Football Wars

Well another season is finished and I come out in the front position of the Football Wars.  I didn’t tease that much; just enough for him to feel the sting…  I may have played the club song a few times, but that is it.

All in all, it was a pretty quiet day.

Kid 3 and I put our bets on before the game.  In fact I opened an online betting account for the Squeeze because I wasn’t going to put bets on for a fourteen year old on my account!  Time enough to gamble when you get older; time enough to realise the only winner is whoever is taking the bets.

In proof of this point, Kid 3 won $15 which was what the Squeeze had paid for him to play.   Disputing that point was me; I won $285, which miffed him slightly. 

Anyhow, we are the champions and all that.

Kid 1 came over at around half time and the four of us sat and watched; me drinking beer and all eating pies – in true football fashion.  We finished off this dietary delight with fish and chips.

I am not unaware that at odd times, generally when drinking, I can be “sensitive”.  I’ve had some classic stand up screaming matches over the years.  Sensitivity aside, the day seemed punctuated by odd scathing comments from Kid 1 which annoyed me no end, to the point where I went to bed early to remove myself from the possibility of competing.

I freely admit I talk a lot and I’m loud.  As we moved further into the final, I’m pretty sure I drank more and got louder – but my team is in a Grand Final, it’s my job to barrack loudly – it’s not just about the blue and white balloons and scarf hanging in the window.  And at the end of the day, it's my damned house and I'll barrack as loudly as I want.  Don't like it?  Don't come!

Football is in my blood; you have to barrack with passion.  I was taught this by my mother who remains the only woman I know that did a “hammy” in a Grand Final.  Yes, granted, this was that she slipped on the wet concrete while cutting down balloons because they “didn’t try” but hey, that is passion!  When we finally won a flag; she was the one tootling off with my father and our “adopted sister” to get her GFC tattoo on her shoulder (long standing bet).  But I’m sure you get the point.  I was bred to support my team with passion.

So my barracking loudly is quite justified; although obviously not for Kid 1 who maintained a steady flow of somewhat peculiar comments on everything from my daring to barrack while the game was on, thus he may miss something; to having a go at my observation that the town/pier of Blackpool was trashy when I had been there years ago.

Unlike the Moodle, I was taught by my parents to stand on my own two feet; and to stand up for myself.  I’m seriously not a ‘turn the other cheek’ kind of girl.  So it seemed safer to go to bed than risk commenting in return.  

You may remember in past blogs, the “polyesters” discussion I had with this kid and his uncertainty whether or not they were real creatures, clubbed to death in order to make his suit.  In other words, getting into as war of wits with him wasn’t worth it; I would wipe the floor with him in seconds.

So it was off to bed, still humming the club song as I drifted off to sleep!

This is the first time I'd seen him since the "divorce" and I suspect that deep down, he had seen mummy whistle and the Squeeze go back so many times, that maybe I am just standing in the way of "true love".  If so, I'm sure he'll get over it eventually.