Gooooaaaal!

Yesterday’s corner time: 8 Minutes.

My Dad has been glued to the television ever since the start of World Cup. I feel like I’m becoming a soccer orphan.

Even my birthday festivities on Saturday were suspended for England v Paraguay.

It turns out that my Dad takes the World Cup very seriously indeed. In fact, so seriously that he measures his life by their passing. He figures that he probably only has about ten left. It used to be eleven or twelve but then I was born.

I also discovered fairly early on in the competition that he gets annoyed if I shout “Gooooaaaal!!” at inappropriate moments, such as whenever someone kicks the ball.

This came to a head last night when he awarded me two yellow cards and banished me from the room.

I think Dad found this particularly irksome, as earlier on in the day he’d been trying to teach me the whole concept of goals. However, I was more interested in being really mean to Nanna.

First of all, I deliberately tried to mow her down on my tricycle and then I hit her several times with a stick.

When she removed the stick from the situation, I screamed at her, “I know what you are!”

I think she was curious to know precisely what I thought she was but I couldn’t remember the name that Dad uses.

Dad seemed quite relieved when I told him and said that I could shout “Gooooaaaal!!” whenever I liked.

Matthew.

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