Due to a debilitating hang-over, Andy made the mistake of turning up to his daughter’s Under-14 soccer Grand Final just moments before kickoff. So, all the dads had volunteered him to be linesman. It wouldn’t normally bother Andy, however he’d been out with us lads and his head hurt like a hammer-hit thumb. He’d been stitched up royally.

It all went surprisingly well, despite Andy being constantly on the vomit-precipice he relaxed and enjoyed game. It was a thrilling 2-2 score-line with seconds left in the serious grudge match against a team that neither the parents nor the girls liked as they always took things too seriously and cheered obnoxiously (we don’t like that in Hornswood – being the dynamic little suburbs from Hornsby to Chatswood).

In the closing seconds one of the Hornswood backs made a desperation kick from well in their half and Andy’s striker daughter slammed home the goal! Andy erupted into proud-father cheers.

The problem was, his daughter was a MILE offside. So much so, that players on both sides had slowed their sprinting to prepare for the penalty.

With a hangover-exploding head, perched upon the vom-ipice and alcohol still coursing through his veins, Andy was in no condition to sprint. He was way bacl and actually missed his daughter’s offside completely. In fact, in his excitement he actually forgot it was even his job to call it. He had his flag tucked snuggly under his armpit while he applauded the winning goal.

The ref (who looked to be about thirteen) – “Was that goal good mister?”

Andy – “GOOD?? IT WAS FREAKEN GREAT!!” Andy punched the sky and the flag fell out of his armpit.

So, much to the surprise of his daughter’s team, their opposition and their highly-animated supporters the ref paid the goal. Then he blew full-time. Hornswood had “won”.

Andy ran to the goal square and hugged his daughter excitedly.

Then with a newfound spring Andy set off across the field to celebrate with the rest of the Hornswood parents. Walking past the gaggle of heart-broken opposition girls from whom he had unwittingly burgled the match, he heard comments thrown his way. Some irate, some teary.

“WHAT A CHEATER. THAT AWFUL GIRL WAS A MILE OFFSIDE.”

“I WONDER WHICH ONE IS HIS DAUGHTER.”

“HORNSWOOD ARE SUCH DIRTY CHEATS.”

“SHE’S A COW.”

“HE’S A FAT OLD CHEAT.”

Thinking that was a bit rough and it wasn’t his fault his daughter had single-handedly beaten their old nemesis, he then walked past a large group of opposition dads, out of earshot of all the girls.

“YOU’VE GOTTA BE FUCKIN’ JOKIN’ MATE! YOU HAVE A FUCKIN’ BET ON OR SOMETHIN’?”

“DID YA HAVE YOUR FLAG UP YOUR ARSE PAL?”

“YOU DODGY? OR YOU JUST SHIT, MAN-BOOBS?”

“KNOW THE FUCKING CONCEPT OF OFFSIDE YA RICH PRICK?”

Andy finally realised his error. And as a predominantly honorable man, he was mortified. He decided he and his daughter should skip the team celebrations – of their hollow and undeserved victory, and just leave.

As he was getting into his car, a slightly scary little old lady appeared. Andy hoped he wasn’t about to cop some more abuse.

Little old lady (yelling in a thick European accent) – “YOU ROB MY GRAN’DAUGHTER!!” Andy just stood there. “YOU NO GOOD MAN. YOU LIE WIZ ZHE GOATS.”

One of the angry opposition dads (to the little old lady) – “LEAVE HIM MAMA. HE’S JUST A DIRTY CHEAT.”

She waved her hands witchingly, right in his face. Freaked out, all Andy could do was get in and drive away. In his rear vision mirror he could still see her gesticulating, spitting on the ground and yelling.

“WIZ ZHE GOATS.”

The next week Andy and his wife were with us in a restaurant and an hour earlier he’d recounted the story of how he unwittingly gave his daughter’s team an exceedingly hollow, finals “victory” and an elderly lady had loudly accused him of goat… relations.

Feeling a… presence Andy turned and there standing next to him was the old lady! He froze. He felt as though his heart had stopped beating.

Little old European lady – “REMEMBER ME? YOU ROB MY GRAN’DAUGHTER.”

Andy just nodded, scared. Really scared. Nobody in Hornswood makes a scene in a restaurant, it’s unseemly! He looked to me for support, I did my best to suppress laughter.

But much to his relief, this time she appeared calmer and seemingly had gotten over her bitter disappointment.

Little old European lady – “ISS OK.”

She smiled, turned and left. Andy much relieved, commenced breathing once again.

Then Samantha noticed a piece of paper on Andy’s bread plate, folded many times into a thick little rectangle.

Andy opened it up carefully –

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Thanks for reading. I write blogs oftentimes just to be able to claim when meeting a new person at a Hornswood party, that I am in fact… a writer (whereby my wife generally jumps in and proclaims “he’s actually NOT a writer”). If you could Share far and wide via the buttons below, that would be amazing. I write stuff for a few small companies, but I need to one day be a famous contributor to the noble art of blogging. And check out the brilliant new craft-beer home delivery business I have set up with a few North Shore dads (gettincrafty.com.au) Cheers