Sunday, 27 September 2015

man up and move on

'I am afraid it wasn't a bad dream'

'You dreamt about it all night too??'

'You told me you would wake up this morning and think it was "all a bad dream" between forlorn muttering about being 'ambushed' and 'gutted' and well, here it is: we really did lose to Wales'

The first conversation in our household this morning. A
 weary, shocked man in need of support to clamber out of this period of mourning. And with it I see the following 30 years unfold before me; relentlessly riding the highs and lows, ebbs and flows of a tumultuous, avid engagement in all that is sport.. assuming our offspring continue the rich vein of sporting obsession threaded through their heritage. I am ready.

We were there yesterday (thank you, thank you Abby, Holly, Banny) - sans children, quaffing pints and absorbing the electric excitement and nervous atmosphere pervading the pubs, parks and streets within a 5 mile radius of the 'home of rugby', it was palpable. Those pure, base, simple, wholesome, uniting aspects of sport are, to me - just wonderful. Casting aside cheating and scandal, in a world where so many conflicts, battles, bitter clashes and narcissism reign - sport seems to unify in a way nothing else can. 

'Twas a liberating day away from nappies, choo choo trains and Postman Pat. I relished as much of the game and atmosphere as I could but couldn't help feeling such an overwhelming mirth at the fascinating social idyll in which I was engulfed that I decided to jot down my afternoon in a series of words for every 10 minute increment and this is how it went..


Happy husband
Random acts of kindness
Oh it's gone fuzzy

What I found most compelling and humbling and made me fall even more in love with my dopey husband and so many of the squiffy excitable ladies, gentlemen and children yesterday is the immense, tangible passion and subsequent ability to fall so hard emotionally from the heady heights of a prospective victory... to scuff your shoes into the dirt in utter frustration and hang your bereft head like a lonely elephant and somehow manage to feably congratulate a grating, smug opposition on their victory. Sometimes sports don't quite manage to strike that incredible balance and the passion and hurt bubble over into brawls and bitterness but goodness me rugby get it spot on most of the time. 

I remain (perhaps naively) quietly confident we will rise to the  challenge of the antipodeans next week and all enjoy the fruits of our labour. So cogitate, digest, lick your wounds and move on sweet chariot, you've some low swinging to get on with.

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