Since Mark was so gracious in victory, I should return the same courtesy. After the final whistle, Mark stood up like a proud father, strode across the room, and gave me a firm handshake with a soft “good match”. Not what I would have done in the slightest. If the result were reversed, I think my dramatic finale would include me being semi-clothed and rolling on the floor draped in my United flag. Maybe I should mature like Mark, but, sorry man, I just can’t.
As soon as Mark left, Jacob stayed to console me. I had to get outside immediately, breathe some fresh air and realize that life will go on. I brought my 20-month old daughter outside with me so I had another shoulder to cry on. As she was standing there, dressed in her full kit (socks and all) she pointed to the dog poop in the yard, looked at me and said “yuckies”, her word for anything that is, well, yucky.
I did what any good father would do in this exact situation. I looked at her and said, “No sweetie, those are not yuckies, those are Chelseas”. She looked back at me, and as Jacob as my witness she pointed again and said, “clessies”. We celebrated as if United had just won. We still have a lot of practice, but that day now marks the day where the dog poop will now be known as “Chelseas”.
How’s that for gracious?