Felix’s soccer team is awesome. No seroiusly. How many 6 year olds do you know who, when lumped together, can actually function with any form of team concept or mentality and pull it off?
Sure, at half time today the coach had to say:
And Bandicoots, which goal will we be trying to score to in this half?
And bless them all – it was about half half pointing to opposite ends of the field.
But apart from small and important details such as this, they are really good at passing the ball to each other and well, scoring. They’ve won every match. Sure, the match before the school holidays was close and us mothers on the sideline were beside ourselves, but they keep winning. When we were leaving this morning Mum said to him, “have fun,” and Felix replied instantly, “we always win”. Scary.
There is, however a downside to all this. Particularly with a child like, well, mine to whom winning is everything. It is not worth playing if you don’t win. It doesn’t matter how much grown-ups reiterate it’s all about having fun, if you don’t win you might as well sit at home and contribute to the growing rates of childhood obesity. Seriously.
So today they had a draw. 2-all.
And tonight, when Chef got home, Felix said, “we won.” I pointed out it was a draw, to which he relied, “Yeah, it was a draw, two all, but we won.”
This post was originally another tirade about the idiocy of organised sport that moves around different fields in the middle of suburbia, with no designated parking areas and no lee-way between the different games allowing one lot of cars to leave before the next arrive so you either end up being hideously late or parking so far away you might as well have parked at home and walked the ten miles that sure, might not involve snow, or barefeet but damn there would probably be broken glass and Sydney is pretty hilly. And so on and so forth. It was my attempt at writing a non-my-life-is-shit post.