Our family
had a rare and unusual moment last night. All four of us in the same room at
the same time watching the same thing.
Almost-unheard
of in our crew.
The usual
practice is all of us spread out across any number of rooms and electronic devices
(or heaven forbid- a book).
But last
night was State of Origin.
While the big
fellas of football were battling it out, state against state, mate against
mate, our little team was plate against plate as we squashed onto the sofa,
transfixed by pizza and the television. And
a beer for my Beloved.
Working the
ridiculous number of hours that he does, my Beloved has to stick with a 0.0
alcohol limit. And I seemed to have missed out on the Irish Drinking Gene so
only imbibe on rare occasions, much to the disgust of some of my relatives. The
kids of course are too young to indulge in the beverage of choice for sports
punters the world over, but have now reached an age where they can appreciate
the finer points of football (that's NRL). Or so we thought.
The Melbourne
Cup may well be The Race That Stops A Nation (not sure if there's supposed to
be a ® or ™ there) in Springtime, but the annual State Of Origin series captures
the imagination of about 11.8 million Aussies- roughly half the total population-
for three nights mid-winter. Even those who don't seriously follow the footy
(like me) can get caught up in all the excitement.
It's NSW in Blue
and Queensland in Maroon as they battle it out for the honour of a trophy and
title of Origin champions. Sadly, the boys in Blue haven't been on the winning
side for about 7 years now (leading some feisty footy fans north of the border to suggest we should sell the Trophy Cabinet. Rude.)
Sports lovers
know the go: the pre-match sledging, the settling in period (read: a bit of
biff between blokes), and the post-match recriminations: "We was
robbed" an infamous (and grammatically incorrect) war cry. All set amidst
a soundtrack of screaming supporters in their relevant colours alongside the
field.
The usual
position for home viewers is pizza and beverage on hand, tv remote under the
control of the alpha male, and various missiles within reach when disagreeing
with the ref's decision (lesson learned- only have soft options available).
For us, it
was one child sitting on one parent apiece, snuggled up in our flannelette pjs
(well it is winter) with my Beloved proudly wearing his NSW footy jumper
First try
came barely 5 minutes in, with NSW crossing the line much to our jubilation (and
relief). Not even having to stop and explain the penalty and scoring system to
our offspring every few seconds dampened the mood.
Until
Queensland came back with a vengeance. "Shepherd! Shepherd!" cried
both my Beloved and I as the player in question dodged behind his team mate and
crossed the line to ground the ball. The NSW mob just stood there like sheep
and let him do it, obviously thinking it was, well, obvious. However the video referee didn't agree with us, upheld the try, and the converted
goal put the opposition in front at half time.
Sadly, our
little team of two also fell at the halfway mark, and despite waiting patiently
for all the commentators to commentate, and advertisers to advertise, for the entire
20 minute break, barely 10 minutes into the second half we had to send the
players off - to bed.
Since it's
been such a long time that my Beloved has been able to sit, drink, and enjoy a
game, I was on kid-duty again, and could only participate from afar, listening to the exclamations coming
from the direction of the living room as the game continued.
So you can
imagine the disappointment the next morning when the kids awoke to the bad news
that NSW lost the game, and this year's series, by just one point.
Imagine my
Beloved's belly after all that beer and pizza, and not enough sleep.
And imagine
the reaction when, after all that quality time together, our son declared that
he really enjoyed watching the Soccer with
us.
Better luck
next year.
Jx
©2012
