Joining the local rugby club has not been smooth sailing to say the very least. The club prides itself on winning and after 4 weeks of "trials" we have found ourselves in the F-Grade.
Yes, a team that is referred to as the Ducks.
The Ducks consists of 9 players, leftover and chucked together like bubble and squeak. A band of misfits, fuelled by enthusiasm but lacking the winning skills.
Harry is as keen as mustard about the game that they say is played in heaven. I am keen for him to be involved as it is a great outlet for his ever increasing testosterone to simmer and rise to the surface.
However, there is more than one factor that is making the Ducks journey even more difficult.
There is no coach and no team manager.
No one has volunteered.
While the Ducks limp along like someone has clipped both wings, the other grades enjoy a plethora of support from the parents in the way of perfectly cut oranges, spanking fresh jerseys and well run training sessions.
I think we all know where this is going, right?
On the weekend at the game, I walked past the Under 10 A Grade team and heard the coach say to them....
"YOU ARE NOT THE DUCKS. YOU ARE THE BEST..."
Later, when a desperate lady carrying a clipboard came to me and asked "Can you manage the F-Grade. Please?" one thousand excuses ran through my head.
But I found my mouth disagreeing with my head.
And now I am the manager of The Mighty Ducks.
She then told me that I could do a 3 hour course and qualify as their coach. I informed her that her luck was already being pushed.
She handed me the clipboard and momentarily drunk of power, I sat in a little tent and told everybody who came and asked me questions that I didn't know anything.
But I will learn.
Because The Mighty Ducks will rise like a phoenix from the fluffy, feathery ashes of mediocrity and claim victory in the F-Grade Championships.
So until then, A-Graders, you may laugh and point and make fun of our backward running, but come presentation night, you will find yourself bowing down to the Mighty Ducks, while I hold that Victory Trophy atop my head, give a moving speech about the little team that could. And then take them all out to McDonalds to celebrate with a Happy Meal.
And you, with all your swift moves and clever kicks, will not be invited.
Stick that in your quack pipe and smoke it.
PS If you are interested in coaching this team, please email me.
PPS The Ducks went down 7-17. The tries for our team were scored by someone we borrowed from the Under 9's. I asked his Mum if we could forge his birth certificate. She told me to go away.
