The old phrase “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” sprung to mind the other day.
There I was with a bit of delicious time to myself and a chance to flop out in front of the telly.
Reaching for the the remote control, I wondered if I had time to play a recorded episode of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.
And if the eclairs were still in date.
And then Chester piped up: “What are you doing? No way mummy. The World Cup’s on. There’s a game on. Belgium.”
“Come on,” I responded. “Really?”
“Really,” came the chorus of male voices – including my husband’s.
Not for the first time this mum of three boys felt very outnumbered.
Ah well, I thought – I’ll take the opportunity to check my emails.
The only new messages?
They were from from Manchester United, Man City and Liverpool FC, informing me of Black Friday deals to add to my various birthday purchases of key rings and pencil cases.
“Right, that’s it,” I said to no one who was listening. “I’m getting into football. Come on. Tell me what’s happening. I want to understand.”
This World Cup is a chance for ginger sons to shine
In fairness to myself, I love football. Or at least, I used to know a bit about it.
But since the kids came along I’ve found only one parent is allowed go mute for the duration of a match.
And boy does my husband go mute.
I could be swinging from a chandelier and he’d only have eyes for the Scotland rugby team or Manchester United.
Meanwhile, I look after the kids and try to let him watch in relative peace.
But then everything changed – and suddenly the eldest two became sports-daft.
I kid you not. One day around his seventh birthday, Chester (previously an obsesee of farmyard toy cows) woke up and knew the names of every Manchester player.
But I digress. Back to the Belgium game.
“Kevin?” I said.
I’d heard the boys talk about Kevin de Bruyne a thousand times but it was only as he got the ball that it struck me.
Is Kevin (and no offence to any Kevins out there, it’s a good, solid, just not very highly exotic name) not a funny moniker for a young, world-famous footballing Belgian?
And one with red hair too. You could argue strawberry blond but he’s definitely part of the ginger family tree.
Half an hour of the game gone and I was invested.
Suddenly I was on ginger-haired Kevin’s side, willing him to shine.
“His mum must be very proud,” I said.
“Be quiet mummy, watch the game,” they replied.
Won’t my boys be impressed with my World Cup trivia?
On a long distance work drive the next day, I tuned into Radio 5 Live.
Nugget after nugget of football trivia was dispensed in a way that was thoroughly enjoyable.
This was an opportunity for a mother to earn her “knows her stuff” – or ‘some stuff at least – stripes and I wasn’t going to miss it.
“Hey boys,” I said as I arrived home. “What’s up?”
“We’re off to watch the football,” they told me. “Cameroon are playing.”
“Really?” I replied.
“Here’s an interesting fact about Cameroon actually. Did you know, they’ve not made it out of the group stages since 1990?”
I basked in the stunned silence.
They looked at each other and finally Monty said: “Mummy, where exactly is Cameroon?”
If only Radio 5 Live did geography lessons too.
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