Even for a fair-weather fan, it’s hard to feel resentful of morning sport on days like this. Photo: File.
Standing on the sideline, I thoughtfully fold my daughter’s jumper (which she not-so-thoughtfully discarded in the dirt in between warm-up drills). I check her water bottle level and monitor whether she’ll need a bathroom break before the game.
My phone pings. It’s my sister.
Across town, at a sporting ground not unlike this one, she sits comfortably in a luxurious-looking camp chair, wearing a woollen beanie and a big smile, holding a flask of hot chocolate brought from home.
I think to myself: I’m doing this wrong.
I’m definitely more Mum than Soccer Mum. I’m not the coach, a sports enthusiast, or even a decent cheerleader.
If I were Cheer Captain, chants would go something like: “Winning’s cool! Winning’s great! But whatever, seriously, it’s just a game.”
In lieu of any sporting knowledge, I provide general fusspot services, over-enthusiastic smiles, and the occasional “Great job, kiddo!” – regardless of whether it was, in fact, a great job.
My highly organised sister fusses before arrival. Once the game begins, she settles into prime position and enjoys the show (and an undisturbed hour in the sunshine).
What do we have in common?
Though at first dragged into children’s sports kicking (poorly) and screaming (unhelpfully), quite unexpectedly, we now look forward to it.
Sport – once a nice-to-have – seems to have become a prerequisite for child-rearing.
Not having done team sports myself growing up, this came as a surprise. At first, a wholly unwelcome one.
“Well, there go our weekends!” I thought, lamenting lost sleep-ins and hypothetical holidays.
Each week, I would drag my butt across town and stand sulking on the sidelines, looking around at this foreign world of enthusiastic early birds and documenting behaviour as if I were on safari.
Unless the weather was bad. On frosty mornings, my husband gained sole custody of the children.
So, imagine my surprise when – last week – my child had to pull out of soccer unexpectedly due to illness, and I found myself feeling decidedly disappointed.
First, I generally love a good plan falling through. What introvert doesn’t?
But more than that, I realised: I was looking forward to Saturday sport.
What black magic is this?
Once my captor, Saturday sport has worn me down – subtly, slowly, week-by-week – and transformed me into someone I don’t recognise.
I’ve grown a competitive streak – faint to the point of being barely perceptible, but it’s there.
My once-tentative cheers have evolved into vaguely relevant hollers like Get on your player!, Give her someone!, or just a wildly overenthusiastic Boot it!
I love seeing my kids’ confidence as they bravely throw themselves into life, and their sense of belonging as they celebrate their team.
But this isn’t about the children.
No, I realise with no small amount of horror, soccer is often the social highlight of my week.
We are fortunate to have formed genuine friendships with other parents, so we enjoy the chance to catch up – uninterrupted, no less. The kids are burning energy and feeling the warm glow of having our full attention, but we’re also secretly sneaking in a rare grown-up chat. It’s win-win!
On one glorious occasion, the stars truly aligned, and I found myself at the same sporting ground as my across-town bestie. The result? An impromptu coffee catch-up with a beloved friend I usually have to beg, barter and steal to get time with. Goal!
Strengthened by these game-changing highlights, we have grown more disciplined.
No more fair-weather fans. Each week, we all force ourselves out into the crisp, fresh air – in the thick of a season which otherwise encourages withdrawal and hibernation.
How did this thing I once dreaded become such a social and emotional anchor? Is this how Stockholm Syndrome works?
From denial to acceptance, my metamorphosis into Soccer Mum is complete.
Turns out, Saturday sport isn’t just good for the kids, and it isn’t even about sport (though, true competitive spirits may kick off at that claim).
For us, though, it’s about health, community, resilience and responsibility.
Somewhere among the chaotic commute, lukewarm coffees, discarded orange peels and damp belongings, we’ve found the goal of Saturday sport.
Now, if I could just find my KeepCup …
Original Article published by Hayley Nicholls on Region Canberra.
