Having 3 boys and a man in the house means that I tend to be in a place of mummydom dread, fear and anxiety when it comes to sport on the TV.
I can think of nothing closer to the ear-splitting sound of scratching fingernails down a blackboard than having to watch a dry run of sport and see the defeated faces of the losers while they watch the animated faces of the winners.
For me, the Paralympics is different to the big main event that has just finished, and it’s different to Wimbledon or the Golf Open, or actually any of the other sports that I would be obliged to sit and watch while forcing silence through my gritted teeth. Luckily, I have some electronic gadgetry that allows me to do my own thing and avoid the jump and punch the air moments that boys love when their favourite wins.
I remember as a 15-year-old, that my 22-year-old brother and his 6″7 pal were sitting in the lounge while Celtic played an “important” match. Yeah, yeah, I hear ya, he’s an Aberdonian supporting Celtic – there are bigger problems in life. Anyway, Celtic were down 1 nil, then a curved ball slipped into the net to equalise at a crucial moment. Two men the height of double-decker buses leaped off the couch, punched the air and smashed the glass light fitting to smithereens. All over the three of us.
Just why we automatically open our mouths to inhale sharply when something goes wrong is a COMPLETELY FREAKISHLY BACKWARD step of the evolutionary ladder.
The haunting memory of glass shards embedded in my hair, with the resulting spitting blood and glass was enough to forever put me off watching any kind of couch sport where there is any remote chance whatsoever of anyone winning anything.
Swallowing my squeamishness, I intend to conquer my sofa fear to cheer on the Paralympians who will be playing and fighting hard at the September Paralympic Games.
Cheer them on, but watch you don’t smash any glass….
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