When school offered outdoor training sessions, I had small son straight into the car and en route to the sports shop in no time to get some boots and some shinpads.

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He was thrilled with both and proudly put the shinpads straight on…his arms.  I thought it might be kind if I helped him put them on his shins (the clue was there all the time, my friend!), he told me off for messing about with his (and I quote) “shin PANTS”.

For the first game itself, we were late as we had a row about whether to wear trousers or shorts.  When I used to play football, we played in shorts, no matter what the weather. I remember playing in snow and even below freezing, and the pain as the ball would smack the skin on your thighs which was preferable to playing in trousers which felt like running in treacle. If these trousers are up to your nipples as the exhibit in front of me though, it’s actually more akin to swimming in treacle.

As the session was about to start, I relented. There were two youngsters from our local football team who split the children by age.  That meant that it was the woman who took the 15 or so boys and girls who were just as clueless as small son.

Bravely, the staff member then organised a game. Not entirely sure that small son knew the aim of the game is to get the ball into the other goal, I watched in disbelief as he chased the ball all over the pitch but then run away screeching when someone passed it to him.

When I saw one of the other team slide the ball into the goal while small son played some air guitar, I disappeared into the car park to avoid an aneurism.  But small son was undeterred and when we got home, we had a fun kick about in the garden until one of us chipped the ball over into next door’s garden. I’ll let you guess which one of us it was…..

 

 

 

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