When I was a kid, and through my teenage years I did a lot of running. Sprinting. And my mother used to drive me around to these carnivals and when it was getting close to race time she'd start on about me going to the toilet. She'd ask me about ten times – do you have to go to the toilet? And I'd always say, no. Then right when we were in the marshalling area I'd say – I have to go to the toilet and she'd say, in an exasperated voice, well its too late now!
We did that for years.
And today I have the same nervous tummy, but its on behalf of my son. Today he is playing in the AFL grand final. And he's playing against doctors orders and against mothers orders because he has had a badly torn thigh muscle. But when I told him he was being ridiculous to risk it by playing he told me he was being a 19 year old boy who wanted to play in his grand final.
So I said I wasn't going to go and watch because I didn't want to see him get hurt or disappointed or carried off on a stretcher. And I said that if I went that would mean I condoned what he was doing. And Daz said that was ok because Hazim el Mazri's mum only ever went to two of his games because she didn't want to see him get hurt.
But when I woke up this morning I knew I just have to go. I can't sit here and not know whats going on there. I'd be ringing Daz every five minutes. So fingers crossed that it all goes well, the muscle hangs in there, he plays brilliantly and they win the comp.
I think I have to do a nervous poo.