My sons have been playing in a competitive football league for the last couple of months, Boy#2 for the first time in his life like most of his team-mates.
The nearly-over season hasn't been a complete washout - but neither has it been what you might called an unqualified success. If you count 'success' as actually winning games, that is... However it has been fun, and not just for the Boys, as it gives parents the chance to catch up on the sidelines.
There's no such thing as a 'drop your kids at the match and pop off to do a couple of errands' opportunity here in Moscow, mainly because even if you were able to tear yourself from your little cherub's side, the ground is so far from home - and the traffic so unpredictable - that if you tried to go anywhere else during the hour the children have on-pitch, you would actually end up collecting them as darkness fell at least 5 hours later. Not really worth it if even if you do have a hard-core caffeine habit and are desperate for a coffee in Starbucks half a mile down the road; the chances are too great your caffeine hit will result in being caught in the mother of all jams on your way back.
So, the parents usually stay and shout their support to the 6 and 7 year olds buzzing around the pitch like a swarm of bees, and it has to be said that some nationalities of parent are more vociferous and aggressive in this than others. Yes, American and French expat dads - I'm looking at you. Listening to many of them, you would think that their children were trying out for some top-flight football academy rather than simply enjoying a run around on a Saturday morning. Having said that, I'm afraid that even we more retiring nations can give our noisier peers a run for their money on occasion. I give you Exhibit A.
Yesterday morning, I was standing with a couple of other mothers from the British Isles watching our sons losing their match. Again. We were of course trying to lift their spirits, shouting support (I do recall at one moment suggesting to Boy#2 that he face the ball rather than chatting to a fellow player - that's what we're working with in the Potski Family, I'm afraid). The son of one of the women I was standing with was in goal, so we had stationed ourselves near the posts to gee him up - which seemed like an excellent idea at the time.
Until the moment when the ball careered across the pitch towards the little boy - and the goal. At which point, his excited mum, somewhat carried away by the moment and desperate to save him from the ignominy of letting in another goal, ran onto the pitch and - well, sort of helped the ball on it's way, off the pitch. By, um, kicking it.
Ah.
To say she was embarrassed when she realised what she'd done is an understatement. To say that the other mum & I nearly wet ourselves laughing is another. But you know what topped off the whole experience for me? The look on the faces of the group of dads supporting the opposing team when they realised that they couldn't actually make that much of a fuss about it without appearing to be complete plonkers; not only were their team already winning handsomely but we were, after all, watching a game for 6 and 7 year old children...
The nearly-over season hasn't been a complete washout - but neither has it been what you might called an unqualified success. If you count 'success' as actually winning games, that is... However it has been fun, and not just for the Boys, as it gives parents the chance to catch up on the sidelines.
There's no such thing as a 'drop your kids at the match and pop off to do a couple of errands' opportunity here in Moscow, mainly because even if you were able to tear yourself from your little cherub's side, the ground is so far from home - and the traffic so unpredictable - that if you tried to go anywhere else during the hour the children have on-pitch, you would actually end up collecting them as darkness fell at least 5 hours later. Not really worth it if even if you do have a hard-core caffeine habit and are desperate for a coffee in Starbucks half a mile down the road; the chances are too great your caffeine hit will result in being caught in the mother of all jams on your way back.
So, the parents usually stay and shout their support to the 6 and 7 year olds buzzing around the pitch like a swarm of bees, and it has to be said that some nationalities of parent are more vociferous and aggressive in this than others. Yes, American and French expat dads - I'm looking at you. Listening to many of them, you would think that their children were trying out for some top-flight football academy rather than simply enjoying a run around on a Saturday morning. Having said that, I'm afraid that even we more retiring nations can give our noisier peers a run for their money on occasion. I give you Exhibit A.
Yesterday morning, I was standing with a couple of other mothers from the British Isles watching our sons losing their match. Again. We were of course trying to lift their spirits, shouting support (I do recall at one moment suggesting to Boy#2 that he face the ball rather than chatting to a fellow player - that's what we're working with in the Potski Family, I'm afraid). The son of one of the women I was standing with was in goal, so we had stationed ourselves near the posts to gee him up - which seemed like an excellent idea at the time.
Until the moment when the ball careered across the pitch towards the little boy - and the goal. At which point, his excited mum, somewhat carried away by the moment and desperate to save him from the ignominy of letting in another goal, ran onto the pitch and - well, sort of helped the ball on it's way, off the pitch. By, um, kicking it.
Ah.
To say she was embarrassed when she realised what she'd done is an understatement. To say that the other mum & I nearly wet ourselves laughing is another. But you know what topped off the whole experience for me? The look on the faces of the group of dads supporting the opposing team when they realised that they couldn't actually make that much of a fuss about it without appearing to be complete plonkers; not only were their team already winning handsomely but we were, after all, watching a game for 6 and 7 year old children...
