Football talk
J. was on the box yesterday evening. When I picked him from school it was the first thing he told me.
“Guess what Mummy. I was interviewed for a TV programme. Its on at twenty to eight. Can I watch it?”
I rarely watch the local programmes – certainly not at that time. Too busy putting kids to bed or tidying up or something equally dull. Yesterday, though, G. and I made the effort and managed to find a spare tape from somewhere to tape our son’s debut on the screen.
It was a five minute snippet where the producers of the programme showed around ten kids extracts from the previous day’s news. One item concerned the legalisation of homosexual marriages. Interesting topic. J. who was sitting with three of his friends didn’t answer this one. He was trying too hard to keep a straight face and not to giggle. No matter. His class mate answered eloquently and tolerantly enough to do the school proud.
The second snippet on the news was to do with Euro 2008. “Who won the football match last night and what did they score?” the producers asked the kids. All of them got it wrong. Answering: Turkey v Switzerland. Wrong. One even said it was Turkey v Anderlecht. Only one said that Turkey had won (correct) – but that they had won against Switzerland.
Not so J. His response was broadcast last. One could see he couldn’t control his excitement at being asked this question.
“The match was Turkey v the Czeck Repbulic and Turkey won scoring three goals in the last sixty minutes.”
Spot on. (Actually it was in the last sixteen minutes but I know that’s what J. meant to say) Well done son . Of course we’re all really proud of you – and your performance was exemplary.
Spare a thought for me though, his poor mother, will you? Can you imagine what it is like in this house at the moment? If England are playing then watching football can be quite good fun. Go on lads. Score for England etc. etc. Normally you might get three, possibly four good games out of the England team before they are kicked out of the competition. With England having failed to qualify though I’m not particularly interested in how Italy is doing. Or Holland. Or Romania for that matter.
Not so, J. He is trying to watch every single match – regardless of nationality. France v Romania; Italy v Holland; Austria v Croatia; Portugal v (I can’t remember). He’s got the Euro 2008 sticker book and knows every player in every team off by heart. Their strikers, goal-keepers, mid-fielders. He likes to shout “off-side” at the screen and give a running commentary of the match. At a bbq the other day he was trying hard to join in a conversation with two father’s about football. When the conversation turned to football in the eighties he drifted off to bounce on the trampoline – but watch this space. His next specialisation will probably be Belgian football 1980 – 1992.
Football conversations, I have to tell you, bore me to death. Its fine for a few minutes. After that I’ve seriously had enough. Now my own son is talking nothing but football. G. of course is delighted. He gets to watch endless football on telly in the evenings.
It doesn’t stop there though. No matter how hard I have tried to resist, lure J. into tempting alternatives, argued my case before my husband, I know that I am, eventually, going to have to bow to the inevitable. Next September J. will join the football club and stop karate. Such a shame he is so good at karate. G. promises me it will all be OK that we will find the time for it.
Its not that I’m against the sport – its all good physical exercise and that – and I know that little boys like to play football. All of that I can understand, its just that they take it all so damn seriously here. Training Wednesday night and Friday night six thirty to seven thirty and matches on Saturday. This is quite a commitment. Especially since J. is the oldest and I will have to drag three younger siblings to hang around a soggy pitch on Friday evenings in late January when its dark. I would rather be getting them ready for bed on a rainy Friday evening when its dark so that I can switch off.
The trainers are probably desperate to find some hot young talent and put lots of pressure on the boys to perform well. All the boys want to be selected for the team but most won’t. Its not just a gathering of boys who can have fun kicking a ball up and down the field on a Saturday afternoon. Oh no there’s a world of premier divisions; second divisions; third divisions; fixtures and timetables. Matches in Germany and Holland; fixtures here there and everywhere entailing Saturdays driving across the continent just so that a ten year old can “play” football. I shudder at the thought.
No doubt there are many mothers who dream about their boys being a professional football player. Not so I. My oldest son, on the other hand, is completely caught up, wrapped up and pulled in to the dream that is football. He’s supporting Portugal just because a certain Cristiano Ronaldo is Portuguese.
“When I start playing football with OHL Mummy we're all going to be so good. We’ll be the best team because Ivan and Tristan and all my friends play for OHL.”
Well, I guess he might as well learn the limits of his abilities on the football fields of Flanders.
It was a five minute snippet where the producers of the programme showed around ten kids extracts from the previous day’s news. One item concerned the legalisation of homosexual marriages. Interesting topic. J. who was sitting with three of his friends didn’t answer this one. He was trying too hard to keep a straight face and not to giggle. No matter. His class mate answered eloquently and tolerantly enough to do the school proud.
The second snippet on the news was to do with Euro 2008. “Who won the football match last night and what did they score?” the producers asked the kids. All of them got it wrong. Answering: Turkey v Switzerland. Wrong. One even said it was Turkey v Anderlecht. Only one said that Turkey had won (correct) – but that they had won against Switzerland.
