The boy was quite excited by all the World Cup paraphernalia. The flags, the bunting, the football t-shirts. The three lions everywhere. The England themed mini-footballs for sale in the grocery store.
But he wasn’t quite as excited by the actuality. He didn’t like watching football. And he didn’t like me watching it either. Screaming, shouting, demanding Scooby. At one point he told me “We already watched football.”
This weekend it was the knockout stags for the two nations for which he holds a passport. USA v Ghana on Saturday. England v Germany on Sunday.
On Saturday night, Simon asked him “Who do you want to win?” – “Ghana?” he said in a small disapproving voice. “Or USA!?” he said in an excited, encouraging voice.
“Ghana,” said the boy. And just to emphasise the point “Ghana,” he said again.
In a neutral tone, I asked him yesterday. “Who do you want to win? England or Germany?”
“Germany,” said Bill.
Now, as far as I know the words Germany and Ghana had never before crossed his lips. But he was resolute, despite the fact I’ve been teaching him to say “Come on, England” and chant “USA! USA!”
OK, you may say that it was lacklustre performance, an absence of heart, a dearth of defense or bad calls. But I’m a superstitious sports fan. During his first football season ever (2007 Tennessee football) we noticed a correlation between him wearing orange and winning. That’s enough scientific proof for me. The boy determines the outcomes of sporting competitions.
So, we know who’s to blame. Sorry everyone.