Jumpers for Goalposts
Our youngest took part in her second ever competitive football match this morning. We knew late last week that she had been picked to play, but it didn't make getting out of bed early on a Sunday any easier. It also didn't make “not going to rugby” any easier for her sisterwho experienced payback for the first timestanding on the touchline watching as her sisters have done countless times before.
There were vague hopes that the match would be called off due to a frozen pitch, but miraculously the weather improved just enough last night to thaw the frozen mud into quite an impressive quagmire. We looked out of the window at the dark clouds early this morning, and sighed.
An hour later we found ourselves driving up a muddy track towards deserted pitches in the middle of nowhere. At first we wondered if we had arrived at the right place, but then spotted several boys in the distance kicking a football around, and a ramshackle portacabin serving cups of tea and bacon sandwiches. As it turned out, we were the beginning of a landslide of parents and childrenclimbing from cars, wiping sleep from their eyes, and stumbling in the direction of the pitches.
It's worth noting that I know very little about football (I was going to write nothing, but I've played FIFA, and I occasionally watch England matcheswhich is kind of the same as watching the Star Wars prequels in the hope/despair exchange that goes on). I did realise pretty quickly though that the coach has worked wonders on the gaggle of players we fielded today. I normally only see them doing training exercisesball control, running with the ball, finding space, and so onI rarely see them play competive matches.
Their first game was almost an exhibitionso much so that we began to feel sorry for the opposing team. I think it ended 7-1. The coach must have been incredibly proudhe hardly said a word to the team, and most of us parents kept quiet tooletting the kids shout to each other. We just all stood there with big grins, and applauded goals, near misses, good tackles, or just flat out “trying hard”. Of course the problem now is Miss Nine thinks she is invincibleshe hasn't lost yet.
Their second game got rained off while they were leading 2-1. I was stood at the portacabin buying a hot chocolate and bacon sandwich to give to Miss 9 at the end of the game when somebody turned the rain tap round from “1” to “11”. Within moments the referee looked across at the coaches, and everybody ran for their cars. Everybody except Miss Ten (our other daughterthe one who usually plays rugby)who was happily splashing and sliding through the oozing mud that now covered the football pitchlaughing hilariously as she did so.
We piled into the fogged up car, and made our escapehome in time to cook roast dinner, and sit down to eat together for the first time in a couple of days.