Thank the heavens for Euro 2012. Dad gets even grumpier than usual during the summer when there is no football on; by the way for my American friends’ information, I’m talking about proper football, not the silly armoured behemouths who run around for 5 seconds before leaving the pitch to be wrapped in a blanket and given oxygen and, despite only one person in a team of 40 being allowed to kick the ball, they still call it football? Hmm, strange.
No this is proper football, what Pele once called “the beautiful game.”
Dad loves football, he used to have a season ticket to see his team. I know he misses those crazy days. It’s funny, mom can be talking to him about any subject you like and you can tell by the faraway look in his eyes he hasn’t heard a word she’s said because he’s thinking about football! hehehehe
Away from the league though, this summer he has the distraction of the European Championships. Yet watching England play can be as agonising as watching his club side.
After a good start Sweden went 2-1 up and dad wore despair like a heavy cloak. His moods seem entangled with the fate of our national team. Each Swedish goal was like a knife that twisted into him. As his faithful dog I felt it too as the opposition scored:
As they attacked dad would sit further and further forward in his seat, Walcott hit one from the edge of the box “Go on…go on…go on….y…ye….YES!!! YEEEEESSSSSS!!!!!!! GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!!!!! GET IN THERE!!!!!” His arms aloft, his face contorted with joy. I was going just as mental as him:
We celebrated together, dad and Bones, Bones and dad. “Eng-er-land, Eng-er-land, Eng-er-land…..” We didn’t want to settle for a point though, not after drawing our first game against France. But then Walcott drives for the line, knocks it across, Wellbeck…. oh what a goal, what a cheeky little goal, what a beautiful goal. Bones and dad, dad and Bones raising the roof:
England win…..Ukraine next!
After the match I was spent, all that emotion takes it out of you: