Dear Soccer Players

Dear Soccer Players
13 July 2014

Dear Soccer Players

I would like to thank you for your wonderful entertainment, during this most magnificent football competition – The Soccer World Cup.  It has been thrilling, and has kept me spellbound.  And this coming from me – a non-football fan.  I’ve been well pleased.  And so has my family.

However, at this juncture, I feel it is fair to point a few things out.

Though passion is good, and even encouraged, there are limits.  Crying as if you’ve lost a limb or a family member, because you’ve merely lost a match, is perhaps taking dedication a bit far.  Nor is cranking it right up to outraged hysteria, really warranted. 

It is good to maintain perspective.  Soccer is a game.  Yes, I do understand that there are things such as sponsorships, endorsements, and match-winning bonuses.  But at the core, soccer is still a game.  Played by a few professionals for money.  Played by millions more in their backyards and in the streets, for the pure love of the game.  And enjoyed by billions all over the world.  Spectators.  By the humble us.  Your fans.  The ones that make those sponsorships, endorsements and match-winning bonuses possible.

There are people who have faced imminent death with greater fortitude and less dramatics.  I would hope that you match your soccer passions, with deserving passions in real life.  Where everything is not a game.

I also understand that money is a great motivator, but for many of you, you earn more in one match, than most of us will earn in a lifetime. 

I take nothing away from your skill.  Or the hours of practice and dedication it’s taken you to get to this level of excellence.

Still, your skill is in kicking a ball.  Just putting it out there.

Which brings me to another point.  If given a ball, most people will do one of three things:  Either throw it, kick it, or use an object to make it move.  In other words, a bat, a racket, a stick, a club, etc.  Basically, an inanimate item is used to propel the ball forwards or backwards.  Making it move in the direction you would like it to move.

I don’t quite get the point of using your head.  The area that cushions your brain.  Once again, just putting it out there.

Cause here’s the thing – a soccer ball, is hard enough to dismember a digit, if you hit it hard enough.  Possibly even dislocate it, and bring forth immense pain.  It’s helluva hard.  Just imagine what it would do to your noggin. 

Personally, I’d far rather you use your hand than your head.  But I suppose that would be defeating the object a bit.  And could potentially lead to rugby.

Also, if any of your ever decide to give up the soccer arena, there is a far greater stage beckoning you – the wonderful world of acting and theatrics.  Once again, a light tap to the shin, does not really warrant the writhing about you’re so wont to do.  And to be fair, in some cases, you miss the critical coup.  For any great act to be believed, there must be premise.  And timing.  It is far more believable to make your audience buy into your I’m-in-unbearable-pain-because-my-opponent-intentionally-hurt-me, if your opponent did actually hurt you.  If there is no actual physical contact, it’s really a very tough sell.  No one will be buying your act.  And in case you’re wondering – big screens.  Worldwide live televised broadcasts.  If you’re faking it, we know it.  With every repeat broadcast.

And lastly, to Luis Suárez – I like you.  I really do.  I’m thinking about inviting Neymar for dinner.  Hoping you’ll pop around for a bite to eat.  But if you don’t fancy Brazilian cuisine, I can offer you some Italian, German, Dutch, French…

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Luis Suarez showing off his greatest weapons on the field - not his feet, but his teeth

Soccer Team Science

 

 

 
Soccer Team Science
10 March 2014

I’m not the greatest person when it comes to sport.  Probably cause I’m not even vaguely sporty myself.

Favourite sport is always whatever my kids are participating in.  And hence, we’ve matured from Play Ball, Karate and Ballet, to Dancing, Cricket and Hockey.  I absolutely LOVE supporting my kids next to the sports field.  Perhaps a part of it, is reliving my own youth.  Especially as I did not do the sporty thing at all at school.  I now seem to be enjoying it doubly.  Everything is new to me.  I never had the experience of swimming in a gala, and therefore watching Cole doing his gala’s was thrilling.  The same with Luke’s Karate gradings.  Amber’s dancing Eisteddfod’s.  Luke’s Cricket and Hockey matches.  Amber’s netball, dancing and hockey.  And Cole’s high jump, long distance running, tennis and rugby too.

