Last Saturday I was staring out the window at Lenin House, watching the rain lash down and trees blowing in the howling gale, and thought “time to take The Boy to his first footy match”.
So we rugged up and off we went to the local oval to watch the Northern Bullants play the Box Hill Hawks.
The Boy seemed to enjoy himself. True, he spent most of the time looking for interesting looking sticks to add to his interesting stick collection or trying to find girls to talk to, but he quite liked going onto the ground at quarter and half time to kick the football we brought along.
The interesting thing was that, despite me not having gone to a match since 1984 and having little to no interest in AFL, I found myself muttering “kick it, kick it you goose. Down the middle you clown, why are you farting around on the wings”.
Some things never leave us, it seems.