On Wednesday night there was an England football match on. I’d actually forgotten it was on, but during the day I was reminded about it. I couldn’t actually watch it as I was on the train home from London, but I did check the score and read a few updates – it sounded like a good match.
So when I got home just in time for the highlights what did I do? Well, I didn’t bother to watch it. I watched something else for a bit and then went to bed. I could almost hear my nine year-old self sighing in disbelief. And then I realised that I’ve turned into my dad.
When I was a kid I was mad about football. During the summer holidays I would play football on the street or in the local park from 9am to 6pm, only stopping for meals. I didn’t have a local team I was a fan of, but I’d watch it on TV as much as I can. In those days we didn’t have non-stop football on TV, it was Football Focus and Match of the Day only, with FA Cup final day the exception to that, when we’d have nearly a whole day of football as the TV channels would build up to the 3pm kick off.
My dad would watch a bit with me, but he wasn’t really that bothered about football. We had an occasional kick about and despite being reaaalllly old and fat (to my nine year-old eyes) he was pretty good – he used to play left-back for the school if I remember. Yet he still wasn’t that bothered. And I couldn’t understand it – how could you not be bothered about football? How?
And here I am, not bothered enough to watch an England match. And not only any old England match, but one in which we beat Brazil and Lampard scored a great goal. But I couldn’t and I still haven’t and I never will.
And I realised I’m turning into my dad.
Although not watching football is absolutely, completely the only way that I’m like him!
1000kmstowindermere 