I’m enthusiastic.  Cheer loudly.  Get heart palpitations with excitement, and just quite simply live myself right into each match. 

Which of course is all fair and well, until one by one, barring one (my beloved Cole), my kids have gotten to an age, where they have begged me to not get so excited.  To stop shrieking and shouting with excitement.  Basically to pipe down and stop embarrassing them.  First prize for them, is me not pitching and supporting at all.  Kids!  At least for now, Cole still leaves me be.  Lapping up all of my eager enthusiasm.

Apart from supporting my kids sporting adventures, I love watching cricket on the TV too.  But with certain conditions.  Only Protea matches, when South Africa is playing.  Only limited overs matches.  Or even T20’s.  Just don’t give me a five day test.  Ya-a-a-a-awn.  Too tedious for words.  I enjoy watching Formula One, when Grant shrieks and shouts.  The odd rugby match too.  Gymnastics, diving, skiing, field and track events, swimming, etc. usually associated with the Olympics or some or other big sporting event is also fun to watch.  Addictive in fact.

However if there is one sport, that leaves me rather cold, and always, has it’s soccer.  Yip, in my opinion, footie’s always been a bit of a fail.  All that aimless running around for seeming hours on end.  Often with no score at all.  Not even one measly goal.  In addition there’s the ludicrous theatrics too.  Now, normally, I’m actually all for the theatre and a spot of drama.  However, there’s a time and place.  Like at the theatre.  Just saying.

And therefore big, strapping, grown men, howling with pain, because someone touched their shin, leaving them writhing with pain, clutching their not-really-painful-at-all-shin, just irritates me.  Let’s see even one of those woosies survive labour?  Then we’ll show them pain.  My money’s on them not even outlasting three centimetres dilated.  Can you just imagine them at ten, if this is the response you get from a shin tap?  Puhleeeaaase!  Give me some strength!

And thus, can you imagine my surprise, when the one sport, that absolutely enthralled and captivated my eldest son, at the age of about eleven, was soccer.  I know.  It’s a cruel, cruel world.

Even worse, his addiction appeared to be catching.  Before long, even little Cole was hooked.  And not to be left out, my Amber soon joined the football world too.  Although her requirements from the game, were slightly different than the boys’.  She liked players for their long hair.  Their glamorous girlfriends and wives.  Just about everything, apart from their actual footballing skills.

Now, as a newbie, Luke was Manchester United mad.  Actually, to be truthful, he was mad about everything soccer.  It was as if he had rabies in fact.  It was all he spoke about.  All he dreamed about.  It completely consumed him.  Five years later, and I can report back that the infection is still rife.  With no sign of either the symptoms or the cause abating.

It’s the number one thing he Googles.  Daily.  The first channel he flips to on the TV.  The news he listens to and watches.  The bit he scans for in the papers.  The books he reads up about.  Factual books about soccer.  Biographies and the like.  And as such, his knowledge has grown.  Ironically, apart from messing about in the backyard, he’s never played proper soccer.  But here’s the thing – Luke has a Rain-Man like quality to retaining information.  It’s really pretty scary.  If something interests him, he can hyper focus, and take in all the information about that topic.  Even more scary – he retains it.  Forever.  Thus he can quote football scores from years ago, about matches he read up about.  He can tell you which player scored in which minute against which team, in which trophy at which stadium.  Yip, it’s scary.  We’ve resorted to calling him, “Wiki-Soccer” at home.  If only he had the same dedication to his Physical Science at school.

Anyway, Luke has favourite teams across all of the different leagues.  Across country borders.  Across many nationalities.  Quite naturally he has favourite players too.  Being able to quote verbatim, their whole career.  At what team each player got their first break, at what age, under which coach.  Who bought them next, for what transfer fee.  In what year.  Etc. etc. etc.  Yes, “Wiki-Soccer” indeed.  We’ve tried catching him out – with soccer books in our hand, challenging him.  But he’s always right.