Not so J. His response was broadcast last. One could see he couldn’t control his excitement at being asked this question.
“The match was Turkey v the Czeck Repbulic and Turkey won scoring three goals in the last sixty minutes.”
Spot on. (Actually it was in the last sixteen minutes but I know that’s what J. meant to say) Well done son . Of course we’re all really proud of you – and your performance was exemplary.
Spare a thought for me though, his poor mother, will you? Can you imagine what it is like in this house at the moment? If England are playing then watching football can be quite good fun. Go on lads. Score for England etc. etc. Normally you might get three, possibly four good games out of the England team before they are kicked out of the competition. With England having failed to qualify though I’m not particularly interested in how Italy is doing. Or Holland. Or Romania for that matter.
Not so, J. He is trying to watch every single match – regardless of nationality. France v Romania; Italy v Holland; Austria v Croatia; Portugal v (I can’t remember). He’s got the Euro 2008 sticker book and knows every player in every team off by heart. Their strikers, goal-keepers, mid-fielders. He likes to shout “off-side” at the screen and give a running commentary of the match. At a bbq the other day he was trying hard to join in a conversation with two father’s about football. When the conversation turned to football in the eighties he drifted off to bounce on the trampoline – but watch this space. His next specialisation will probably be Belgian football 1980 – 1992.
Football conversations, I have to tell you, bore me to death. Its fine for a few minutes. After that I’ve seriously had enough. Now my own son is talking nothing but football. G. of course is delighted. He gets to watch endless football on telly in the evenings.
It doesn’t stop there though. No matter how hard I have tried to resist, lure J. into tempting alternatives, argued my case before my husband, I know that I am, eventually, going to have to bow to the inevitable. Next September J. will join the football club and stop karate. Such a shame he is so good at karate. G. promises me it will all be OK that we will find the time for it.
Its not that I’m against the sport – its all good physical exercise and that – and I know that little boys like to play football. All of that I can understand, its just that they take it all so damn seriously here. Training Wednesday night and Friday night six thirty to seven thirty and matches on Saturday. This is quite a commitment. Especially since J. is the oldest and I will have to drag three younger siblings to hang around a soggy pitch on Friday evenings in late January when its dark. I would rather be getting them ready for bed on a rainy Friday evening when its dark so that I can switch off.
The trainers are probably desperate to find some hot young talent and put lots of pressure on the boys to perform well. All the boys want to be selected for the team but most won’t. Its not just a gathering of boys who can have fun kicking a ball up and down the field on a Saturday afternoon. Oh no there’s a world of premier divisions; second divisions; third divisions; fixtures and timetables. Matches in Germany and Holland; fixtures here there and everywhere entailing Saturdays driving across the continent just so that a ten year old can “play” football. I shudder at the thought.
No doubt there are many mothers who dream about their boys being a professional football player. Not so I. My oldest son, on the other hand, is completely caught up, wrapped up and pulled in to the dream that is football. He’s supporting Portugal just because a certain Cristiano Ronaldo is Portuguese.
“When I start playing football with OHL Mummy we're all going to be so good. We’ll be the best team because Ivan and Tristan and all my friends play for OHL.”
Well, I guess he might as well learn the limits of his abilities on the football fields of Flanders.
posted by Kathleen at 1:27 AM
7 Comments:
In Canada, it's the same, but with hockey. Imagine doing all that but at 6am in an arena that's purposefully kept below freezing...
How horrible. Awful. My heart goes out to you.
Kathleen - it's (cousin) Alex - silly Google shows me as a having a blog when I don't (just set one up to test blogger).
Fortunately I've never had to do the hockey thing and my parents wisely taught us that teams sports aren't all that interesting - much better (and cheaper!) to do solitary pursuits - like Judo.
:-) I do apologise , it's a definite downside of only having one telly . The upside is though , K ,that you get to read lots and lots of books . Must say J was as cool as a cucumber on telly . Has made us swear not to erase the tape (what with VHS it may become unreadable at some stage) . Remember the christening tape , grandpa ;-) ?
G
ps keep up the writing ! I so enjoy it .
Well, "test", I'm trying to persuade J. to continue with his karate. He's very good and his instructors thinks he has a future.
Nothing I say or do impacts on him though. He's got the football bug and there's nothing I can do about it. I think its the glamour thing.
Thought it was you. Not many Canadians with a Spanish blog that I know of :)
Love reading your updates Kath - always brings a smile to my face. Poor kids though - wonder what they'll think when they grow older. Can an Aunt save these snippets to embarrass them with at any future weddings?
For you next bit of writing inspiration, I'm tagging you with this...
http://someday.typepad.com/blog/2008/06/my-memoir.html
PS Bea - you totally need to save these for wedding (or brand new girl/boyfriend) embarrassments.
Cheers,
Alex
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