My son's football season has started again. When he tries to learn Ronaldo tricks at the training, I hang around and kick the ball together with my daughter. The other day, a guy came over to us and said:
“Wow, a mom who can play football!
“It is not for my good looks they call me Raul” I said modestly.
“Wouldn’t you like to play in the ladies’ team?” he asked.
“Do I look like a lesbian (you know, one of the masculin kind...)?”
“No….”
“Why would I then play in the ladies team?” Now I honestly expected him to say that they would pay me very well. Instead he said:
“Well, it is a lot of fun and the ladies’ team needs more players”
I could see that this conversation was getting nowhere so I just told him “Get lost”.
.
I also wanted to kick him in the ass, not for any particular reason, just to see how it feels to kick a fat guy in the butt. But his pants were hanging badly, I couldn’t really figure out where his ass was, so I let go.
I don’t play if I am not getting paid. The only time I offer my principals is the season ending where we traditionally have “mothers against sons" match. As a competitive person I take this yearly match seriously. First I try to break these 8-year old boys psychologically by yelling them insults; “You bunch of useless sissies, can’t you even beat old ladies!” The only result is that my son starts to convince everybody he is adopted. When we mothers are behind 1-16, I have to take the physical methods in use. Not even a red card can stop me, and three of the boys are still recovering from their injuries from June. They should though be ready for the DBU tournament in September. Then the referee asks the fathers, who astonished are watching my solo slaughtering, for help. They are many, but I don’t surrender without struggle. I can proudly say that quite a few of these fathers are not going to make it to the DBU tournament in September !
I don’t play if I am not getting paid. The only time I offer my principals is the season ending where we traditionally have “mothers against sons" match. As a competitive person I take this yearly match seriously. First I try to break these 8-year old boys psychologically by yelling them insults; “You bunch of useless sissies, can’t you even beat old ladies!” The only result is that my son starts to convince everybody he is adopted. When we mothers are behind 1-16, I have to take the physical methods in use. Not even a red card can stop me, and three of the boys are still recovering from their injuries from June. They should though be ready for the DBU tournament in September. Then the referee asks the fathers, who astonished are watching my solo slaughtering, for help. They are many, but I don’t surrender without struggle. I can proudly say that quite a few of these fathers are not going to make it to the DBU tournament in September !
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