Taking heed of advice from a fellow guest blogger, Max Kay, I am going to write about what I know. Right now I am at the beginning of my sporting career’s renaissance, so here you have it—a look at sports in your 30s.
I have recently rejoined my old rugby team
after taking a hiatus to play somewhat less competitive rugby. I decided to see
if I still have it, after being influenced by a supportive wife and a three-year-old
daughter, Keeley, who has just started her own sporting career (she has one
season of soccer under her belt—where she played for 5 minutes and spent the
rest of the season on the sideline waiting for the post-game snack—and is
half way through her first basketball season).
 |
| Keeley (right), with one of the opposition. |
I am six weeks back into it and I have
already dealt with more bumps and bruises than I expected. Having said that, I
am thoroughly enjoying myself; I love the competitiveness of practice (known as
training to our Irish readers) and I love having to strive to be your best at
every game because you are up against quality opposition.
Having played at this level before and
knowing what ups and downs a long season has to offer, I feel like I have an
edge over my younger teammates. They roll out of bed at 10:30 a.m. on game day
whereas I’ve been up since 6 a.m. I’ve fed the kids, mowed the lawn, walked the
dog and mentally prepared for the tough match ahead (while watching Sesame
Street). I have a new appreciation for the opportunity to play, since it’s a
little tougher to fit it in these days. Let’s hope this maturity serves me well—and that I make it to the end of the season in one piece.
Slainte,
Bobby
P.S. I know Madge loves P.S.-ing so I decided
to add a few.
P.P.S. I feel I need to elaborate on the
inspiration I received from Keeley. At her most recent basketball game, she
finished by lying in the middle of the court with her head on her hands,
completely exhausted from 45 minutes of 3-on-3 basketball (we were low on
numbers that day). From now on, if I’m not panting on the ground at the end of
a rugby game, I’ll know I didn’t try as hard as Keeley.
P.P.P.S With regards to my supportive
wife….the support may dwindle as the trips to the emergency room continue—I’m six weeks in and two trips deep.
