Football and anger management

Everyone who knows my husband thinks he is a nice and easygoing guy, someone who couldn’t hurt a fly. Let me tell you, he isn’t that calm at all. He has a lot of anger inside, and while I use the cashier at Netto or my daughter’s horse to get outlet for my anger, my husband uses the family football.

We play often football in the evening in our garden and the first 15 minutes are always a lot of fun and laughing. But then the game turns into terrible violence. At some point our football looks more like American wrestling; we have no rules and red card is something you get if you try to wipe off your nose with a postcard. My nice and easygoing husband has a fanatic look in his eyes when he jumps on me. “Come on, I don’t even have the ball!” I shout, and as soon as I get up, I get his elbow in my stomach.

Frustrated I attack my daughter and maybe beating kids isn’t allowed in Denmark, but family football is no-mans land. After my daughter I beat up my son; “Mom, we are in the same team!” “I just train you up to resist dad and your sister, son.” At this point my husband is enjoying just watching the violence, and then, when he least expects it, he gets my knee in his crotch.

My husband might one day leave me for a younger model, but he will never be dad again.



(The biggest fools in international football or shore training in synchronized swimming?)