You Don’t Win Anything with Kids

Tom’s mention of kids in restaurants reminded me of one of my bugbears; kids.
I was at a barbecue on Saturday. Lots of thirty somethings drinking in the sun. Loads of kids. Location was Essex, so most of them had stupid names, “Shania, get mummy a Bacardi Breezer.” I tried playing football with them. A couple of flicks and a Cruyff turn. Things they could learn from, like. But no, they just started holding my legs and then when I feigned to shoot, let go and sat in the goal. I couldn’t pull the trigger or there would have been tears.

One kid kept yelling ‘Offside’ every time I ran through the middle. I patiently explained I was in a passive position and that only by touching the ball would I become active.

One of the kids did a step-over. A two-footed lunge cured that. His mother looked at me warily, “Come away, Dwight.” Should have worn shin pads. It’s a man’s game. You don’t win anything with kids.