Refereeing job over as kids get back to reality
IT’S the most wonderful time of the year.
No I haven’t gone mad and woke up all full of child-like excitement thinking it’s Christmas. I’m talking about a far more joyous, life-affirming occasion – the kids are heading back to school.
With my paid work chiefly revolving around weekends and Monday mornings, my primary role during the week is to keep the ever-demanding children fed, entertained and happy.
The first part is easy – just throw a plate of grub in front of them and they’re sure to scoff it down with great gusto, it’s the other two things that are more than a tad trickier.
In the hopes of providing an extra form of entertainment for the little divils, to add to the mountains of toys and box-loads of arts and crafts, a 12-foot trampoline was purchased at the start of the summer.
As I stood on the back lawn scratching my head in bewilderment with screws and springs scattered around me like shrapnel I reassured myself it would be all worth it to see the children’s beaming smiles as they bounced like little lambs into the air.
To be fair it was a bit like that at the beginning of the holidays, a time when the four-year-old chap, who’s making the big step into Junior Infants this week, and the six-year-old girl seemed to revel in each other’s company and happy facial expressions were as commonplace as a late Manchester United winner.
Now when I gaze stony-faced out of the back window at the trampoline it has taken on the guise of a UFC octagon, as the kids do their best Conor McGregor and Nate Diaz impressions and attempt to kick seven shades of shite out of each other, while I manfully attempt to keep my emotions in check and do my best Pierluigi Collina impersonation to deal with the shenanigans in a calm, yet firm manner.
It’s got to the stage where the stir-crazy chislers need to get back among their friends in a classroom environment - as much as you try to put structure, as well as fun, to their days, you just can’t match the routine of school.
The English Premier League reminds me a bit of those early carefree summer days at the moment, with everything going swimmingly for all the big personalities and egos, like Mourinho, Guardiola and Conte, but we all know that sooner rather than later the covers will be blown and the smiles with be replaced with scowls.
To be honest I never give my undivided attention to the top flight across the water until the GAA championships have drawn to a close and the evenings are completely ‘bet’, as they say in these parts.
Spending large chunks of my weekends on sidelines covering local action dictates that the amount of live games I watch would be miniscule at this time of year and Match of the Day is something I can take or leave at this fledgling stage of the season.
When midweek games are in full flow and the Champions League begins to heat up and the evenings are as drawn out as test match cricket is when soccer really takes hold.
I have a tried and tested routine of seeing the young lads off to bed during the half-time break, and planting a tender kiss on their foreheads before slaloming back down the staircase like a champion downhill skier in time for the second-half.
That’s all ahead but for now I’ll keep my main focus on the GAA action as it builds towards what promises to be a thrilling climax.
The championships in both codes have been far from classics with the summer blighted by mismatches and negative tactics, although the mammoth Kilkenny-Waterford games and the absorbing Dublin-Kerry clash have gone some way to redeeming the tournaments.
Watching the GAA has been a bit like minding the young lads for the summer. It hasn’t always been pretty, but there have been plenty of highlights and wonderful memories that will last a lifetime have been woven, and I’ll miss the little blighters all the same.
Now I’ll just have to get used to the eerie silence that envelopes the house, like an empty Croke Park in the depths of winter.