Reflections of a defeated Dad
When you and a group of fellow Dads lose 8-0 to your kids, you start asking yourself hard questions.
Am I too old for this? Should I hang my boots for good and move on? Perhaps start golfing or play the horrible “walking football”, as my wife often suggests. A sport where, believe or not, you get a yellow card if you dare running.
Should I accept the fact that my sons have just reached the pinnacle of their physical power while I lost it decades ago, and I am not getting any younger? What is even the point of playing against them?
We can dress our humiliating loss as “good parenting”, tell us that we have been sacrificing our ego to help our sons increase their self-confidence. Some might even believe it. But the harsh reality is impossible to miss. They outperformed us on every aspect. They outrun us. And next year, if we dare to challenge them to another Master Game, it is going to be even worse. Or maybe not. Or maybe it’s not important.
I don’t like losing, and I fought hard until the end. I would have loved to lift the trophy but the true reward, for everyone, is something else. It’s the fact of having spent another magical day together.
The joy of playing with your sons has no price. I will take any moment of that, even if that means losing 40-0.
It was marvellous to see three generations of the Galal family on the pitch. It made me think of my father, who passed away four years ago. He wasn’t much of a footballer, in fact I don’t remember him kicking a ball with me ever, but we played cards together, and he thought me all the tricks you need to win a game. In summer, we would all play together, me, him and our sons. I treasure the memories of those times.
Ultimately, the Football Dads/Kids rivalry is just a gimmick we invented to make us closer, enjoy a great event together and build great memories. Everybody wins.
As of myself, the walking football can wait. I will keep playing proper football until I can stand. Week after week, I will challenge my kids and every kid that dares to stop me when I have the ball. Watch out: I will do then a nutmeg and start running like my life depends on it. Let’s see if they catch me.