The 6yo has nagged, cajoled, begged and bribed to be taken to rugby training on a Sunday morning. Last year the then 7yo played. She loved it and was pretty good but as she was the only girl playing, her love soon waned and she decided not to continue this year. The boy, who was aptly named the 5yo last year, flatly refused to play after two training sessions. [Apparently sausage and chips didn't outweigh mud and cold!]
This year the 5yo is the 6yo and he's huge, a good two foot above some of his peers and he seems set on playing the sport. Hubby is delighted and fed up all at the same time. A big fan of rugby, he is delighted that boy wants to play but gutted that a Sunday morning lie-in is a thing of the past. The training ground is 27 miles away.
This year we've decided not to invest in kit till we're sure sproglet II is serious. He's currently playing in hand-me-down AstroTurf trainers and jogging bottoms.
'Excuse me Dad,' he said on Sunday, in a chastising tone. 'But I need rugby boots.'
Hubby retorted. 'Can you remember last year when I spent a load of money on boots for you? What happened then?'
The 6yo looked unfazed by this line of questioning by the 'would-be' sports reporter.....He sighed condescendingly.
'Last year I retired. Now I'm back.'
I'm sure the world of Rugby will be delighted with this news.