A game would do the gate good
The first home game with my son ends 0:30. His calculation is wrong, but slowly but surely he realises that there is nothing better than a goal - and nothing worse than conceding a goal.
I goal. I shouldn't have had it sent to my office, the "Exit Tempo 2400". 16.7 kilograms of Goal made of galvanised steel first need to be transported to the garden at home, which is no easy task on a bike. Fortunately, there are trailers. My early footballing education is worth a little heavy transport with an overhanging load. Goals can be scored soon, I just have to set it up.
Papi plugs, the little one plays
While I'm plugging pipes together and threading them into the net loops made of canvas fabric, my son comes into the garden. He is three years old. He looks. Doesn't ask what it's going to be, just says: "I'll get a ball." He seems to think a game would be good for the goal. Regardless of whether it's already finished or not. Plug and play with a difference. Dad is still plugging while the little one is already playing. The rest of the set-up takes place under difficult conditions. He hits balls into the net. I try to sink four screws into the frame. And then I can finally play too.
The first training goal is to get stuck in. To instil in the child's brain that there is nothing better than a ball, a piece of grass and a goal. Until now, the school sports field was our territory. Tarmac on the ground, bars behind the goals. They always rattle the same whether the ball is in or out. No wonder the little one hasn't quite internalised the fascination of scoring goals yet. He likes to shoot firmly. And he especially likes to shoot high. The other day he shot a lamp from the ceiling at the daycare centre, which made me a little bit proud. Unfortunately, the lampshade fell on his head. So it's high time to channel his energy and give the game a goal.
Madrid? ManU? Mummy?
And, what can I say, things are going well. Suddenly he no longer cares where the ball goes. My son is putting the balls in the corners and beaming, my heart is beating faster. But I can't show it too much. After all, I'm the goalie and I have to be suitably annoyed when he scores. Which increases his joy even more and lets me tick off lesson two as understood: There's nothing worse than conceding goals.
He scores, cheers and counts along. The seed is planted. Even if the score is never 30:0 in his favour, he shows talent. In case any scouts from top international clubs are reading this: Señores, gentlemen, this right foot is unrivalled on the Zurich garden softball scene. Barcelona, Madrid, Manchester - we're ready. If mummy lets us. She's not as easy to trick as the FIFA transfer rules.
We're still working on the left foot, Junior has only used it for standing and stomping furiously so far. But he'll get there. At least he's got the goals thing down now. The rest is a matter of the head. I also have to stay positive. 0:30? That can't be right. We don't have any goals against in our range.
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Michael Restin
Senior Editor
Michael.Restin@digitecgalaxus.chSimple writer, dad of two. Likes to be on the move, shimmies through everyday family life, juggles with several balls and occasionally drops something. A ball. Or a remark. Or both.