Anyway, a few years ago, he switched loyalties to Liverpool.  He preferred the players.  Their ethics.  Their history.  Their everything. 

Now, ironically, Liverpool has always been Grant’s favourite team.  And when soccer fever first hit our home, it was also Amber’s first choice of a team.  Her favourite player, Fernando Torres (long blonde hair), played for them.  And she so does love to follow her Daddy.  And hence the bond they have of supporting the same team, is a strong one.  Despite the fact that Amber does not actually watch football matches.

Cole on the other hand, has always forged his own path.  This is a very strong character trait with him.  And will be defining throughout his life.  He’s not a follower.  He makes up his own mind.  And age four, he became obsessed with Petr Čech.  And hence, his team of Chelsea, became Cole’s favourite team.

So I ask you?  What was I supposed to do?  If you can’t beat them, join them.  It became obvious, even apparent, that I’d need my very own team to support too. 

And thus, I took the scientific approach to choosing a team.  Not based on skill.  Not based on ethnicity.  Not based on country.  Not based on location.

Based solely on the periwinkle blue colour of their shirts, I chose Manchester City.

Always had a fondness for periwinkle blue.

Still never watch a match.  Still don’t really get the point.  Still think lots of them are wailing woosies, with their fragile little shins.

Though to be fair, Fernando Torres and Cristiano Ronaldo, are rather easy on the eye…

Not that they play for Man City either.  Or maybe they do.

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Cristiano Ronaldo

 

Alas, I get distracted

 

Fernando Torres

 

 

Lovely blue, don't you think? Can't say I know who plays for them. Who their coach is. Or where their home ground is. Suppose somewhere in Manchester...

Our new Scottish friends

Our new Scottish friends
30 August 2013

So a while ago, Luke came home super excited and chuffed with himself.  PV was hosting a sports touring team, and players were asked to volunteer to billet a player or two.  In other words, to host one or two players.  From Scotland, no less.

Luke didn’t have to beg too much, as quite naturally we agreed, and asked to please have two boys staying with us, for the two nights that they needed accommodation for.  We felt that it would be easier for them, if there were two of them.  As they would possibly not feel so foreign, shy and alone.  A mate from home, makes most things all right.

Grant had been very hesitant at first, as our home is rather small.  Where would we fit them?  How would it work?  Men!!!  Where there’s a will, there’s a way.  Mattresses on the floor in Luke’s room, instead of en suite guest rooms, would perfectly suffice for teenage boys.  It would be more homely and welcoming even, and make them feel more like a part of our home.  Which, as it turned out, it did indeed.

Though the boys would be with us for two nights, we only had to feed them for the first night, as the second night would be spent at the principal’s home, Ledbury House.  The touring teams and host children were invited to a meal, and this also involved great excitement.  As a night out, even at the headmaster’s house, still meant a night out, mingling with fellow teens.  Go figure!

I had given the meal I should serve them, a fair bit of thought.  And decided against the traditional South African braai and boerewors option.  For one, the weather was not conducive, and secondly, I thought that roast chicken, a potato dish and huge big salad was a rather safe bet.  It turned out to be a clever decision, as the boys admitted to having had a braai for the preceding six nights, before they came to us.  Numerous helpings were had by one and all.

From the second I met them, I appreciated how very, very lucky we were.  What fabulous boys!  They were confident without being cocky.  Knowledgeable, without being know-it-all’s.  Humble, polite and kind.  They simply fit right in.  And we never had a single quiet moment.  I’m so grateful that they were talkative, as it made everyone feel more relaxed.  Awkward silences are just so awkward.  All of us were chattering non-stop.  Our meal together was a joyous one and we felt so blessed to welcome them into our home.

They are both well-travelled boys.  They hale from Aberdeen in Scotland and shared many tales about their lives back home.  They had both just returned from a cultural and music tour to Canada, and so at the young age of sixteen, they certainly seem to be seeing a fair bit of the world.  What a wonderful opportunity for them.

