“Why can’t you do an indoor sport” I asked.

I would hear horrendous stories of smelly shin pads, muddy boots in the car, over the top parents and coaches and freezing cold spectators.
“I will go and watch you son” I said but I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.

And then it all changed, The tingle, the nerves and excitement as the team played was something I never expected, the joy at seeing the team play there hearts out, the pride at seeing my child covered in mud after trying so hard. This was me now, I am a paid up member, I am a Footy Mum.

I’m in that school yard club of footy mams, obsessing over the weekends weather, will the game be on, what time is the fixture and discussing mouldies or metal studs, ME, discussing mouldies or studs!!! And where to get the best skins for the winter.

For the last 5 years I have watched my son week in week out on the field of dreams known as grassroots football. Where childhood memories (and adult memories) are made.

Every week I stand in the sleet, snow, gales, torrential rain and sun, week in and week out alongside other parents watching, worrying and cheering.

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Experience has taught me that high heels should be replaced for boots or wellies, that layers are absolutely essential, a warm hat is a must and a pair of gloves and a flask of coffee are all on my checklist.

I appreciate the beauty of the game, the effort, the team play, the honest graft of a bunch of kids with the desire to play for each other for a common cause.

The sideline tittle tattle is equally disturbing and brilliant. I’ve never been involved in anything that draws such strong yet polar opposite opinions.

Through my child’s love for a sport I have been transported to a world I never knew existed, a world I never thought I would be part of but yet now couldn’t see my life any other way, in closing.
“Some people never get to meet there favourite player, I gave birth to mine”

Yours in sport

Anon Footy Mum

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