I’m sure a lot of you like me got a bit of dust in your eyes when the team talked about their supporters over the years and I thought it might be nice for each of us to share who is in their corner when it came to sports.
When I was a kid my Dad managed a semi professional football team and never made it to my matches (I can understand why, I was rubbish and his team was very good) but one of my uncles made it to every game.
When I started to do Karate at a high level as a teenager my parents never came to a tournament until my last one when I won every category I entered.
As an adult my Mum and Dad make it to all my races, most of it is just an excuse to spend 4-5 hours with my little boy I am sure but its always great to know at some point in the lap I am going to get to see familiar faces.
I started triathlon with the support of my wife but she never came to watch at the races…and i mean i get it, it’s boring for the kids and what not.
But last weekend when she tried to swim distance she actually recognized how difficult it must be. (since she had more experience than me growing up being in the water)
But truly the best surprise was my sister who showed up at my first (and only so far) olympic distance race early in the morning.
It made me so happy to see her as i didn’t expect it at all. She encouraged me before, at transitions and at the end.
I hope that next year my kids get to see the effort thats involved in doing a tri, even if it’s a sprint distance…and that’s if spectators are even allowed near the course with all this covid stuff happening
My dad was an exceptional all-round sports man. Basically, if there was a ball involved, my dad was good at it. He played football professionally (UK - before you could really earn a living) for four years.
As his son, it was widely expected by everyone that I would inherit my fathers skills. I didn’t. That was painfully obvious to everyone.
My father would watch me turnout for his boyhood football and cricket teams. He never stood on the sidelines shouting advice, which used to really bother me. I thought he was too disappointed and hoped that no-one noticed him or that I was his son. After every game, he’d ask ‘did you enjoy yourself, son?’ I’d say ‘yes, dad’, because I thought he wanted to hear that.
After a match in which I’d actually managed to play half decent, he turned to me in the car and said ‘you don’t enjoy this, do you, son?’, to which I broke down crying and said ‘no, I don’t, dad’. He pulled the car over and threw his arms around me. I’d never felt so loved.
Fast forward 25+ years and my dad is 80+ years old and Father Time is catching up with him. Yet there he is, standing by the side of the road, walking stick in-hand, cheering me on as I race past on my bike. He was never a cyclist but that doesn’t matter. This year, we watched most of Tour together. He’d ask lots of questions and I’d often have to say ‘I don’t know why they/he’s doing that dad… they’re better than me!’
It’s taken me the better part of my life to realise that all my dad ever wanted me to be was happy.