Before their arrival, we had been given their names and were warned about their allergies.  Most of these, were fairly easy to avoid – like shellfish.  And a nut allergy, in particular a peanut allergy, is fairly common too.  However, the one boy, had the peanut allergy rather bad, as he carried an epi-pen with him, as he can go into anaphylactic shock, if he accidently ingests any peanuts.  And so in an attempt to avoid killing one of my guests, I took particular care to de-peanut my home.  The kids often have peanut butter sarmies and raw peanuts in their school lunch boxes too.  I even went so far as to wipe out the drawer that we normally have the peanuts in.  Lest there be any peanut traces left lingering and I accidently touch something peanutie and poison one of these kids.  Would really ruin my day.  And my reputation too.

Cole in particular had been most concerned about the whole allergy thing.  In advance he asked if the boy would die if he just touched peanuts?  What if he smelled them?  Even worse – can he die, if someone just says the word, “peanut”?  Now admittedly this is taking things to a whole new level.  And I assured Cole, that the word, “peanut” was still permitted, and would not be fatal if accidently uttered.

It was lovely for all of us to learn more about a part of the world, we weren’t very knowledgeable about.  And furthermore, for them to learn more about our world.  We asked them their opinions of our beautiful and normally sunny (though not for their visit) South Africa.  And they admitted to absolutely loving it.  The people were friendly.  The food was really good.  They enjoyed the cultural exchanges.  And the girls were reportedly rather pretty too.

Luke simply beamed from ear to ear.  So delighted with his role.  In fact, he was rather talkative.  A rare-ish treat.

However the absolute downer to the evening was the pudding I served.  Chocolate brownies with Ice-Cream.  It would have been all okay, if I hadn’t forgotten in my eagerness to find a suitable and delectable dessert, about the peanuts.  I mean seriously!  How stupid can one person be?  Apparently lots!  Before the arrival of our guests, I showed the kids our pudding treat.  And Cole turned eyes filled with horror, up at me.  “But Mommy!!!  There’s nuts on the brownies!!!”.  I know – what can I say?  I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed.  I’m guilty of being over eager, and not very bright.  You’d think I’d have remembered.  Instead, I simply never even noticed them.

Long after the supper was finished, and the littlies went off to bed, Grant and I were sitting in the lounge, watching a wee bit of TV.  And we could still here Luke and the boys, laughing and chatting away.  I gave them some snacks and cool drink and left them to talk and bond, over a mutual interest they had found.  I think it was Call of Duty, on Luke’s PlayStation 3.

The following day promised matches against the touring team.  And we faced the driving rain, to go and support.  Sadly, we got ever so slightly whipped.  Still, it was a great match to watch.  And always encouraging for our kids to play against a worthy opponent that puts up a good challenge.

After their match, there was much showering and zhooshing for their supper at school.  As well as the hopeful wish that they would get to mingle with girls.  This I suspect from the touring boys and Luke too.

And once again, after the boys came back, there was talking and chatting late into the night.  The lot of us, even watched some hockey on TV together.  Learning more from each other all of the time.

We were all sad to see them go and feel lucky that they’ve kept in touch.  Their parents can be proud of them.  Their country too.  They were wonderful ambassadors and have truly piqued our interest in Scotland.  We find ourselves looking out for all things Scottish.  Even just looking at an atlas with the kids, our eyes all drift to Scotland now.

It was wonderful having you here, Allan and Daniel.  Wish you could’ve stayed longer.

And in the wise words of Lord Dingwall, from the movie Brave, playing tribute to the Scottish Highlands, all I can say is “Feast your eyes!”

Och, we really hope to see you wee laddies again soon.

 

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A very social supper

 

The Match!

 

Boys all ready to go out

 

The link between soccer/football and acting

The link between soccer/football and acting
20 June 2013

It is peculiar how on occasion, two seemingly opposite disciplines, actually end up complimenting each other.  They sort of run parallel to one another.  And though their skill set might appear conflicting or not related at all, they have a symbiotic relationship towards each other.  In this same manner, musical ability and mathematics are linked.  It is a well-documented fact.  Apparently Mozart himself, was a mathematical genius.

