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When Saturdays come!

When Saturdays come!

This week finds Molly’s blogger Desperate Dad pining for the start of the football season. But it seems his heart is taken by one particular soccer sensation…

Usually at this time of year we’re all champing at the bit.

Saturday afternoons seem bereft when the footie season finishes and we’re left feeling like Premier League paupers with cobwebs on our shin pads.

This year, with England’s World Cup heroics, things have been slightly different admittedly, but it won’t be long until the weekends are firmly back on track, with 3pm kick-offs and 5 Live car updates regular features once again.

If we’re not heading down to Sincil Bank, to watch our local now ‘league’ pinup stars, we’re usually looking forward to Super Sundays on the TV as the heavyweight millionaires battle it out for the bragging rights.

I say we, but it’s still really just myself and boy number 1. Boy number 2’s appetite, although partially whet by the recent Russian revolution, is yet to fully develop into full-blown football fanaticism.

He’s usually quite content to ‘grab a blanket’ with mummy and devour the latest offerings on Netflix, no football widow wallowing in this house.

In amongst all the above, I’m often left chasing around the county taxiing said boy 1 to his own soccer set-tos, as part of his junior football team’s seasonal adventures.


From September to April, every Sunday seems taken, and home or away you’ll find me cheering from the touchline as proud as punch and as vociferous as the rest of the parents, who kick every ball and cheer every goal as they go in.

There’s something quite wonderful about watching your offspring excel at a talent, embracing a passion and putting you to shame with every caress of the ball or pinpoint pass to a team mate.

He is really very good and certainly does not take his twinkle-toe like talent from me, who was no George Best for sure.  The only resemblance being a similar passion for the odd pint or two and partiality to Miss Worlds I can see.

And this season, a slightly new adventure beckons.  He’s just signed up with a newly promoted rival team.  League runaways last season, they took his fancy towards the end of the campaign and after a few plucky trials pre-season, was snapped up forthwith.

A smart new outfit they certainly look, and even though we’ll miss our old comrades from the past, the new challenges this coming season will bring are ones we’re both looking forward to getting stuck into.

I only hope my new parenting pals take my slightly ‘odd’ sense of humour in the way it’s intended – some ice is harder broken than others after all.

So as we get ready to embrace the great outdoors again, to don double socks, thermal vests and extra thick gloves for the season ahead, I’m sure it seems more trouble than it’s worth to many.

But for me, the numb feet and hoarse voice are a small price to pay, to watch my man of the match shine in his prime position when the weekends come around.

Barry Wood is an ex journalist now working for the NHS in Lincolnshire.  A father of two boys and husband to one Portuguese wife, he blogs regularly as Desperate Dad.  Read more adventures:

Facebook: Desperate Dad

Twitter: @Dad_Desperate

Instagram: daddesperate




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