Sporting Chance

17 Jan

I’m not sporty. I don’t enjoy playing sport, and I don’t really enjoy watching it either. The only game I’d like to watch live is baseball, and that’s purely so I can wear a freakishly large hand made of foam. My hubby however is very sporty, and has been dying to get involved with a sports team since we moved to Bermuda. This week he started training with the BAA Wanderers and had his first match this weekend.

I’m a pretty rubbish wife when it comes to supporting Rich at matches. I only went to a handful of his uni rugby games, mainly so I could see other friends that were going and we could natter about what had happened in Neighbours that week. It was sheer love that led me to watch his first game on Saturday evening however, as it was very, very cold. I was wrapped up with a thick jumper, big coat, scarf and gloves and still had to hop from foot to foot to keep the circulation going. The Bermudians had the right idea – they drove their cars up to the pitch and sat inside, comfortable and warm in their metal cocoons.

My main fear when watching any kind of sports match is this: that the ball will come flying over the fence and all eyes will be on me, as I am expected to run after it and throw it back, or even worse, catch it. I always imagine that this happens in slow motion – me reaching for the ball, everyone turning their heads, their mouths slowly opening, aghast, as the ball sails past me and hits a car, causing the alarm to go off and possibly breaking the windscreen as well. Clearly I would need a prepared selection of excuses not to be able to get the ball – fixing an intricate problem with my camera, talking on the phone on an urgent call, some sort of problem with my leg, etc.

As Rich was the newbie, he didn’t start the game but instead was asked to be a linesman. He did this with his usual boundless enthusiasm but I knew he was itching to get on the pitch and kick the ball rather than watch it. At half time, the squad gathered at the far side of the turf. I squinted, trying to see if Rich’s jacket was coming off and he was getting ready to limber up. The team started to move and…the jacket stayed on. He turned away and forlornly walked up the pitch, linesman’s flag hanging limply down at his side. A little wave washed over my heart as I could see his disappointment, staying outside of the spray-painted white line that kept him from where he really wanted to be.

During the second half I discovered the Weekend Wing Shack and played Jenga with an overloaded tray of fries. As I concentrated on moving one precariously balanced chip I looked up to see that – Rich was on the pitch! Within the white lines, not outside of them! I was so happy for him and my eyes pricked with pride when he set up a lovely goal and then scored another.

Towards the end of the game I bumped into one of our neighbours – Keisha. As we were talking I realised that tonight I had “bumped into” two people I knew. It was the first time in a long time that I’d bumped into someone, because I hadn’t known enough people here to bump into. I felt a little glow as I realised that I was feeling even more settled on this small island.

As Keisha and I chatted the ball sailed across the pitch towards us – and kept going, over the fence and just past my feet. Before I’d even thought about grabbing my “injured” leg Keisha had casually sauntered over and hurled the ball back over the fence. I think I’ll have to invite her to come with me to the next game!

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One Response to “Sporting Chance”

  1. Samantha Sparrow 17 January, 2011 at 10:12 am #

    Su Su Su don’t tell porkies, I’m sure I have seen you dancing round and round your handbags.

    What? Dancing around handbags isn’t considered a competitive sport? Have the judges ever been to Essex? 😉

    I feel a global campaign coming on…..

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