|Our Boys. The Valiant Runners Up.|
Rear: Alec (Coach) Ollie, Max, AJ, Gus (Coach), Robbie, Harvey
Front: Caleb, Milo, Jimmy
Our brute's mother made her way over and wiped the tears away from his face and offered a warm, comforting hug. He'd played his heart out. We'd lost the grand final and he'd been hurt in the dying seconds. And for his effort those grown ups in the bleachers were collectively shooting him filthy looks en masse while he stood and nursed his aching shoulder. Sad face.
What we who were observing didn't know at the time was that a giant man-mountain of a man – probably 110kg of muscle (and no sense to speak of) – the father of the other who had collided with our sweet eight year old monster, had approached our boy and threatened that if he ever ran into his son again, he would ensure he'd never again played basketball.
Aha. Yep. Because that's what grown ups say to kids at school sporting events. A huge ginormous man of mega bouncer proportions to a grade two kid.
I can't even believe it. I don't know what to say.