Humour: sports’ mum Amanda Blair is sidelined
From the sidelines of a freezing sports field, Amanda Blair prays that her children’s teams learn the vital lesson that losing a match can teach.
Spring is almost here and not before time. It has been a long winter and my “condition” worsened as the weeks wore on. The symptoms – palpitations, hypertension, confusion, anxiety, chills, backache, fatigue, hoarse throat and cold extremities hit randomly. Many others suffer, too, but it’s rarely discussed openly and, sadly, there is no support group, no cure and no available medicine. However, I’ve found that gin and tonic often brings minor relief. I’m talking about SAD = Sporting Association Disease.
The first signs hit around March when sporting parents are called upon to schlep our kids to pre-season training at really inconvenient times.
Although there are seven million other things we’d rather be doing, the fear that our children might one day resent us if we don’t show them our full attention at all times propels us forward. Forward into desperately trying to understand the rules of AFL, hockey, netball, rugby, soccer. Terms such as stepping, ball, contact, maul, scrum, push, short corner and hangar become part of our winter vernacular and entire conversations are often centred around an inaccurate ruling by an umpire of an aforementioned term.
Like a waddle of fairy penguins, we parents shuffle around the boundary lines desperately trying to encourage blood supply to our cold, soggy feet and our cold, soggy brains, any excitement found in watching an under eight’s game entirely lost on most of us.
ORANGES ARE THE ONLY FRUIT
Being a sporting parent means you’re constantly on alert for any notifications from the club, the most important being the roster for orange duty.
Guaranteed to cause high blood pressure is the moment when the kids reach half-time and look expectantly for the Tupperware container. As all eyes head towards you, there is the sickening realisation that on one of the 18 notices you received from the club last week, your name was there in print. You respond to the crushing disappointment/ embarrassment in your own child’s eyes with, “Oh, sure, I’ve got the oranges, but I thought we’d serve them at the end of the game this week just to spice things up a bit”, then as inconspicuously as possible bolt to the nearest supermarket to buy a knife, chopping board and bag of navels.
’TIS THE SEASONS OF MY DISCONTENT
Despite my wailing, my kids always forget something – shin pads, mouthguards, black shorts/white shorts. Regularly, I witness the anguish of other parents in the car park, searching furiously through a sports bag or station wagon for a “lost” (read forgotten by child) item. In order to do my bit for the community, next year I plan to tow a giant trailer to all the games filled with equipment ready to sell to the highest bidder. The money generated might help me pay for the match fees, trophy presentations and sausage sizzles we sufferers of SAD are forced to endure.
I’m not proud of this, but I spend the entire season crossing all of my freezing fingers and all of my freezing toes that my children’s teams don’t make it to the finals, so I can reclaim my weekends and oranges earlier. Don’t condemn me for being unAustralian, I’m very supportive of their sports, but I firmly believe the biggest wins in life are when you lose. Besides, so what if they’ve lost out this year, just like the coach says … there’s always next season … and the season after that … and the season after that … AWW
ABOUT THE WRITER
I’ve found that gin and tonic often brings minor relief.
Amanda Blair lives in Adelaide with her four children and a husband she quite likes when she sees him. In her spare time, she talks a lot and sometimes does it on the radio and the telly.