Do you know what a hat-trick is?? It has absolutely nothing to do with hats. It's three of something. Three wickets. Three medals. Three goals.
Guess who got a hat trick of goals last week?? (If you guessed Dash, you'd be right)
And guess who finally got awarded Player of the Day? (Again, the correct answer is Dash)
It was a ripper of a game (that means really really good). We remain undefeated and unscored-against; the score this week, 4-0 to us. Three of those goals were my son's. Three spectacular, splendiforous goals.
Tomorrow's game is in doubt. It's been raining here since last night without let-up. Rain on the roof while lying cosy in bed is one of my favourite things in life. Rain down the back of my neck and wet feet from running chores is not. Lucky I have a lovely neighbour to take my kids to school on wet days. Gotta love good neighbours!
So as I was saying, tomorrow's game is in doubt. Rain, wet grounds, fields closed... blah blah blah. Who'd have ever believed that I'd feel disappointed at missing out on getting up early to watch football (a.k.a. soccer) on a Saturday morning? Anyone who knew me in my pre-Mr G days would fall off their chairs laughing at that one.
I was completely ignorant of everything relating to football when I started dating sporty Mr G (eeeeh, just look at his floppy blond hair). I remember watching him play for the first time, admiring his muscley legs and tight buns in those little shorts...
His team did badly. They lost 8-0, with me watching. Mr G was ropable, embarrassed, mortified that I had witnessed their awful defeat when he wanted to impress me. I honestly didn't care, I just thought he was lovely.
But I was confused when he asked me to collect the strips for washing... strips?? I imagined bits of cloth that people tied on their wrists for bandages... or to show team colours... but I couldn't see any of those. Duh! It's the t-shirts silly! Football uniforms are called strips!
Oh, er, right.
After that I could talk about "nice strips" with the best of them.
I stopped watching Mr G's football games early in our marriage, after I got hit in the face with a stray ball while cheering on the sideline. Oh, the pain of having my sunglasses smashed into my face. The embarrassment of crying in front of his teammates. The inconvenience of a fat lip...
I managed to steer clear of football until... until I gave birth to a football-mad kid.
When Dash started showing sporty qualities like his dadda, I inwardly grimaced at the idea of spending my Saturday mornings standing on the sidelines in all weathers. I told myself, that'll be daddy's job to take the boy to his football matches.
I hadn't reckoned on how absolutely thrilling it is to watch your kid do what they were born to do. Watching him fly up the sideline, dodging opposition players, booting the ball sweetly into the net... what else would I rather do on a Saturday than watch that?
See what motherhood does to us? It turns us into unlikely football fans with an unasked-for knowledge of the English Premier League Club standings, endless player names and likely teams for relegation or promotion.
I still have no idea how the offside rule works. But I can shout at the Ref with the best of them. Go the Magpies!
PS: Check out Mr G, circa 1983. Look like anyone we know??!