I have often noticed how soccer and footballing skills, are linked to acting.  No seriously!  It’s true.

Few people are better equipped to give Oscar-winning-worthy performances of fake injuries than soccer players.  In fact, they’ve turned it into an art form of sorts.  And it wouldn’t surprise me in the least to hear that in preparation for movies like, “Saving Private Ryan”, “James Bond”, the “Die-Hard” franchise, the “Lethal Weapon” series, etc., actors like Tom Hanks, Bruce Willis, Mel Gibson, Daniel Craig, etc. became understudies of soccer players and job shadowed them for a period of time.  All done with the hope of learning from the true masters, the not-so-subtle skills involved in faking non-existent injuries.

Perhaps they accompanied them to regular practices for a while?  Maybe even joined them on the pitch and gave it a go themselves.  It would make for an ideal opportunity for the soccer players, to point out exactly how to better dramatize and exaggerate the appearance of unbearable pain.  Possibly, they also undergo a few voice coaching sessions, in order to help them to learn how to effectively project their voices and use their vocal chords to their full ability and capacity.  In that way, they are ensured of giving accurate renditions of howls of pain and screeches of torture.  Huge emphasis is placed on marrying the exact pain-filled facial expression with the dramatic clutching of shins.  These must all be synchronised to perfection, lest the game be given away.  And a part of the trick, is being able to maintain the illusion of being gripped by agonising paroxysms of apparent torment.  All this done, whilst surreptitiously peeking to see if your performance is garnering the necessary attention.  Most notably that of the referee.  Writhing around is super effective, and might elevate matters to a yellow card and a free corner.  However if you’re able to squeeze out a bit of vomit for extra effect, alongside with claims of concussion and broken bones, it shows true commitment to your trade.  And for your effort you might be rewarded with a penalty shoot, and a red card at the very least.

Can you just imagine what a brilliant soccer player Jason Statham must be?  Why he is able to vividly mimic near-death and sometimes even death itself.  Super believable, I tell you.  Clearly soccer’s loss, was the acting fraternity’s gain.  As well as the gain of his adoring public.

In the same vein does that mean that great soccer stars (I mean actors) have decided to make football their calling, at a loss to the acting world?  Not that he’s given to many displays of fake injuries, but perhaps the deciding factor that pushed David Beckham into soccer and not acting, was the high pitched tone of his voice.  It does have a rather piercing, shrill quality to it.  Which might have led to him being typecast in certain roles only.  Not giving way to the full spectrum of his abilities.  And so perhaps in his case, acting’s loss, was a huge gain to football.  One we’re ever so grateful for.

Perhaps many of the football greats, see soccer only as a short term career.  And have their eye on the long game.  Taking up acting after they’ve reached their shelf life as a footballer.  And so, perhaps, they merely indulge in faking-non-existent-injuries, to keep their acting skills from rusting.  Furthermore, it also allows for the opportunity for movie producers, directors, casting agents and the like, to witness their dual talents, while indulging in watching a soccer game.  Rather impressive multi-tasking if you think about it.

Which makes me think – wonder when Becks will make his movie debut?  Nah, all things considered he doesn’t really indulge in the faking-non-existent-injuries thing at all.  So perhaps, we should merely sit on the side lines and wait for Neymar’s soccer career to wind down. 

He might end up being the next James Bond…..

And to illustrate my theory, I present you with two youtube clips, which will substantiate my claims.  In fact I beg you to disagree.  See for yourself.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IQojgdfUAe0&feature=player_detailpage

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LC-H2wXK4T4&feature=player_detailpage

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Ever so dramatic! There must have been acting talent scouts in the crowd.....

Yes, please do answer this question.

 

 

Yay! Success! It paid off - yellow card. Yeah-baby. Suck on that!

 

Every so often even Becks has indulged

 

Dude, if you can withstand the pain of multiple tattoos, then I'm sure you'll survive a little shin bump. Seriously!  Let's keep it real.

