Missing my Easter feast of sport
EASTER Saturday was a glorious day, the sort of carefree morning, afternoon and evening where briefly you get lost in positivity and convince yourself that all is right with the world.
Watching pink and white cherry blossom petals spiralling slowly to earth, rhythmically fluttering as they’re caught by the gentle, almost non-existent, breeze as you while away an hour or two under the heat of the welcome sun.
It wasn’t all lazing about, as the family came together to play a mini soccer match, we kicked balls over the bar from all angles and practised hurling skills in the sweet spring sunshine, as the latest addition to our crew, a four-monthold Miniature Schnauzer, chased us around playfully, trying to ensure he wasn’t the only one missing out on the fun and games.
It sounds like an idyllic afternoon in the quiet countryside, and in many ways it was, but something was gnawing away at the back of the brain reminding me that all was not hunky dory, and for once it wasn’t the pup doing the chewing.
As the sun tickled the back of my neck, my mind drifted to what I would normally be doing had life been carrying on in the manner that we would all consider to be normal.
The morning would have been spent shouting encouragement from the sideline and trying to juggle soccer matches and Gaelic games blitzes in that complicated period where tough choices have to be made as the seasons overlap.
Then, as it’s bang in the middle of the club month of April, it would be off to some local G.A.A. ground to get my teeth into a bit of feisty championship action as sides continue to shake off the cobwebs of the winter months and put themselves in the best possible position to challenge for honours at the business end of the season as autumn rolls into winter.
In an ideal world, the local Junior soccer scene should have been hotting up similar to Saturday’s pleasant weather as titles are farmed like potatoes and teams eye their day in the sun with cup final appearances, but the closest thing I got to competitive action on Sunday morning was helping the young lads search for the Easter Bunny’s bounty.
At least my line of work means I still get to chat sport with the subjects of interview pieces, and it keeps the old grey matter ticking over putting their thoughts and my own musings into words, but that pretty much is the entire sum of competitive sport in my life right now.
Unfortunately, I’ve never been a great one for watching full games that I already know the outcome of, so there will be no binge watching of titanic battles of the past for me.
I can manage highlights reels of classic G.A.A. games, magic moments from the Premier League and beyond, or some such entertainment to soak up an hour or two, but, as I sink into my spot of the sofa, the patience never manages to stretch to a full 70 or 90 minutes when I know what the scoreboard will read at the final whistle.
Of course, there are far more important things in life than sport, especially when you consider those out there with real concerns, but we all know that when players of all ages return to the playing fields it will be a real tonic for the mind and the soul and help to give the country the lift that it will need after enduring such hardship.
The pessimist in me believes we won’t see any live sporting action at all this summer, and we’ll be into September or October before we hear the smack of a boot on leather, the crunching clash as two hurls collide, or the excited chitter-chatter of eager young children as they return to the training field with broad smiles.
Hopefully I’m well off kilter here and life returns to something resembling normality sooner rather than later.
Until that glorious day, we should cherish whatever special moments come our way and promise to never, ever take anything for granted again.
What I wouldn’t give to watch a bit of Junior ‘B’ hurling right now.