OK, on Saturday #1 son played his first competitive match of soccer. He’s in the local club’s U7/10s … that is the 10th team of Under 7s, not the 7 to 10 age group. The opposition is the U7/10s from Five Dock, the adjoining suburb with a strong Italian community who tend take their sport seriously. However, this is a community league. Scores are only kept as a niceity, there are no finals or season winners. It’s a good fun, mixed sex, learn balls skills, run off the energy and social interaction kind of competition.
On the other team is a oversized lad called Frederico. Now Frederico’s ain’t no wimp … he’s about a foot taller than any other kid on the park and would weigh half as much again. The fact that he seemed not to have shaved before the match was less of an alarm than that he seemed to have one eye in the middle of his forehead. 
Makes you wonder what they put in the pasta in Five Dock.
It’s cold, wet and miserable day. When the kids ran on they all had their hands under their jumpers for warmth. With one exception, most of the first half (15mins) is “bees round a honeypot” stuff as kids try and kick the ball or whatever is in the vicinity. It’s pretty rugged stuff. The exception is Frederico who monsters most of the local munchkins, a fair swag of his team-mates and scored a brace of goals, to the manifest delight of his extended family on the other sideline.
As the clock runs down on the second half Lamb #1 is not sure about all this and wanders down the back of the field as a defender, probably with the intension of watching the carnage from a safe distance.
So it happens that when Frederico makes another run through the middle, the only thing between him and a season opening hatrick is Lamb #1. The prospects looked grim. But to his credit Lamb #1 looks around and obviously decides that for the team he needs to do something. Another factor would have been that Frederico was now closer than the safety of the sideline.
So he lets fly with a tackle.
Now I’m prepared to concede the tackle was a little late, (say 2-3 paces). I’m also prepared to concede it was just a touch high, (that spot just below the knee cap really hurts). I’m not prepared to concede there was any intent or malice involved. But it certainly did stop the bastard in his tracks. Even to the extent that there was a nice impression of Fredrico’s nose in the mud just outside the penalty area. In a seniors match a suspension of several weeks would not have been out of the question. The referee calls play-on. I was thinking of shouting “HE DIVED”, but though the better of it. I did look round to check where the car was parked in case we had to make a quick get-away.
There was no ugly incident after the game, but I’m avoiding the delicatessens and café’s of Five Dock next week, just to be safe.
Pound for pound, U7 soccer must be one of the most brutal sports played mankind. 