Ain't that the truth!

 

Now this is pretty impressive, I'm sure you'll agree. Giving true meaning to the term - "team effort". I would hope that they at least got a penalty shoot in honour of their dedication.

.

Faker! 

 

 

 

 

 

Cole's Competitive Instinct

Cole's Competitive Instinct
5 September 2012

My darling little Cole is a sweetie of note, but he has a killer competitive streak in him, that runs a mile wide, long and deep.  This is naturally aided by his awesome sporting skills.  He seems to enjoy and indeed excel in any and every sport that he decides to tackle.

At the moment he’s a bit off tennis.  Now this I find a bit odd.  He thoroughly enjoys ball sports and I think he finds few things more rewarding than whacking a ball, whether it’s with a hockey stock, a cricket bat or a tennis racket.  He’s been identified by the school as a tennis player with potential, and so they have a private coach that comes in once a week to give a handful of kids private tennis coaching – luckily at the school’s expense.  Coaching is on a Friday morning, from 7h45 before school starts, and then it goes over the general Assembly that the other kids attend, until 8h45.  This is his second year doing the Friday morning tennis.  I thought he would love it for sure.  Sitting still is a challenge for him at times, so I was convinced that given the option of playing tennis outside, as opposed to having to be quiet, sitting still in the hall, the tennis would win for sure.  In fact, I thought it was a no-brainer.

So Cole’s been dragging his feet lately about tennis.  Much moaning and groaning and then a few Fridays ago he piped up saying “You can’t force me to do tennis.  I’m not going to be a professional, you know”.  My jaw literally dropped.  It sounded like he’d swallowed a book on children’s rights and that I was this wicked cruel mother that was pushing and pushing and pushing him.  But, I don’t give up so easily.  I wanted to get to the bottom of this.  Perhaps the coach was too hard on him?  Was one of the other kids perhaps being mean to him?  Was he so exhausted on a Friday morning from all the other sport he’s done during the course of the week?  Did he feel that his tennis skills were not up to scratch with the other kids?  Did he maybe need a bigger racket, a proper tennis bag, better takkies?   I poked and prodded, and eventually the truth came out.

Cole’s tennis dilemma was twofold.  Firstly he couldn’t possibly forfeit playing with all of this friends before school, the way they do every other day of the week.  Especially not for measly tennis lessons.  Those 15 minutes before the school bell rang were very precious to him.  The fact that he spent the rest of the day with those same kids in class, during break, as well as on the sports field after school, was simply not enough time to fit all the playing in.

But the second and most important part of his dilemma was this:  if he missed assembly, he wouldn’t be called on to stage to receive his “man of the match” accolade for the previous week’s rugby and hockey matches.  Have you ever???  He only got called on to stage a few times, in his Grade 1 year and thereafter they let the “man of the match” thing fall away for the younger kids.  It was too competitive and they’re not even doing it anymore.  So evidently for Cole, it’s all about glory and recognition, as well as in his mind at least, adoration from his buddies.  You’d think we stroke his ego enough at home!  Because we do, seriously.  And perhaps that is the true problem?

Despite Cole’s competitive streak, he is not a sore loser and for that I am deeply grateful.  He is not one of those kids that flings his racket, hockey stick or cricket racket on the ground if his team loses.  He’s courteous and polite to opponents.  Doesn’t bad mouth them on or off the field (I would klap him if he did), and shakes hands after a match.  He’s happy to admit if he’s had a “bad” game and made mistakes on the field and is able to laugh about it afterwards.  I have however seen him give another boy a filthy look after Cole perceived the other boy to have made a dodgy rugby tackle on him.  But on the whole he is an awesome sportsman – an 8 year old gentleman if you like.

