If losing was a sport this was my boy's sport.
We may say losing brings character, but once in a while one likes to think winning brings character too and the odd reason to smile.
We may say losing brings character, but once in a while one likes to think winning brings character too and the odd reason to smile.
Today we troop along to support another folly in "well played and hard luck", making well meaning noises on a losing streak of some weeks eventually gets cheesy.
There is a blonde kid, two years too young to play with the big boys, there is the blonde kid, the one who should be wearing a bib instead of a kit, the blonde kid who was there to warm the bench because a big kid failed to turn-up. This is not good.
But against the odds, against the grain but not against the run of play all things came good at least for the first ten minutes or so. Losing was still a maybe. Hoorah.
And be damned a half time lead, the blonde kid played. The blonde kid starred, be second damned. Be second hoorah'd.
The Pryce family glows, but there is a fear, still a fear of the future, the fear is the second half, a fear this is too good to be true. A fear that we are forever blowing bubbles of dreams gone west, of what was once pork is now called smoked ham The second half starts.. The blonde kid grows in confidence if not in stature.
My boy is like an astronaut seeing space where land-lubbers see only the horizon. The blonde kid lives off space, space my boy creates by the art of bulk and strategically placed elbows. The coach gave a nod of approval as bulk helped brains to score again and indeed again. The second half by third damn is like the first half. Fears are quelled as mathematical possibilty for the come-back is timed out.
And be damned a half time lead, the blonde kid played. The blonde kid starred, be second damned. Be second hoorah'd.
The Pryce family glows, but there is a fear, still a fear of the future, the fear is the second half, a fear this is too good to be true. A fear that we are forever blowing bubbles of dreams gone west, of what was once pork is now called smoked ham The second half starts.. The blonde kid grows in confidence if not in stature.
My boy is like an astronaut seeing space where land-lubbers see only the horizon. The blonde kid lives off space, space my boy creates by the art of bulk and strategically placed elbows. The coach gave a nod of approval as bulk helped brains to score again and indeed again. The second half by third damn is like the first half. Fears are quelled as mathematical possibilty for the come-back is timed out.
A third hip hip hooray. We share in the triumph, we are happy, the family unit unites in victory. Sharing the moment of a smalltown, junior league, relegation battle victory at sport, a shared joy an appreciation, a permission to applaud, sometimes life can be good.
It may not be a cup, it may not be best in the league, but teenager has done good and we parents are lucky. We are smiling. I think I'll buy a cuppa tea for all.
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