…not that Alf ever stopped playing football because, err, this is Alfie Lowe we are talking about.

There’s something to be said about watching the younger kids play football.  They are brilliantly funny, their little faces full of concentration {and that tongue poking out at times too, Alf}, the way their legs go, their reactions are way cuter, the tackles are even funnier, giving it their all and still we’re shouting at them from the sidelines to “Take It, Alf!”, “Cer a fo wan!”…”Ag eto, Alf.  AG ETO!”…yes, I am that Mam.

But I bloody love it.  Its’ the laying out of the kit the night before, the mad rush looking for the shin pads that morning, the talks of goals and tackles while we snuggle up in bed and the sing song/chant we have on the way to the game, the song that has now become our tradition and our “good luck charm”, if you will, that we just MUST do.  Just because.

And today’s sing song/chant must have worked {even though I promised Robb I wouldn’t sing in the car because his mate was coming with us…but, sorry Robb, you know how this works…or how this Mam takes these football matches seriously}.  Because Alf only went and bloody scored!  And it was a great goal too, bless him.

We just want them to do well, don’t we?  And to get a goal is always a bonus.  Plus when they score we know they’ll go to bed happy that night.

And me.  Oh so happy.  Da iawn Wilf.