Now that does not mean that he doesn’t simply thrive on winning.  He loves it.  And one thing Cole does not battle with is an ego problem.  He is so used to playing A-team for every single sport, that he takes it as his due.  A few months ago, Beaumont played a mini cricket tournament against a few schools.  The coaching staff had decided that rather than have one very strong team of players and then the other teams not being so hot, they would divide the skills equally amongst the four teams competing in the tournament.  I had offered to take a whole bunch of boys to the host school.  Always a fun experience for me.  I love listening to the banter between the boys, and how they psyche each other up for their matches.  So all of the kids were telling each other in which team they were playing for the day.  Next Cole piped up saying “I’m playing for the A-team”.  So I felt obliged to correct him and told him that he was actually playing for the C-team during the tournament.  And then, without missing a beat Cole said “Oh, do the C-team need me to help them win?”.  What confidence!  I couldn’t contain my glee and laughed out loud, trying to explain the system to Cole.  It all went over his head in any rate as the C-team was victorious in the tournament.  A pure co-incidence.  Not Cole’s doing.  Cricket is a team sport after all.

I had a good giggle this past week.  It was Inter schools time – against our fiercest rivals – with all of the winter sporting codes.  And our sporting “arch enemy” is De Hoop – an awesome school that is passionate about sport in general and rugby in particular.  I was feeling so bummed because I couldn’t watch Cole’s rugby match on Saturday morning, as I had Jumping Castles to sort out.  So Grant and Cole went off on their merry way to “fight the enemy”.  When they came back later in the morning, Cole was absolutely filthy.  Covered from head to toe in mud and shivering with cold.  If it wasn’t for the fact that it was so cold, I would’ve hosed him down outside before letting him into the house.  He was grinning from ear to ear.  Just looking so very, very happy.  Aaahhh, I thought.  They must have won.  Just look how happy my little boy is looking.  I eagerly asked him how the match went and Cole said “Great!  We lost 13-0”.  Huh, I thought?  That is a huge margin, but oh well.  It’s one of those things.  I’m sure the boys gave it their all and at least it looked as if Cole had had a marvellous time.  You can’t win them all, etc. etc. etc.  Until Grant whispered in my ear “that would be 13 tries to zero tries”.

How cute, that my boy can come off the field humiliated, cold, filthy and happy.  All at the same time.

There is going to come a time, when Cole will have to choose what he would like to pursue.  But for now, time allows for him to do it all.  Tennis, hockey, rugby, cricket, swimming and cross country.  I’m enjoying supporting him in all of his endeavours on the sports field.  He’s not the best sportsman by far, but he’s my best sportsman.  He’s still at the stage where even though winning is great, having fun is even better.  And according to me, that’s just grand!

Cole - the fish

 

 

Aiming where to put that 6

 

 

Athletics day

 

 

Hockey boy in action

 

 

Little sporting gentlemen

Determination

Heading for the try line

Trying to warm up with hot chocolate between matches. Could those legs be any more skinny?

Giving crosscountry a bash

The Omitted Olympic Events

The Omitted Olympic Events
15 August 2012

And so the Olympics have drawn to a close.  And what a great spectacle it was.  I am not sporty at all and have unfortunately been blessed with two left feet as well as zero ball skills.  So seeing all these athletes, at the very peak of their excellence, is truly incredible.  The dedication and commitment it takes to reach this level of brilliance is remarkable and a testament to their perseverance.  And I salute them, one and all.

I loved all the excitement and all of the hype.  The fanfare of the opening and closing ceremonies, and the feeling that nations were united in the common good of sport.  Where else would you find countries like North and South Korea,  Israel and Syria, all put their differences aside?  No animosity, just good old fashioned sportsmanship.  Or at least the pretence of it.   And weren’t some of the events or rather their inclusion in the Olympics games interesting?  And by the very same vein, the exclusion of others as well.  But even I have to admit that they missed the mark on a few places. 

I mean, why weren’t the Maasai Mara there?  They would have kicked everyone’s butt in the ‘Vertical-Jumping-In-One-Place-Contest’. 

And as for those lunatics that do the running of the bulls in Pamplona - forget Usain Bolt’s sprinting prowess.  They would’ve left him in the dust. 

Or how about an event where school kids have to jockey for the front of the tuck shop queue.  Now there’s true competitive killer instinct in its finest form.  

