I’m not saying my son Jake was a great Rugby player (I say “was” because after three broken noses and three shoulder dislocations he’s now retired). He wasn’t overly big compared to the behemoths he often played, nor fast, being a leftie his pass to the left definitely lacked that certain something and he couldn’t kick.

But like all Flankers he was tenacious, tough and a great tackler – flankers put their heads where other people wouldn’t put their feet.

Being young, at high school much to his chagrin he was forced to play with the guys in the age-group below. So, his performances did stand out a bit, he was captain and often the best player. I know I sound like a self-satisfied Rugby-dad basking in my son’s glory, but that’s only because I am a self-satisfied Rugby-dad basking in my son’s glory.

Once when Jake was about twelve, we’d arrived for a MASSIVE game against Joeys at Northbridge and he’d left his mouthguard at home! You’re not allowed to play without one, but he said he could borrow and ran off to warm up with the team. We saw an old friend Sarah, whose son Tommy was one of Jake’s great mates through primary school and was now the gigantic guy in the opposition team.

Sarah – “Tommy’s going to SMASH Jake today. He’s six inches taller and probably twenty-five kilos heavier. Ready for carnage?”

Me (with a knowing smile) – “As you know Jake’s specialty is taking down the big guy.”

A look of horror came over her face in an instant.

Sarah – “BUT TOMMY’S GOT BAD KNEES!!”

Me (looking around jokingly and laughing) – “JAKE. SWEEP THE KNEES!”

My wife stayed chatting to Sarah while I went to the other side of the ground where there were less people.

The game was a torrid affair, as it always is against the Joey’s juggernaut and Jake was having a top match. Just after half-time, three women came over to where I was on the side-line and stood uncomfortably close. They looked like sisters.

Sister 1 – “I’m Robert’s mum. You Jake’s dad?” She sounded like a country woman who was a bit pissed off.

Me (nice as pie) – “Yeah. Hi ladies, I’m Jase. You must be sisters.” I had no idea which one of the kids was Robert.

Sister 2 (with no introduction) – “WE’VE COME ALL THE WAY FROM TAMWORTH TO WATCH ROBERT PLAY. I BET YOU DIDN’T COME FAR!”

I was taken aback by the agro tone.

Me – “Lindfield.” I smiled warmly.

Angry Sister 1 – “TAMWORTH IS A GODDAMN LONG TRIP WHEN YOU DON’T GET TO SEE YOUR SON PLAY! MY HUSBAND ONLY GETS TO A FEW GAMES A YEAR, AND NOW HE’S HAD TO GO AND WATCH THE YOUNGER BOY, BECAUSE ROBERT’S ON THE SIDELINE… ASSHOLE.”

Angry Sister 3 – “LONG TRIP, TO BE STANDING ON THE SIDE-LINE… TALKING TO AN IDIOT.”

Me – “Huh?”

Angry Sister 3 – “NOTICED HOW WELL ROBERT’S PLAYING JASE?”

She put such venom into the Jase, that I became… scared.

Me – “I… don’t actually know which one’s Robert, I just –“

Angry Sister 2 (cutting me off) – “THERE.” She pointed to the lanky kid in Shore gear cheering on the other sideline. Then it dawned on me, they must think I’m the coach and responsible for sidelining Robert.

Me – “I’m not the coach. I’m just –”

Angry Sister 1 (interrupting) – “YOU’RE TOO MUCH OF AN IDIOT TO BE THE COACH.”

Damn.

Then I thought I must have met the Tamworth sisters before, maybe at a country party in the 80’s and offended them in some way.

Me – “Have we met before ladies?”

Angry Sister 2 – “NO! YOU’RE LUCKY OUR HUSBANDS ARE UP WATCHING PHILLIP PLAY, SMART-MOUTH.”

I pretended I was following the play and wandered away.

Me (watching them out of the corner of my eye) – “COME ON LADS.”

They didn’t fall for it. They followed.

Angry Sister 1 – “NORTH SHORE DADS ARE SUCH TOSSERS. THINKIN’ YOU’RE BETTER THAN US COUNTRY PEOPLE. WELL, YOU AINT!”

Me – “I have to… go… over there and…” I pointed at nothing in particular and sprint-walked all the way around to the other side of the ground. And I’m not known for my sprint-walking.

I spent the rest of the match keeping the entire oval, between me and the Tamworth-Certifiable Sisters. If they moved, I moved in the opposite direction. It was like a big game of chasings. Luckily, they had no more stamina than I did.

At the end of the match, they at least had the civility to stand quietly while the coach addressed the team. All the time giving me the old stink-eye and adding to my puzzlement.

As we prepared to leave, the Tamworth-Certifiables had one last go. A bit quieter this time, due to the boys.

Angry Sister 1 – “You’re no better than us you bald, fat, inconsiderate, annoying, snob. You’ve ruined our day.”

She sure knew how to hurt.

Me – “Fat??”

I turned and spoke quietly to Jake, while the Certifiables stared daggers at me.

Me – “Jake who the hell is Robert? His mum and aunties are up me big time.”

Jake (digging through his sports-bag) – “Oh, the coach told Robert he couldn’t play for missing practice again and he didn’t want to let his parents know. He came in full footy gear. It worked out perfectly because I used his mouthguard and we told his parents that you said as Captain I should take his, so that’s why he couldn’t play.”

Jake then pulls his “lost” mouthguard out of his bag and announces smiling, at the top of his voice – “I FOUND MY MOUTHGUARD. IT WAS IN MY BAG ALL ALONG.“

I couldn’t help myself, they did call me fat after all.

Me – “NO NEED TO WORRY LADIES. HE’S FOUND IT.”

PLEASE USE THE BUTTONS BELOW TO SHARE FAR AND WIDE.

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