Fitba' crazy

Yep, it's fair to say the Grant family have gone fitba' crazy of late. Kids have gone garden-goals-shooting bananas, Katy is practising Ronaldo step overs and Jenny is washing kit like detergent is going out of fashion. Even the cat is running about like the beast it is, chasing a furry mouse ball.

I'm playing a serious match every weekend with our Wahroonga Tigers geriatric and very infirm over 35's. Our full blown season starts in two weeks. I'm training on Wednesdays and doing death defying fitness work on Thursdays. I've also got work lunch-time football and here's the latest...I start coaching the local Under 7s on Tuesday! We are all Wahroonga Tigers!

How can a hard-working father of three with a massive global debt find time for such self-centred pursuits?

Whilst the pure thinking by-stander might point a shaky finger towards the daddy for such selfishness, scratch beneath the surface and you might find quite a different story. Why have the Grants, and daddy in particular, gone fitba mad? You tell me, who's really to blame?

Here are the suspects...

"Uncle" Malcom & "Auntie" Seonaid

This dynamic duo, sponsored by Sydney Adventist Hospital, lured Ally and Jenny from the UK over to their house in Sydney last year, for grilled prawns and melon canopes served with a medley of tortillas and dips. (Please note the connection here - Jenny is Seonaid's cousin.)

Please also note the resemblance between Sepp Blatter, president of FIFA, and Malcs...

Sepp Blatter (top) and "Uncle" Malcolm (bottom)

Anyway, this visit coincided with Ally's job interview in Sydney but that's, well, just a coincidence. Under this pretext, Malcolm smoothly moved from the topic of tax evasion, political economics and global currency exchanges to playing fitba every Saturday for the Over 35s at Linfield. He even cited the fact that a former Rangers player and living legend, Dave Mitchell, used to play.

How did he know I supported Rangers, eh? Answer me that one. Good bit of insider research done there, perchance? Seonaid nodded on encouragingly saying buzz phrases such as "it's great" and "brilliant fun", whilst looking at Ally expectantly throughout. Ally nodded, thinking, hmmm - probably serious stuff. My football days are over. I'll stick to running. But Jenny said "yes that'd be great. You like football, don't you, Ally?"

"Yes, I do," said Ally. Ally then took the next flight home to Oakhill.

Tarun
Tarun is officially my best mate in Oz. Not only that, him and I make up the coach and management duo of the U'7s. How did I meet this soccer Guru and all round good egg? Goes like this. Brrring Brrring went my phone.

"Hello. I'm Tarun".

"Hello I'm Ally. Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Tarun."

"Ah right . You said."

Massive pause as Glasgow meets London in Sydney.

"Melissa tells me you want to play O35s football."

"Melissa? Who's Melissa?"

"My wife."

"Oh. Nice. Does she play football?"

"No. She said Jenny told her you wanted to play football.."

"Oh."

Local adverts Australia is different from Britain in many ways. For example, it advertises Mangos in a pseudo erotic manner.

It has a very sensible Prime Mininster with grey hair and a reasonably sized belly, plus it's got Dame Edna. We have Des O' Connor and Sonia; it has loads of Abos and Kangaroos, some of which have very large goolies indeed, and no, I don't just mean the Abos.

It also knows how to market its local football team. Other countries bidding for the World Cup might as well give up now. While if you lived in Oakhill you might be loosely aware of the the local football team. If you live in Wahroonga you cannot fail to have the mighty Tigers shoved in your face. There're banners across railway tracks. Signs at traffic lights, centre page spreads in the papers and a collection of mothers screaming at you"what?! you're not in the Tigers ? what's wrong with you?"

There are 80 teams in the club. Yep, 80 teams. From embryo' s all the way up to over 90's - men and womens. They have BBQ's at every match, car park attendants, ambulances and live camera crews at the ready. They have a scary president, who gives offical addresses and talks about his annual turn over of 500,000 dollars! To not be doing footie on a Sturday morning means you're an outcast from society.

Jenny was the first person I met who alerted me to the Tigers, your honour.

Dad
An inspirational comment from my dear old daddy. "You're a bit long in the tooth for football are you no' ,boy?"

