How the State of Origin brings out the best in my kids
In the Diaz TV room, the tension in the air lays thick like a cloud of Queensland testosterone.
Large men and little men laze along the main seat of our sofa, all 4 pairs of eyes constantly fixed to the TV. Except for Son Number 1 who always has his iPad plastered in front of him no matter what he’s doing.
I take a seat at the end of the corner lounge, my back to the TV, and I face my family.
This would normally seem strange, however I have my laptop and quite frankly a bomb could go off under their butts at this point and they wouldn’t even notice.
The Australian national anthem is playing: “Our home is girt by sea, our land abounds in natures gifts of beauty rich and rare….”
The moment is beautiful. Tears well in my eyes with the pride I feel at being Australian until the moment is ruined.
Crackle, crackle, crunch.
The Kettles Chilli Chip packet opens. Then another pack is opened, because it’s just too hard to pass the one pack around and share. Son Number 3 passes around the pre-broken block of Cadbury Vegemite chocolate and in a matter of a few minutes, they’re ready for the State of Origin.
And so am I.
This one I may actually enjoy as I sit here and observe them quietly and inconspicuously.
I have been warned though. I’m not to talk as apparently I ruin the atmosphere with my smart arse comments, but they are genuine comments. I really don’t understand the attraction of this game.
Before I know it, it’s half time. Warren leaves. Kids fight. Son Number 1 asks me for a hug and then announces he needs to take a dump. Kids throw insults around, Son Number 1 says he’s bowels have changed their mind and eventually, after a few punch ups, everyone calms down ready for the next half.
Or so I think.
Son Number 2 & 3 jump up again and wrestle. Son Number 2 asks me if I can buy him a knife that he shows me on his iPad. Son Number 1 then jumps on top of Son Number 3 claiming to be ‘friendly wrestling’ but then they start yelling. Son Number 3 leaves the room, and Son Number 2 follows.
Son Number 1 then notices my laptop table and asks if he can use it to eat his breakfast in the morning.
Son Number 2 then returns and asks to take my laptop table also, then turns around to re-wrestle Sons Number 1 and 3. Then Son Number 2 pretends he’s announcing a wrestling match and Sons Number 2 & 3 begin to really hurt each other. Son Number 1 calls Number 2 a pipsqueak.
Son Number 2 then jumps across the room to kill Son Number 1.
I jump up and yell.
There’s nothing left to do but wrestle Son Number 2 down while threatening to turn him into Daughter Number 1. Son Number 1 then takes advantage and attacks Son Number 2 while he’s down, so I turn and focus on wrestling Son Number 1.
Son Number 3 has wrapped himself into his doona and sits quietly in a separate chair hoping no one notices him.
All hell has broken loose.
Then half time ends.
Quietness descends on the room again.
Sons Number 1, 2 and 3 look angelic again, basked in the light of the State of Origin.
Enough With the Lemons