Michael Owen in goal for Poland, Up escalator Oxford Circus
I played football games with Amy today in Alex-The-Ex's new garden. Amy drew the pitch markings on the paving stones with chalk. The goal was clearly defined by two bars of her Dad's wooden fence.
We each had to decide who to pretend to be. I chose Michael Owen. Alex pointed out that Michael Owen was injured. Amy told me to pretend he wasn't injured. I was up for that, so I pretended to be Michael Owen not injured.
I was in goal as usual, and briefly whined that I was always the goalkeeper. Alex tried to help out, pointing out that Michael Owen didn't play as goalkeeper. Amy said that I could pretend Michael Owen was a goalkeeper. So there I was, pretending to be Michael Owen recovered from injury, playing in goal.
We had to pick which teams to be for our exciting World Cup penalty shootout competition. Amy chose England, of course. I decided to be Poland. Poland had won the World Cup of Poker in my recent poker blogging trip, and they were a very nice bunch of poker players. So there I was, pretending to be Michael Owen, recovered from injury, playing in goal, for Poland.
It was a very good contest. Following each spot kick Amy meticulously recorded the crosses and circles next to our team names. We had ENG, POL and BEL scrawled in chalk on the patio steps. Alex's Belgian Rio Ferdinand had a comically long run-up as he took each kick, and Amy insisted Rio had his eyes shut as he struck each goal. Belgium scored just one penalty in their five attempts, perhaps she was right? I screamed as I scored the crucial goal to take Poland to tie-break penalties vs. England.
An exciting five tie-break kicks, and the match was finally decided... My Polish team called on crucial saves from Belgium's goalie to ensure England won the contest. It was important that Amy-pretending-to-be-England's-Captain won, and was therefore in a good mood at 4pm to let us watch the genuine World Cup game.
Letting Amy win didn't work. Amy-pretending-to-be-David-Beckham was still in a lousy mood at 4pm. I'm not sure why..? Perhaps it's confusing for her to see me and her Dad together again? Perhaps my reluctance to define Steve clearly to her is confusing her more? I describe Steve as a 'friend', but she giggles and says, 'He's your boyfriend'. And sometimes she even sings, 'Mum and Steve sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.' I just blush. How do you do the 'Mum with a boyfriend' thing..? But I'm thrilled that Steve is so good with Amy, she really likes him.
I was stuck for a babysitter on the Sunday I returned from Barcelona so Steve offered to help. I returned to find the house decorated with drawings on nearly every wall, 'Welcome home from Squirrel Man and Amy' pictures everywhere. Amy loves the 'Squirrel Man' super-hero name she's given him. Steve knows this and good-naturedly plays along.
Amy doesn't like football at all, she refused to watch the England game with me and her Dad. We tried to ignore her constant whines that she was bored. I tried to get her interested in the match, but knew I was doomed when she asked, "So is there only one ball in football?"
Amy cried that she wanted to go home. Alex had just moved into his new home; toys were still in boxes, he had no internet to distract her, he didn't even have paper for her to draw on. Amy had a small point about it being boring for her, even though she was mostly being an annoying brat. It's only two quick stops on the tube from Alex's flat in Clapham south to Tooting Bec and we both live near the station, so I decided it would be perfectly possible us to get home during the half time break. A dull first half meant I decided to dash for home at 4.40pm, sure it was no more than a 20 minute journey, and that I'd be back in time for the second half.
Stuck in a tube tunnel between Clapham South and Balham I wondered if the train driver had suddenly remembered the football was on, abandoned his passengers to go watch the game? The train finally got going again, only to stop and start it's journey, making frustratingly slow progress towards Tooting Bec. The driver eventually announced that the delays were due to a signal problem. I wondered if the signal operators were busy watching the England match? How could I have expected them to concentrate on working their signals properly with the football on..?
I got home half way through the second half and wondered what had happened to Wayne Rooney. When I figured it out I had to explain the red and yellow card system to Amy. She was intrigued by this, and pointed out that at school you'd always get two warnings before any timeout on the 'naughty chair'. She thought Rooney's red was quite unfair. I wished the World Cup ref had used the same disciplinary procedure as Fircroft school.
As England's penalty kicks began I remembered our garden penalty game. Amy's England had won only because I'd kicked so many weak shots straight at Alex. I knew Portugal weren't going to aim easy shots at Paul Robinson's tummy. And they didn't. So that was that. Who did expect England to win on penalties? I felt strangely bitter towards the TV editors who'd already contemplated England's World Cup exit, pre-selecting the sad song to play at the end of the programme. The sad song bit always makes me feel like crying, emotive music, emotive images, defeat still sinking in...
As the sad song played, and Rio cried on the TV, Amy turned to me and said, "I'm going to support Italy now." She told me, "I can cover the England word on my top and write Italy instead. We get extra play time at school when Italy win."
It's easy being a football fan when you're just six. I blame the school. The teachers of Fircroft School are having a World Cup sweepstake, each class is allocated a team, and when their team win a match they get extra break time. The whole school was jealous of Class 2 for being given England. Not any more... I hope Italy do win, extra play time is a very good reason to support any team. Even if Italy lose Amy still gets the same break time as before. As a 'proper' England fan it feels like play time has been cancelled for another four years...
