We woke at 7 this morning and watched the clock tick until nearly 8, when we knew we would have to be out of bed. The coach of the local team was calling within an hour to pick up myself and our eldest to take us, along with another couple of team mates, on an hour and a half journey to play football. Our eldest’s first game for the town team.
“The team” have been off in the distance in football practice - the girls in the “real” kit, running drills, doing circuits, laughing together, running together… they always seemed like this thing that otherchildren did - more gifted, privilaged, or pushed children - right until the moment the call came before Christmas asking if a certain eleven year old in our house would like to join the team.
Apparently we have a football player on our hands.
Seeing her instantly accepted into the team today, worrying at the touchline, shouting, laughing, and puffing steam as she fought for the ball, I found myself quite unexpectedly liking football. At this level, it’s notabout winning - it’s about taking part, bonding with team mates, having fun, working hard, and playing the game.
I’m sure the other parents wondered who this new girl was, and she answered them moments after taking to the pitch - intercepting passes, taking the ball from players, clattering into girls who tower over her, and clearing the lines. She’s a born defender. After perhaps the third attack in as many minutes that she found herself in the thick of repelling, a parent stood just along the touchline from me shouted at the couch “we need another one of that new Number 6C/3…
We are lucky. We have a great coach, who is going the extra mile to keep the game fun for the kids. I hadn’t appreciated just how good he is until I saw him in a match situation, heaping praise and encouragement on the children. Where parents were shouting advice at the children, all he ever did was cheered, encouraged, and gave simple direction - and the kids love him for it.
When the final whistle went, the group of white shirted, red faced girls sprinted towards each other, and shouted their cheers for the opposing team - then jogged back to proud parents, steam pouring from them in the freezing morning air.
I didn’t think I would like Saturdays watching football, but on this evidence I might have to think again.