Whilst nursing fractured ribs and a slipped disc I did momentarily think he might be right.

Note: my dad is Jenny's father-in-law.

Father-in-law
Note - this guy is Jennys' dad and therefore is Jenny with facial hair... give or take a few vital organs etc. Don't think she likes licorice much, either but she is a fan of lasagne.

"I'm thinking of playing football"

"Great. You're good at that, aren't you?"

"Er no. Not really. Might start off in Division four."

"Oh, work your way up to the Division 1?"

"Eh. Don't know about that."

"Well a player of your qualities, Alasdair, can't be kept back."

U7's parents
Having just returned that very morning from a week in San Diego, I agreed to miss William's football grading and stay at home looking after Tom whilst recovering from jet-lag.
An hour later I receive a call from Jenny.

"I've just nominated you as coach for the U7s team."

"Urggh. What do you mean?"

"Do you want to be coach?"

"Urgh. What day is it. Where am I.?"

"Just say yes. Everyone says you'll be great."

"Urghh. ok."

What's she on about now? Coach? Back to sleep for me. Phone goes again ten seconds later.

"Ally. Tarun here."

"Mate."

"Boss, you mean."

"Eh?"

"You're coach; I'm manager"

"What?!"

"Jenny nominated you as coach, I seconded and Melissa nominated me as manager and Jenny seconded."

"Eh"

"What? I'm really coach?"

"Yes, mate. Talk tactics later."

Jas
Me old fave mate and defender extraordinaire from Somerset. Advisor, councellor and general solid chap.

"Central midfield for you, matey."

"Noh, I'm a defender."

"Honestly midfield. Even Jenny agrees."

Incidentally, I met Jas through Jenny being friends with his wife Suzie.

William
"I hate football, dad. I want to do dancing".

I said "gulp."

With this light-hearted ditty at the back of my mind, I joyfully took William along for his first football grading with the Tigers.

His experession was something between a man facing a firing squad and someone who'd just started hand writing twenty copies of the bible. I vowed I'd give him a four week stint and if he didn't like it then he'd be out. I'd get him to sign something saying "my dad took me to football when I was wee but I didn't like it and I forced him to stop taking me. The fact I now have no mates and can't talk footie down the pub or at work with the lads is completely not his fault."

Anyway, did he do me proud or wot? The guy ran his nads off , chasing everything, even decked someone (for which I reprimanded him later but just like I would, he said it was accidental).

Getting him home he wanted to practice football. I nearly died. We did shots together, we did headers, we did Rangers winning the cup.

I was the proudest dad in the continent! Then he comes in and declares to the family, "I love football".

The double highlight for me was when he said he'd like me to be coach..

OK , so you've heard the case...Now these are my chief suspects...

Let me summarise for you.

There's the Malcolm and Seonaid combo, relations of JENNY. Sponsored by Sepp Blatter and advocates of Saturday afternoon trips to local hospitals.

There's my father-in-law, who just happends to be JENNY's dad. With his "Go for it Alasdair. You're good at football" attitude.

Then there's me top old matey, Jas. Who reckoned I could be a midfield maestro. JENNY is best mates with Suzie, Jas's wife.

There's JENNY, who thoroughly enjoys kit washing and affirmed I would be playing football to Seonaid and Malcom, most of the population of Sydney, Wahroonga Tigers coaching staff and friends and family back home.

William: Forcing dad (husband to JENNY) to lead by example and steer him away from a career of Swan Lake and demi plies.

And then dear old dad, JENNY's father-in-law, who commented about my age and abilities making me think I need to prove him wrong.

Well, m' lord. I have heard the evidence. I see the Grant family have changed enormously due this football thing. Jenny has been clearly influencial in every aspect of Ally's endeavours. Indeed one might argue, the poor man had no choice but to play football at least three times a week. However, he also apparantly has no choice but to watch Coronation Street three times a week but he does not.

I therefore find guilty...

Ally

Cos if he didn't like footie he bloody well shouldn't be playing it.

I sentence you to a life of cutting the grass, miscellaneous trips to chiropractors, physios and various other expensive medical treatment centres.

Hanging my head low. I have to agree....

It's all my fault.

'Cos I am fitba' crazy!