If there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to get my eyes glazing over, it’s somebody mentioning that dreaded ‘F’ word.
I’ve always, for the life of me, never been able to fathom what’s so blinkin’ fascinating about people booting a ball around a football pitch for hours (and hours) on end.
Grown men in floods of tears when their team doesn’t win. (My baffled look and the words “um, it’s only a game, no-one’s died!”) never seem to be warmly received when I’ve uttered them in the past.
Which is why I’m probably being rewarded with a sense of football karma now I have two boys who are obsessed (and I mean O.B.S.E.S.S.E.D) with football.
If they’re not talking about overhead kicks, man of the matches, dribbling skills (and probably a lot of other terminology, I couldn’t tell you as that’s probably at the point my brain tuned out) then they’re playing it.
They’ve been at their football clubs this morning, playing football solid for a few hours.
Then come straight home, had some lunch and gone straight back out into the garden to play yet more football.
It’s a wonder their legs don’t fall off.
I’m ready to confess I don’t actually go to their football club anymore on a Saturday morning.
I tried the whole standing around and cheering them kicking a ball about. It was lovely. To start with. Do you know how long football matches last?! 90 minutes!!
That’s a long time when football is that glazy mind numbing subject thing.
Their dad loves football too. I’ll leave it up to him to stand on the sidelines. They can tell me all about it when they get home.
Me? I’ll stick to things like the Easter Bonnet Parade, and clubs such as Cubs and swimming….