Yesterday afternoon, I watched somewhere around 36 games of football, one after the other.
I’ve never been a big footy fan, but I do loosely follow the misfortunes of Arsenal FC. This is solely because many years ago, when I walked into the office of a Monday morning, everyone would be talking about the weekend’s games. I would often be asked how my team did, but I didn’t have one, so I chose Arsenal, because at the time they were at the top of the league. And alphabetically they were also top of the league. Not the usual way of choosing a team, I know, but as I was born in North London, I felt those three criteria validated my choice. But anyway, as I say, I only follow their fortunes with a mild interest – thinking about it, I can’t even name half the players in the squad.
My dad didn’t mind watching a bit of footy, but he wasn’t a big fan and we never sat down to watch a match together, when I was young. And he certainly never took me to any matches, probably because he could see that I never really cared much for the game.
Harry has also shown little to no interest in it, which pleases me really. Some of his mates are well into it, of course, and play at the weekends. The thought of me having to stand around a football pitch every Sunday, alongside lots of excited dads screaming at their kids to “… pass the ball … get in there! Tackle him!!”… go on… GO ON!” just fills me with apathy. I can think of better ways to spend my Sunday mornings. Even washing the windows and cleaning out the guttering sounds more appealing.
Anyhoo, back to yesterday.
Yesterday was the annual Scout Football Competition Thing that they do. And Harry – for some reason – wanted to be in it. And of course, he wanted me to stay and watch.
So I said I would.
I never realised I would be standing there for four hours!
I had planned to just watch Harry’s game and then go, but as he had several games throughout the afternoon, I had no choice but to stay.
The games were mercifully short as the youngsters tired pretty quick, plus there were about a dozen teams, all of which had to play each other.
Harry played in goal, because it was preferable to all that running around, and he had very little action throughout the afternoon, as his team were actually quite good and most of the play was at the opponents end.
We came home in the evening and he was full of beans and still excited from playing.
I flopped onto the sofa, my back killing me from standing there for four hours.
I hope this isn’t the start of him getting ‘into’ football. I’ll need to engage him in some different sports to take his mind off it.
Now, where did I put that chess set?