We won our game today. One more game then the semi-finals. We'll finish 4th, and play the top team. By a quirk of the draw we're playing them next week also. I'm not quite sure how to approach that game yet. We've been building ourselves towards for the semis — I'm not sure I want to show our hand too much next week. On the other hand, they're a confidence team, if we rattle them next week, it might dent their confidence leading into the semis. Decisions, decisions! I'll keep you informed.
About 7pm tonight I asked Matthew if he wanted to go to the baskteball in town. We've been once before, in the afternoon a couple of months ago, and he lasted till halftime before wanting to go. But there was nothing else planned for tonight, and he'd already slept a couple of hours this afternoon, so he wasn't going to bed anytime soon. At the previous basketball we'd gone to, and also at a game for my team a couple of weeks ago where I took him, he'd eaten a packet of chippies and had a bottle of drink. He associates basketball with eating chippies and drinking fizzy drink! So, hell yes, he was keen to go tonight.
We drove into town on a wet cold night and parked close by. We walked across to the stadium and got a couple of seats just after it started. He noticed them pretty early on. Sitting across court, right on the sideline.
“Why are they holding those”, he said. It was the cheerleaders holding their pom-poms. They weren't my type — too young, too skinny, too much dancing to sucky disco music — but Matthew obviously has different tastes.
“Where are they going?” His eyes followed them as they left the court at the first quarter to do whatever it is cheerleaders do. I assured him they'd be back, and at halftime they'd do a dance for everyone. Halftime duly arrived and they pranced out on the court.
“Why are their tummies showing?”, he asked. They had cut-off tops, showing their navels, I didn't have a good answer to his question.
“It's just something they do Matthew”, I told him. He kept watching. He pointed to the blonde one.
“I like her Daddy”, he informed me. Hmmmmmmmm. I looked. I was worried. She was just too blonde. Too obvious. I've tried to bring him up better than this.
“I want to go down and talk to them Daddy”, he told me, starting to move down the stairs.
“No Matthew, there's not time. They've nearly finished.” I left it at that. He's only three. It's too young to be told that cheerleaders are the quintessential “look but don't touch girls”. Let him enjoy some illusions. And hell, if he wakes up dreaming of the blonde, at least it'll make a change from his usual dreams of cars and trucks that do nothing.
Oh. The basketball? The team from Wellington that I should support but don't because I don't like their attitude was playing the team from Auckland that I shouldn't support, and don't. Except tonight. I was quietly rooting for the Auckland team. They were a team. Not a collection of over-the-hill individuals. They won by two in the final 30 seconds.
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Gnotella
I've finally discovered the joys of downloading mp3 files of obscure songs and artists!
Journals and blogs that I read regularly
Raising Hell
Feral Living
Hippycritical
Udder
My Life in 12 Point Font
Journal of a Writing Man
Some Jingle Jangle Morning
The Last Girl Scout
Potatoe.com
Journallife.com
Window to my Soul
Chickybabe
Sorabji.com
Yesterday's Makeup
Fifteen Milliliters
Fly Away
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Photo of tunnel copyright Bernd Klumpp, available from istockphoto.com