simple.
Hugo should be in that stadium playing.
But modern football is slowly becoming a game for the rich.
Pay-to-play academies.
Expensive tickets.
Systems that quietly shut the door on kids who love the game the most.
Little Hugo represents every kid with the talent and passion but not the money.
Every kid who dreams about football while standing outside the gates.
Football wasn’t built by wealthy academies.
It was built on streets.
On park pitches.
On rough grass with battered balls and jumpers for goalposts.
That’s where the magic came from.
Musically the spirit of the song was inspired by storytellers like Elvis Presley and Toby Keith, storytellers who understood that the best songs are about real people and real lives.
Little Hugo is one of those stories.
A kid outside the stadium.
A ball at his feet.
And a dream that football might still belong to him.
The song has been released on my second album “Killed In America.”
And when you hear it, you’ll understand exactly why I had to write it.
Because football should belong to every kid.
Not just the ones who can afford it.