The football season has well and truly begun and I am feeling a great sense of excitement. This might not seem surprising if you were to know that I was a football fan. Given the disappointment of last year’s World Cup I had thought that I would devote less time to the Nation’s favourite sport.
Yet, as soon as the first whistle blew on the Community Shield Cup back in August my interest returned in spades.
Part of the fun is the regular conversation I have with some of my closest friends; most of whom support different teams than me.
I was speaking with once such friend, who is a Liverpool fan, just a few days ago. After I reminded him that his team play in an orangey-red and therefore must be inferior to United, I asked him where they were in the league at the moment.
His answer made me laugh because it displayed the full partisan feeling experienced by most fans. ‘They are joint sixth’ he said with a decent sense of pride having seen them sitting just above the relegation zone only a few weeks earlier.
‘Don’t you mean ninth?’ I enquired seeing through his plan to spin the situation like a good politician. ‘It depends how you look at it’ he replied.
He confessed that had Everton been in the same position he would have definitely called it ninth place.
Another of my long time friends is a Newcastle fan with whom I have spent many happy hours talking about every aspect of football over the years. Several months ago I found out that he had sadly past on after battling several of the complications that life often throws at some of the world’s loveliest people.
When talking about Mark’s favourite team I would often quote to him a phrase from the funeral service ‘we sorrow but not as those without hope’.
He would usually reply with some humorous comment whilst acknowledging that being a Magpie fan was often a difficult experience. The humour was useful in deflecting from many of the other struggles he faced and I am glad to say that before he died he learned that his beloved team had beaten Arsenal away from home.
For Mark and me, football became our touch point, so that in the midst of the pain we could find some enjoyment talking about our common passion.
In years gone by we would often watch a match on TV; me in bold red and him in black and white stripes, to ensure that our rivalry, although friendly, would be apparent.
He used to regularly remind me that I couldn’t be a true Man United fan because I didn’t have a southern accent. I would respond by asking him whether the till beeped when he walked though the supermarket looking like a bar code.
In addition to this passion for football Mark also had a belief that there was a future after this life was over. He would tell me that this gave him a lot of strength to deal with his difficulties.
As I think of him now I remember my oft quoted phrase ‘we sorrow but not as those without hope’ and am hoping it might be helpful for the whole of life and not just for football.
Football Crazy
The Birthday Party
As you might imagine we have had our fair share of children's birthday parties. How things have changed over recent years; when I was a kid it was tradition for Dads to get off to the pub during such occasions and only return when the vacuum had been switched off and the last balloon had been burst. In this present climate all fathers are honour-bound to, not only be present at the celebration, but to take an active part in the entertainment.
I remember, on the occasion of our youngest daughter's fifth birthday, having to set up a make-shift disco unit in an old village hall. This community building had seen its fair share of nonsense during its 65 years of existence but I added to the collective sense of Dad embarrassment on this occasion.
The music had been selected and the two bulb light-set that I had bought for the party, was making zero impact on the brightly lit, early evening, magnolia walls. Balloons had been blown up and sandwiches had been covered in cling film to keep them 'fresh'. Our girls were already buzzing with excitement due to too much fizzy pop and the promise of party games.
Eventually some parents arrived to drop off their children each one having that same knowing look; a mixture of pity for us who were left behind and joy that it was not they who had to hold together such a major event. I offered one or two of the Dads a drink in the hope of bribing them to stay but they were all too wise to fall for such a ploy.
We started the party games with a cheer from all the children who were now reaching fever pitch; the noise level getting beyond bearable. Pass the parcel went off without a hitch and I managed to arrange it so that every child had a turn at ripping off the paper; I am not sure if this amounts to fraud but it makes for less tears. My own sadness with the game was that the kids cared little for the time and energy it took to wrap the parcel in the first place, such a lack of gratitude.
The game that caused the most fuss was the one where children were paired up in a three legged race style with the addition of a balloon attached to a child’s legs by means of a string. The aim of the game was to pop everybody else’s whilst retaining your own. I foolish agreed to partner daughter number three and as soon as the music started we were off on our popping mission.
The problem that I have is that I get far too competitive for my own good; or the good of anyone else for that matter. With a look of manic delight on my face, I lifted my six year old by the arms and dashed around the floor bursting innocent children’s balloons. With neither favouritism nor mercy I aimed for every piece of inflated coloured latex I could see whilst flinging my daughter in every direction. My daughter laughed in delight, my wife sighed in embarrassment, the other kids cried in defeat.
I am pleased to report that we were the winners but our victory was ruined by the tears of the other party goers and the look of disappointment on my wife's face. I tried to justify my actions by saying that I was teaching the children a valuable lesson about losing but my bride would have none of it; she tried to tell me that the party was for smaller kids not bigger ones.
I was made to watch the incident back on video in order that I might understand how strange I looked as my need to win overtook my need to be nice. My wife had shown the video to some of her female friends and they had concurred with her assessment of my immaturity. In defence I showed it to a number of mates to see what they thought of the whole episode. To a man they all laughed and cheered my efforts recognising that I had indeed taught the children a valuable lesson; don’t let Dad’s join in at parties.
