Right, England versus France. Always gets the blood pumping a bit, doesn’t it? I remember one time, must’ve been years ago now, there was this big match coming up. World Cup quarter-final, I think. The whole week, that’s all anyone was talking about. At work, down the pub, everywhere.
So, I decided I was going to do it properly. Told the missus I was having a few mates over. Went out Saturday morning, got the beers in, stocked up on crisps, nuts, the whole nine yards. Even got those little flag things you stick in the sausage rolls, pathetic I know, but spirits were high, you know?
The Plan Was Set
Got the big telly set up in the living room. Checked the signal about five times. Moved the sofa for optimal viewing. Mates were due round about an hour before kick-off. Phone was buzzing all morning with predictions, banter flying back and forth. I was properly buzzing for it. Felt like a kid again, almost.
Then, about two hours before kick-off, the phone rings. Not the mobile, the landline. It’s my sister. She sounded panicked. Turns out, my old man, who lives about an hour away, had had a bit of a fall. Wasn’t answering his phone. She was stuck at work, couldn’t get away.
Life Happens, Eh?
Well, what could I do? Told the lads sorry, emergency, can’t host. Raincheck. Grabbed my keys, jumped in the car. Didn’t even think to turn the radio on for the match commentary on the way, just drove. All I could think about was getting there, making sure he was alright.
Got to his place. He’d slipped in the garden, twisted his ankle badly, couldn’t get up to reach the phone inside. Managed to get himself onto the patio chair eventually but was stuck there. Got him sorted, cup of tea, elevated his foot. Ended up spending the whole evening there, waiting for my sister to finish work so she could take over.
Missed the entire game. Every single minute. Didn’t even know the score until I got home late that night and saw it on the news. England lost, typically. But you know what? Sitting there, making sure my dad was okay, it didn’t seem to matter much at all.
Funny how things work out. You plan for one kind of battle, the one on the pitch with all the noise and the drama. But sometimes, you end up dealing with a different kind, the quiet, unexpected ones that really count. Never did get round to eating those sausage rolls.
