independent

Friday 20 September 2019

I can expect a summerfest of TV sports in my house

Justine O'mahony

I' VE BEEN forced out of my own home in recent weeks due to Euros 2012 and I'll tell you one thing I'm slowly but surely losing the will to live. The male members of the family have been plonking themselves down in front of the telly each night armed with snacks and drinks and proceed to shout abuse or alternatively words of support at the box for two hours before getting up and leaving a trail of debris in their wake.

I assumed that once Ireland were out that would be the end of it. But no. They will cheer for anyone, as long as it's not England, which is more out of habit than actual racism.

I never thought my husband or son would be interested in ANYONE'S hairstyle but Rooney's new barnet has awakened an unprecedented obsession and they spend hours making up new jokes about Wayne's luxuriant locks.

At first I thought this would be a unique opportunity for father and son to bond over a common interest. I imagined watching the soccer would lead them to having deep and meaningful conversations that would never normally occur in our house.

Instead all I've heard is a series of "OOOOOOOOOOh!" "Awwwwwwwwwwwh!" followed by the occasional lap around the coffee table with their hands in the air. It's all very Neanderthal but they seem to be enjoying it which I suppose is the main thing.

I won't be sorry when it's over though and I can reclaim my couch. "Thank God that bloody football is nearly over," I grumbled on Sunday night after England were hammered by Italy and the boys were doing laps of honour round the living room.

"Yeah but sure Wimbledon starts next week," replied Himself before highfiving the ten year old. Horrified, I decided to nip this in the bud. "Yes but you won't be watching every match and anyway most of them will be on during the day."

"We'll Skyplus it and watch it at night. We need to work on our game," smirked Himself, highfiving the ten year old again. "And don't forget Dad. Once Wimbledon is over, The Olympics will be starting," my son reminds us, grinning from ear to ear.

This latest news may force me to book a fortnight in the sun for myself and the six year old whilst I leave the boys to wallow in their own crisp packets and testosterone at home.Let's see how long they last when there's no one to wash their smelly sports socks.

Meanwhile I've decided revenge is a dish best served sweet. Once this is all over I'm going to force them to watch double episodes of One Tree Hill and Real Housewives of New York back to back and let them see what it feels like.

For now I suppose I'll just keep picking up the abandoned runners and empty crisp packets whilst swearing under my breath.

I think I'll start saving now to send them to the World Cup. At least then I won't have to watch it!

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