Friday 16 April 2010


I was the definite tomboy of the family. I was the one who would play with cars and trucks, climb high trees, race down hills on bikes with no brakes…I even tried it in an old fashioned wagon. [Note to self: NOT a good idea]. Trust me, I’ve got the scars to prove it; several of my best friends from five onward were even boys. I remember the first time my father found out I was going to spend the night at my best friend, Brett’s house. He looked at my mother as if she was nuts, asking her if she allowed this?! (He was on the road a lot, my mom’s authority was supreme). She of course told him to calm down, we were young, and so what if he was a boy, he was my best friend. [My Mom had five of us, I often wondered if she didn’t care where we went as long as she had one of us out of the house].

I think it was during those years I developed a love of sports. Not necessarily playing them – after a bout of field hockey when an 80 mph hockey puck went whizzing by my face I decided individual sports were more my thing– but watching them. I’d sit for hours with my father in his den on Sunday watching football games. He had this little bank of mini televisions so you could watch five games at a time. And for him it was serious business. I’d of course root for my favorite player – Vince Ferragamo of the L.A Rams – wearing the jersey he got me. And I knew how to pick ‘em. Vince was the hottest looking guy out there and the quarterback. I may be shallow at times, but I’m not stupid.

From here I was introduced to hockey – now there’s a sport to get behind. Aggressive, bloody, ‘you get in my way I will take you down with a very big stick and Ffff your ass up.’ That definitely appealed to me in my teenage angst years. I’d even watch tennis with my mother for hours. I can remember finding it somewhat boring, but there was something calming, almost meditative about it especially when one was hungover. (I of course did not share this fact with her, she seemed to be enjoying herself so)

Now ironically, tennis is my favorite thing to watch – and as I don’t drink, I’m sober as a stone. And as my partner will attest, I am maniacal about it. Come January with the first Grand Slam I start to hum with anticipation for the season to come. By June as the French Open bleeds into Wimbledon, my eyes are bleary, my emotions raw and I’m barely able to contain my rage when my beloved player suffers a loss. And my player always suffers a loss (I will not name names as to not rub salt in his wounds), but I stand by him cause I’m no fair weather fan.  My partner says I resemble a guy sometimes – which I’m sure to him is worrying - as I have been known to pout, sulk, hurl abuse at other players (only on TV of course) and of course cry like a baby. I’ve promised him I would work on my sportsmanship.

And this year of course, adding to the mix, we have the World Cup approaching (although half of England's team seems to be falling victim to injury. And rooting for America in soccer is a bit like picking the Ugandan team to win the ice hockey). I’m not picky, I take any sport on a grand scale – although I draw the line at curling and bowling. I’d rather watch paint dry. I think it’s the global interaction that appeals to me, the fraught emotions of an entire nation riding on the end result. So between tennis, soccer (fine, football), and Formula One (my newest addiction) – I’ve got my hands full. Who has time for sun and fun, I’ve got sports to watch!
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