‘A great game’

Amie Richardson was pretty hopeless at sports when she was a kid and watching her son playing Rippa rugby is bringing it all back. Then she sees his grinning face...

“Dig in guys, for God’s sake. Where’s your defence?” I look from the red-faced father shouting on the sidelines to the 8 and 9-year-old kids running chaotically around the court, their Rippa ribbons hanging from their shorts.

I want to tell him that I’m not sure whether they know what “digging in” means, and that my son, at least, is unlikely to create much need for a wall of defence with his habit of running the wrong way whenever the ball comes to him.

But while I’d like to think I’m not one of those sideline parents, toes edging over the line as they scream instructions to the poor kids swarming around the field trying to have a good time,

I have the DNA of a competitive family.

My dad was a strong sportsman. His house is full of First XV, First XI photos, team caps, medals and various paraphernalia that comes from a lifetime of team sports. Both my brothers were talented at rugby and cricket while I pretty much tried and failed at most of the games I played.

Watching Oli is like reliving my childhood trauma of “giving it a go”. His round face is spread with a grin as he strides from one end of the court to the other, at least three steps behind his other teammates and almost never where they need him to be.

I send my mother a text: “Watching Rippa’s like torture. It makes me feel like a bad parent.”

Why? Because it reminds me of all the things I haven’t done with the boys since their dad died.

I feel bad Oli doesn’t know the rules of Rippa or rugby and that I’ve put off team sports every term, deciding it was better for us all to go to the beach or for me to sleep in on a Saturday morning, rather than join a football club.

This term I’ve tried to make amends by insisting on team sports – just one – for each of the boys. While the new teen in our lives juggles touch, netball, basketball, water polo, swimming, Jasper’s already missed his football “meet the coach” session and I can see Oli is hoping for another bye. Standing on the sidelines I’m torn between wishing we were at home – Oli happily shooting movies about dinosaurs – and hoping he’ll make a run for it and score a try.

The buzzer sounds just as Mum’s response comes through: “You’re a great mama and if he’s having fun, what does it matter if he runs the wrong way?”

Oli comes running up to me, sweaty and happy. “Did you see me get the ball, Mum? It was a great game.”

I give him a high five and a hug. “Yep. It was a great game, buddy.”