Photo: Blackman Park, where much of the action described in the post below takes place. Yes, I know the name is not politically correct but somehow we get away with it.I have noticed a new phenomenon lately and though I don't know for sure, I have a feeling it may not be confined to Australia. Every time I walk through a park or reserve these days I come across hordes of little ankle-biters, (who I swear are not more than 3'6 tall), participating in organised soccer practice. From what I have seen, I reckon Australia would have one of the best "under-three foot six", soccer teams in the world.
Watching these spectacles I am not sure which is the cutest; the kids with shorts that look far too long for their legs, or their coaches pretending but failing to be tough. Then there are the boys - or girls - who have been "put in charge." Unlike the coaches they bark orders at their peers. One such incident prompted the real coach to gently tell one young lad, "Daniel sit down - you've been watching too many American baseball movies."
Of course the mums' standing on the sideline are pretty cute too! Has anyone else my age noticed that mums these days are not like they used to be? In my day mums were large women with big arms who continuously wore aprons and always looked about 60 years old - or so it seemed at the time. I can't recall looking at a mum back then and thinking, "Boy - great bum!" As far as mums were concerned we were more likely to be more interested in our own bums
Apparently the rising popularity of kiddie soccer is due to the fact that a growing number of mums and dads are reluctant to allow their kids to take part in more physical games such as rugby league or rugby union. In these sports you have to be tough to be able to take part successfully in the Rugby League After Match Nightclub Incident World Cup, in which Australia excels.
It seems a far cry from my days at school when our PE teacher taught us how to shove mud in an opponents eye in the scrum, and how to 'accidentally' stomp on an opponent in a ruck.
Before I go any further down Memory Lane, I should warn mums with nervous dispositions to stop reading at this point. Have you gone? OK, I will continue.
At the age of eight I was a junior member of a boxing club.
I told you not to read.
It was hard work getting my parents to allow me to join but in the end I embarked on what turned out to be a successful strategy. I pretended I was being bullied in school.
Many people now would now say the sensible thing for mum and dad to have done, was to go to the school and complain. Not at my school it wasn't. If you were being bullied the last thing you wanted was your mother going to the school because then both the kids and the teachers, would make your life even more miserable.
I was pretty good at boxing but I became disheartened when the referee stopped one fight because my nose was bleeding slightly. Who knows what might have happened had he not stuck his nose in - I cudda been a contender!
Back to the soccer. Each kid had a ball and I bet they all have balls at home. I think that's great but I used to love the joy of improvisation when I was a kid. If we didn't have a ball, our parents couldn't afford one, or a miserable neighbour kept the football because it went into his/her garden, we would improvise.We would use washing up liquid bottles, tin cans or anything that in a small child's mind faintly resembled a football.
I wonder if that is why I also see another phenomenon.
Several times I have seen men my age group, (50s and older) kicking a ball around in a park by themselves. There is something about a park that makes even cynical old buggers like me want to start running and kicking a ball - makes them want to be a kid again.