If there was an Olympic gold medal to be awarded for drama and acting, forget about the likes of Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson – I can state categorically, that in my mind at least, the “Oscar” of Olympics should go to soccer players.  Is anything more dramatic than the way they fall to the ground, clutching uninjured shins, writhing in pretend agony? 

Ooh, and what about Postmen – running away madly from rabid looking dogs, trying to maintain their dignity whilst not losing their mail? 

And if cars and speed are more your thing, you have never seen anything until you’ve witnessed the mad dashing about that a mother does on an average day.  Getting her various offspring to and from their numerous extra-murals.  There’s always a severe time restriction and added to that great distance between activities, delivering nail-biting finishes in record time. 

Also few things are more brutal than a bunch of housewives doing a tug-of-war over the last ripe avo in the shop.  Forget using a rope – for real authenticity you need fresh produce – nothing like living on the edge and the impending doom of squishing the avo to smithereens in the process. 

And can you imagine the speed that swimmers on a beach would achieve, should a shark warning be issued?  Eat your hearts out Chad Le Clos and Cameron van der Burgh, now we’re talking real aquatic abilities. 

If they included ‘Sibling Bickering’ as an Olympic sport, I’m sure that the Olympic committee would simply be overrun with entrants.  They’d have to do loads and loads of heats, working through a virtual plethora of moody kids. 

And those gymnasts, needn’t think they’ve got the edge on balancing.  No way, Jose.  No drunk, anywhere, any place, any time, anyhow will spill even one drop of his drink.  He might fall flat on his face, break a leg and dislocate a shoulder in the process, but the arm and hand holding the drink will be raised aloft, keeping his drink intact. 

Or how about the frenetic flailing that is such common practice amidst the nepotistic awarding of government tenders – everyone with an eye on the end game and the monetary reward (that naturally has to be equally divided between family members). 

And can you imagine the flying start to a sprinting race if there was a ‘SALE’ sign at the finish line?  In fact they could even make this one a steeple chase, as the ‘athletes’ would probably have no problem climbing and stampeding over the prone bodies of their fallen comrades. 

Oh, and if they had a ‘Teenage-Lip-Giving-And-Cheeky-Contest-Combined-With-Eye-Rolling-Event’, I can name a whole bunch of likely medal contenders.  Why, under my very own roof, I suspect that I have an Olympic Champion in the making.  And in four years’ time, when we ‘jet’ off to Rio so to speak for the next Olympics, I suspect that at aged 14 by then, Amber will be coming up the ranks as well. 

But if there is one area and one area alone, in which I will make my brilliance known and win my very own gold medal, it is in the ‘Enthusiastic-Mother-Screeching-Support-For-Her-Children’ division.  I seriously rock at this.  No need for modesty.  I’m good and I know it.  And to be honest, I’m not all that discerning.   I can whip up the same level of energetic frenzy and noise making whether we’re at a piano recital, a dancing concert, a swimming gala, a rugby match, a hockey match, a cricket match, a netball match, a karate grading, a poetry Eisteddfod or a school play.  And interestingly enough, whilst I’m enthusiastically giving my winning performance of parental support, for some or other reason, my children seem to visibly shrink and pretend that they are in fact invisible and don’t know me at all.  How rude!!!   I mean after all I’ve done for them?  Incubating every single one of them for nine months.  And I didn’t push out twins or triplets.  I never even made them share my womb.  I unselfishly gave each child their requisite 9 months.  In fact, Luke even got an extra four days.  Feeding them.  Clothing them.  Not to mention the unfathomable amount of sleepless nights I’ve had thanks to them!  Have you ever?  And that’s the thanks I get??? 

Perhaps I should start practicing for the Rio Olympics so long.  Speaking of which, Luke is playing a hockey match on Saturday, Cole is playing four hockey matches on Saturday and one on Monday and in a week’s time Amber will be doing her Piano exam.  AWESOME!!!  Note to self – dust the pom-poms and banners off.  Nah!  Who am I kidding, they never get a chance to get dusty.  GO TEAM CLOETE!!!