As Martin Luther King once said – “I have a dream,” writes blogger Andy Toft.

Let me enlighten you.

Over the last few months I’ve taken a few potshots at professional football.

The gist of these rants is that footballers and clubs are becoming increasingly detached from their fans.

Eye-watering salaries and the complicity of agents, club officials and media offices in elevating players to the status of untouchables are among the many reasons for this widening gulf.

At the same time loyalty of fans is used as a crowbar to separate them from wads of their own cash for tickets, shirts, satellite TV fees, etc.

The figurehead of this ultra-commercialisation is, of course, David Beckham Plc.

His move to LA Galaxy was another triumph of marketing over the simple joys of the beautiful game.

It had nothing to do with football and everything to do with completing his mutation from man into pure brand – a process surely now complete.

Within days LA Galaxy shirts bearing his name were already up for sale in sport shops over here.

His arrival in California coincided with my own one-week holiday in Majorca.

I should have known better, but the availabilty of English news channels on my television saw me following his unveiling across the pond.

I could barely believe the coverage dedicated to a man who has effectively announced his retirement from top class football.

Another brick was added to the wall of disillusionment gradually being constructed between myself and the game.

But then, under the Spanish sun, something fantastic happened to remind me just why so many of us love football.

On a couple of afternoons staff at my hotel organised informal kickabouts for the guests.

After a day of sun-and-poolside wallowing the simple sight of a football and couple of five-a-side goals acted as an irresistible magnet for many of the guests.

Within minutes of being given the call there we were, English, Swiss, Germans, French, Poles, Danes, Spanish, of all shapes, sizes and ages, running around in earnest, but joyful competition.

I can’t think of another game which could have united so many people who have never met before, so quickly and so enjoyably for an hour on a sunny afternoon.

And there lies the true, intoxicating power of the game.

Forget the laughably inflated egos, obscene pay-packets and dodgy deals of professional football.

That has nothing to do with the reason we love the game.

What I experienced on holiday is.

So the next time you are left shaking your head in bafflement at the goings on in the professional game, grab yourself a ball and get off to your nearest park.

Because although the clubs and governing bodies would have us believe differently, ownership of the game lies with us.

Reclaim it by rediscovering the simple joy of playing it.

And that’s my dream – lads (and girls of course) heading down to the local park for a kickabout with anyone who fancies joining in.

You bring the ball, I’ll bring the jumpers for goalposts.