We each had to decide who to pretend to be. I chose Michael Owen. Alex pointed out that Michael Owen was injured. Amy told me to pretend he wasn't injured. I was up for that, so I pretended to be Michael Owen not injured.
I was in goal as usual, and briefly whined that I was always the goalkeeper. Alex tried to help out, pointing out that Michael Owen didn't play as goalkeeper. Amy said that I could pretend Michael Owen was a goalkeeper. So there I was, pretending to be Michael Owen recovered from injury, playing in goal.
We had to pick which teams to be for our exciting World Cup penalty shootout competition. Amy chose England, of course. I decided to be Poland. Poland had won the World Cup of Poker in my recent poker blogging trip, and they were a very nice bunch of poker players. So there I was, pretending to be Michael Owen, recovered from injury, playing in goal, for Poland.
It was a very good contest. Following each spot kick Amy meticulously recorded the crosses and circles next to our team names. We had ENG, POL and BEL scrawled in chalk on the patio steps. Alex's Belgian Rio Ferdinand had a comically long run-up as he took each kick, and Amy insisted Rio had his eyes shut as he struck each goal. Belgium scored just one penalty in their five attempts, perhaps she was right? I screamed as I scored the crucial goal to take Poland to tie-break penalties vs. England.
An exciting five tie-break kicks, and the match was finally decided... My Polish team called on crucial saves from Belgium's goalie to ensure England won the contest. It was important that Amy-pretending-to-be-England's-Captain won, and was therefore in a good mood at 4pm to let us watch the genuine World Cup game.
Letting Amy win didn't work. Amy-pretending-to-be-David-Beckham was still in a lousy mood at 4pm. I'm not sure why..? Perhaps it's confusing for her to see me and her Dad together again? Perhaps my reluctance to define Steve clearly to her is confusing her more? I describe Steve as a 'friend', but she giggles and says, 'He's your boyfriend'. And sometimes she even sings, 'Mum and Steve sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.' I just blush. How do you do the 'Mum with a boyfriend' thing..? But I'm thrilled that Steve is so good with Amy, she really likes him.
I was stuck for a babysitter on the Sunday I returned from Barcelona so Steve offered to help. I returned to find the house decorated with drawings on nearly every wall, 'Welcome home from Squirrel Man and Amy' pictures everywhere. Amy loves the 'Squirrel Man' super-hero name she's given him. Steve knows this and good-naturedly plays along.
Amy doesn't like football at all, she refused to watch the England game with me and her Dad. We tried to ignore her constant whines that she was bored. I tried to get her interested in the match, but knew I was doomed when she asked, "So is there only one ball in football?"
Amy cried that she wanted to go home. Alex had just moved into his new home; toys were still in boxes, he had no internet to distract her, he didn't even have paper for her to draw on. Amy had a small point about it being boring for her, even though she was mostly being an annoying brat. It's only two quick stops on the tube from Alex's flat in Clapham south to Tooting Bec and we both live near the station, so I decided it would be perfectly possible us to get home during the half time break. A dull first half meant I decided to dash for home at 4.40pm, sure it was no more than a 20 minute journey, and that I'd be back in time for the second half.
Stuck in a tube tunnel between Clapham South and Balham I wondered if the train driver had suddenly remembered the football was on, abandoned his passengers to go watch the game? The train finally got going again, only to stop and start it's journey, making frustratingly slow progress towards Tooting Bec. The driver eventually announced that the delays were due to a signal problem. I wondered if the signal operators were busy watching the England match? How could I have expected them to concentrate on working their signals properly with the football on..?
I got home half way through the second half and wondered what had happened to Wayne Rooney. When I figured it out I had to explain the red and yellow card system to Amy. She was intrigued by this, and pointed out that at school you'd always get two warnings before any timeout on the 'naughty chair'. She thought Rooney's red was quite unfair. I wished the World Cup ref had used the same disciplinary procedure as Fircroft school.
As England's penalty kicks began I remembered our garden penalty game. Amy's England had won only because I'd kicked so many weak shots straight at Alex. I knew Portugal weren't going to aim easy shots at Paul Robinson's tummy. And they didn't. So that was that. Who did expect England to win on penalties? I felt strangely bitter towards the TV editors who'd already contemplated England's World Cup exit, pre-selecting the sad song to play at the end of the programme. The sad song bit always makes me feel like crying, emotive music, emotive images, defeat still sinking in...
As the sad song played, and Rio cried on the TV, Amy turned to me and said, "I'm going to support Italy now." She told me, "I can cover the England word on my top and write Italy instead. We get extra play time at school when Italy win."
It's easy being a football fan when you're just six. I blame the school. The teachers of Fircroft School are having a World Cup sweepstake, each class is allocated a team, and when their team win a match they get extra break time. The whole school was jealous of Class 2 for being given England. Not any more... I hope Italy do win, extra play time is a very good reason to support any team. Even if Italy lose Amy still gets the same break time as before. As a 'proper' England fan it feels like play time has been cancelled for another four years...
posted by Jo at 9:45 PM
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