Trying to Understand Football: 1

It all started when I attended one of my son's sports days. I arrived with many other bored and cold parents waiting for what seemed an inordinately long time for the children to come out. Then began the inevitable demonstration of genetic superiority over humble hopes and 'can do' attitude. The stronger and bigger children easily outperforming their  physically inferior classmates time after time.

There were a few 'pity events' organised for the more dyspraxic participants. These appeared to involve sporting activities never witnessed in any professional arena.
You will never attend the Olympics and witness the 'throwing the beanbag more or less into a hoop' event or the 'just mill around and fall over each other a bit' 100 metre relay farce.

Now I am not 'sporty' & my experience of sports day as a participant was always that of being thrashed into the ground by everyone else. Teachers would force us to participate in feeble activities such as those above despite our obvious ineptitude.

I was therefore expecting very little from my own progeny & was mumbling  to the other parents along the lines of 'it's not about the winning, it's about the participation & letting them all have a go' etc.

But then my offspring started his first race and won. And then placed in the second and won the third.
This had a hitherto un experienced effect on me.
From being a casual, mild mannered observer. I somehow transformed into a rabid, 'foaming at the mouth', bellowing 'mutant parent'.
The fickle flame of hope had ignited in my dry & blackened soul & I found myself shouting encouragement (& projecting withering scorn in equal measure) from the side-lines.

'COME ON HOUSE GILBY...THESE OTHER KIDS HAVE GOT NOTHING!! EVISCERATE THEM. KILL THEM ALL AND DANCE A JIG ON THEIR ROTTEN CORPSES THE SUBHUMAN SCUM. YOU CAN DO IT SON...REMEMBER, SECOND PLACE IS JUST ANOTHER TERM FOR FIRST LOOSER'

Once I had been led away & calmed down by kind people, my blood pressure returned to normal and the red mist receded enough for me to realise the terrible truth.
My son is good at sports.
This means that I will have to attend sporting functions in future. Possibly even help him to practice.
I will have to finally go into 'Sports Direct' and deal with the protein crazed sales assistants there. I might even have to try and understand what a 'technical area' is.

My sons performance at sports day portended a grim future with only one certainty on the horizon.
I was going to have to enrol him in a Football club.