School Football

Standing room only I'm afraid.

The pitch sidelines are packed to the hilt with parents of all
shapes

and sizes, whooping and hollering every time one their son's gets
hold

of the ball.

Of course its only football. They're only young kids, but the way
some

of the parents are behaving, you would think they're part of the

National Football team.

Take the guy next to me for instance. His kid, who is a handy
little

dribbler, miss kicked the ball 5 minutes ago. His dad marched
straight

on the pitch, grabbed the lad by the shirt, dragged him off and

then systematically berated him.

My thought as I stood their in the freezing cold? Idiot!

Cold, raining and very windy. I suppose that's why everyone's
wearing

those hats with the ear muff bits.

Every member of every team seems to be wearing black. Black
shirts,

shorts and boots. The only way to tell any of them apart is

their height and hair colour.

There I am, screaming my lungs off at the kid going down the left
wing,

only to discover he's not my son.

Of course, as soon as I realise what I'm doing, I suddenly make
out

that I'm screaming in another direction.

There's a small hotdog/coffee wagon over the other side. Not many

people in the queue, so why not nip over there I thought?

What a mistake. Have you ever tasted coffee in a polystyrene cup?
Yuck!

Back to the game I go. Some of these kids are really, really good.
You

ought to have seen the referees though. Normal parents playing
referee?

People who haven't run more than 50 yards in their entire
history.

St John's Ambulance are here. So far, they've seen 4 ref's for

exhaustion and three for leg injuries where the little ankle
biters

have lobbed a studded boot in their direction.

It is absolute chaos, but hey, the kids seem to be really
enjoying

themselves.

Just to my left, is a very posh family, all decked out with those

little sticks that convert into seats.

All of them neatly lined up like a row ducks waiting to be shot.

Just like those target games you get at the fairground.

There he is, my son, Michael, lingering in front of the goal.

The ball comes in from the left, curving outward towards the six
yard

line. He pounces and makes full contact using his left foot

and hits an absolute screamer, straight into the back of the net.

Even David Seaman wouldn't have been able to stop that one!

The parents up in uproar.

Suddenly, a whistle goes, then another and another. It's over.

The head referee goes to the microphone and announces the winning
team.

Bad news for my son, he didn't make the winning team, but hey, he had
a

go. As for me? I'll never forget that look on Michael's face when
he

scored that goal. It has become forever etched in my memory.
Superb!