A DAD'S LIFE:Won over by Andy Murray's emotional defeat
I AM BEING consumed by sport. There aren’t enough hours in the day to watch everything that’s being thrown at us. The Olympics haven’t yet started and my Sky box is full of old tennis, old football, cycling, a touch of triathlon and some GAA ball. The strain is beginning to show on family dynamics.
“Not football again. Come on Dad, put on a Simpsons.”
“It’s the Euro 2012 final. We’re watching possibly the finest national team ever assembled finally strut their stuff.” All I get is: “And?”
The next week. “Not tennis again. Come on Dad, put on anything else. Songs of Praise is starting.”
“It’s the Wimbledon final. The Brits are passing out at their impossible-to-warm-to, great hope making it to a final for the first time in a million years, and he’s actually putting up a fight. Sit down and watch it with me.” “I will yeah.”
That newly acquired, heavily Cork-accented, super sarcastic “I will yeah” is killing me.
In between all this. “Diving? Really Dad?” In quiet moments, “What’s this?” “Badminton. It’s ace, really fast. I’ll hitch up a net outside and we can give it a go.”
“Eh, no thanks.”
I’ve tried to introduce them to hurling, Gaelic football, hockey, table tennis, curling, skiing, anything that RTÉ, the Beeb, Eurosport, Channel 4 or TG4 cover. They will talk only about ponies.
It couldn’t be football, where all you need is a ball and a bit of space. Tennis, where even though you usually have to hunt down a court you can still manage with a couple of antique racquets and a wall. Swimming: I could drive them to training at 6am, I wouldn’t mind, and minimal outlay on togs. Even cycling, with a pricey bike, kit and the rest, would be preferable.
But no, it had to be horses. The only sport where your gear needs to be fed, sheltered and exercised. It can’t be taken anywhere and used for a kickabout or a knock-up and you sure as hell better not decide to use it in an impromptu fashion, just for laughs, after a heavy night out.
Still, that’s the one they’ve fallen for. The one sport that puts me to sleep. So we drive them miles, at least once a week, to spend a couple of hours hanging out in stables while they waddle round paddocks and wave riding crops at each other. If they could do cowboy riding tricks or jump over burning cars, it would be exciting, but alas, there seems to be no end to the pedestrian waddling.
The elder rounds on me at the merest suggestion that riding classes aren’t providing immediate and measurable results: “I’d be much better if I had my own pony.”
This is an argument we have had over and over for the last few years. A humiliating one because it always results in my having to throw up my hands and cry, “You can’t have one because we can’t afford one. I know you’d take care of it, you’ve proven this isn’t a fad, that you’re wholeheartedly horse besotted, but your mother or I would have to drive you to wherever you would be taking care of it and drive you home every damn day. That’s a no-no, because we have many other things to do, including work.
“And despite the work that we already do, we still can’t afford to keep a bloody pony.”
I look at successful sportspeople and note that behind them is always a driven and supportive (deranged) parent. I wonder could I forgo my misgivings about this particular sport and be that pushy (broke) parent. Going back to the tennis, Andy Murray turned me off the idea when he was so dismissive of his own parents in his post-semi-final victory interview. I felt justified in my reluctance to allow them further equine access.
But then the same Misery Murray got all emotional after his defeat in the final and tearjerked his way into everyone’s hearts. It made me think, some day one of mine could be gratefully, tearfully holding aloft a trophy and saying none of this would be possible without the support of their dear old dad.
I held on to the fantasy for as long as it took to make a cup of tea and allowed myself get misty eyed. Then I chucked out a frisbee to where they were playing ponies on broomsticks in the back garden and told them to get practising. It could be an Olympic sport some day.