The Bernies Meme’s played their third game of netball tonight. I missed last week due to yet another very important meeting and my lower left muffin top tear was still healing (milk that sympathy). The team won 19-9 in what I hear was a shock to the opposition who “didn’t think old chicks would be that good”.
The night didn’t start off well. I forgot the game was on until the Big Guy called to say he would be home shortly to change over childcare duties.
Mrs O totally forgot to turn up due to parent/teacher interviews (she is the teacher) and her brain is filled with the routines and whereabouts of 7 children at any given time (yes, she has 7 children so next time you think your life is tough – think of her!). She was forgiven for the lack of attendance.
The other Mrs O (who shall now be known as Sporty Spice given that she’s raising the sportiest children on the planet) was also late, we assumed she had a child running at some national championship or something.
Prior to the game I got Ms P (the hot, skinny personal trainer) to stretch out my lower muffin top muscles to avoid another tear. It was a sub plot to intimidate the opposition and look totally professional with real exercises and stuff. They countered with a couple of players running on court wearing gloves. I smugly asked what the gloves were in aid of as I suspected the opposition were really going to give us a run for our money. I found out that players with acrylic nails need to wear them so as not to scratch out the other players eyes. Ha…amatuers. Bloody Princess Amateurs.
We started the game and had recruited a new player this week, Mrs Z. I’m sure she thought she was joining us for fun but she soon realized that there’s no fun in our games. We play to win. We were slightly concerned when she asked where she was allowed to ‘go’ in terms of play but the biggest concern was her opposition player, the Goal Attack. The tallest woman in the world. Worse than that, she had a full face of make up on, looked like a supermodel and didn’t actually break into a sweat once. I detested her immediately. Fortunately for us, she couldn’t shoot for shit proving that height doesn’t actually give you talent. This was a mega bonus as she missed about 90% of the shots handed to her otherwise we would have been truly smashed. Mrs H got Mrs Z through the finer points of the game as we gradually put points on the board.
Our umpire was 30 weeks pregnant so we thought she would go easy on us but clearly she had a biffo with her hubby earlier because she took an immediate dislike to Mrs S and became whistle happy every single time Mrs S took the ball. Mrs S is usually a fairly placid Mama who is liked by all. She says innocent things like “I have no idea where my kids get their competitive streak.” Um……hate to point out the obvious but…..Mrs S, I think you’re the reason! Holy moly, she’s a pocket rocket with a temper to match! The more she was pulled up, the angrier she got. The umpire kept responding with an “f-you” whistle, just because she was preggers and probably hungry, but was really beginning to hate Mrs S.
This angry mood seemed to rub off on Ms P and Mrs K who both looked half way through the game like they may punch their opponents or each other. It’s lucky I can shoot goals as I found my ability to run anywhere left me short of breath and looking like a beetroot. After figuring that once leaving the goal circle, I didn’t have the energy to run back in, I stayed put and like the Queen, awaited for the people with the ball to come to me. Much safer for everyone that way. Mrs K was so angry she told me to ‘suck it up’ when I pulled a classic soccer player move and implied a possible injury was worse than it was – right-e-o then. No sympathy here!
Mrs S regained her shooting mojo and pushed a few goals in. Am sure she wanted to give the umpire the finger on her way back to the centre pass but she simply snarled instead. Note to self, never cross Mrs S in the playground.
Sporty Spice returned to the fold in the second half. She’s tall so we needed her height as the amazon opposition supermodel seemed to find her mojo in the second half. Mrs H and Sporty managed to stop a few goals and bring the ball back to the area where the Queen was waiting.
We didn’t win tonight but we played with the ferocity of a team who did. As we say to the kids “as long as you tried your best, that’s all we can ask for”……except…….half way through the season they grade the teams. We decided being the best in a lower division would be better than being the worst in a higher division. As a result we convinced ourselves that we were happy with the loss.
We’ll be the best of the underachievers.