I didn’t set out to be a “sports dad”. None of the risks were what they seemed to be. During my youth and into my early 20s, watching or participating in sports struck me as a waste of time. Despite the presence of elite athletes on both sides of my family tree (ex-Wallaby and ex-100 tennis player, etc.), my lack of athletic talent was surpassed by my lack of interest.
So why now, with two children under four – when I have no free time and no sleep more than ever – do I spend so much time watching sports on TV?
My friend is enjoying this change. When she caught me in the game, she laid on the couch like Homer Simpson, said, “Oh, sports dad,” and rolled her eyes.
During our courtship (ha ha), games were at a minimum. Occasionally, in those carefree days of being together without kids, when the great Federer-Nadal rivalry is heating up, I might suggest that we watch the finals of some tennis tournament. But when that offer is politely declined, I can usually be persuaded to engage in other activities that are more… mutually enjoyable, if you know what I mean (that’s right – board games or passwords).
I was blind to the appeal of sports, but now I see.
As a conservative, father of two, my world has become smaller. Barracking for my team gives me as much fun as I can experience without losing my life insurance. And, almost buried in the slow replay, the moment of injury, the blurring of post-game questions, I sometimes catch a glimpse of a real human moment of vulnerability, compassion, glory.
Earlier this year, Christian Leali’ifano lined up for a penalty that would have made him the first player in Pasifika history to score 1,000 points in Super Rugby.
Leali’ifano played for my favorite club, the Brumbies, until he was diagnosed with leukemia in 2017. After recovering, he went on to play professionally (a huge achievement in itself) and now represents Moana Pasifika. That night, when Leali’ifano’s youngest son surprised his father by taking the field to deliver a layup, the two shook hands earnestly, then Leali’ifano stepped forward and nailed the shot… well , let’s say this sports dad got it. he choked a little.
Games can be fun, and that’s part of the appeal. I enjoy the long breaks in play: the ending changes, the spoilers reset. Commentators fill the time, crunching stats and collecting player backstories.
It is calming, even soporific. I woke up on the couch at 3am with no feeling in my shoulder.
The people I’m watching are very concerned about the outcome of this game, but for me it’s a stranger, which means I can choose my investment level.
I love my children very much, and sometimes they make me very sad. It is good to have a break from this level of intensity.
For many sports fans, the past few weeks have been a complete disaster. Last Saturday, for example, there were no fewer than six rugby union tests – each lasting about two and a half hours – that I would have liked to have watched live.
And don’t get me started about Wimbledon! The grand slam represents a lot of things related to the ball that won’t just consume itself. But that day, my children had other ideas. Besides, the lawn needs mowing, and we’re gathering people for dinner. What does a sports dad do?
Well, this father’s trick is to change all the things in time. If I can’t watch it live, then I put strict media restrictions on myself and those around me. No consequences, please!
When it’s late at night and the house is quiet, I turn on the streaming service. Far from being a social platform, watching sports has become a mere pastime. I watch slowly, late at night and slowly, as if I came across a strange foreign film while I was at the station.
None of this makes sense. I’m always frustrated with not being able to find time to write, which is my passion and creativity. There aren’t enough hours in the day.
I work in an office; I take care of my children. My wife works and takes care of her, and in the evening we spread out for an hour or so in our room in a tired companionship. And I used to stay up late watching two mid-table teams play each other in Japan’s second tier rugby league. I sleep well, wake up grumpy, long at the lack of time to write… and then check the schedule for the next evening.
The brain is broken. There is, as a parent of young children, a lot to worry about right now. And besides, is the Bandit Heeler a role model for the father, or a mascot for the ancestors? By the time my children were tucked into their beds for the evening, my mind was broken. I can’t write. I can barely remember how to boil pasta.
I console myself that my period hasn’t eaten anything yet.
The places in the Tour de France are good, but I refuse to learn the best strategy for exiting or team racing. The Adelaide Crows are the Australian Rules Football team, but I’m a fan of weather, and weather has been around for a while. And I save hundreds of hours a year by getting my F1 special fix via Drive to Survival on Netflix.
Maybe one day, all my strength and skills will be useful through the melting of 10 hours of each year, and I will be able to get my life back. Right now, things look as slim as that of the international rugby team playing the All Blacks at Eden Park, where the Kiwis haven’t lost since 1994. That said: there’s always room for improvement.
Andrew Roff is a short story writer. His first collection, The Teeth of the Slow Machine, is out now through Wakefield Press
