OK here is my entry.
*****Antonius ****
Mr Bean.
It is after a lot of soul searching that I relate this story to you.
My son decided he wanted to miss soccer for a year and give league a try. I was dubious, but he wanted to play. We signed him up, bought the shorts, socks and various bits of padding, and awaited a call from the coach. We were eventually contacted, not by the coach but the club secretary, Mr Saxby, we are asking some fathers if they could assist with the coaching of their childs team, would you be able to help out? Well it was only under eights, leagues a simple game, pass and catch the ball, cant be too difficult I thought, so why not?
I arrived at our first training session, all the kids were eagerly punting their footies around, throwing imaginary match winning passes to their mates, keen as mustard. One kid caught my eye, he was half the size of the others, with jet black straight hair, legs like a chair, his skin was pale, like hed been indoors all his life, he was busy running around arms outstretched, being an areoplane. The other kids had already in a matter of minutes dubbed him Mr Bean. He spotted me, and decided I was his new best friend. It didnt take a lot of observation to realise Scott (Mr Bean) also suffered from A.D.D.
The season began, Scott would arrive at the games, his mum would comb his hair, and then hed rush over, latch onto my leg, and give me a run down on the events of his week. At footy Scott was hopeless, he would languish out on the wing, waving to his mum, and trying to catch the eye of his father, who would always be some distance away from the other parents. If any opposing player came near him, he would flinch, and move out of the way to avoid being trampled. There were rumblings from other parents that Scotty shouldnt be getting as much game time, but I figured hed paid his money, and probably wouldnt see out the season anyway. Not only did he see it out; he was back the following year. I realised footy was the only interaction he got with other kids outside school, even though the kids made fun of him, it was worth it to be part of the team. He could make you cry, one game Scotty was standing on the field shouting out to Dad, who as usual was up the other end. I walked up to him, and pointed to his son. Dad looked over, Scotts face lit up as he waved to his dad, thats all he wanted, dad to recognise he was out on the field. He could also make you laugh. One gala day, a couple of the kids went down the local paper shop; they came back with a bag full of those toys they give away in the newspaper. Some of them were plastic dinosaurs, and Scott had to have one. I told him hed only get one if he scored a try. The day went on, and our star player had scored around 6 tries, we were on the attack, and I called out to the ball carrier to pass it to Joel, No dont do that screamed Scotty hes already got 6 dinosaurs! I couldnt stop laughing, thats all Scotty had worried about all day.
We reached the semis a couple of times, but never progressed, I had a bet with Scotty in his 3rd season that if he ever scored a try Id give him $20.00. In three years of coaching Id never missed a game, imagine how shattered I was when one night whilst at home recuperating from an operation, the phone rang. The boys were playing a postponed match, and you guessed it, Scotty had scored the first and only try of his short league career.
Scott never came back for a fourth season, I figured hed achieved what hed wanted. I see him at Knights games occasionally; hes turned into a fine young man, he refs junior league, and says he gets a lot of pleasure from it. I wonder what life wouldve been like for Scott if he hadnt spent those few years at footy, I would say vastly different, you see its not all about being an Andrew Johns, or a Brad Fittler, its also about putting something into the lives of kids like Scotty.
Word count 750 excluding name and titles.
This is a true story, the names have been changed.
