So why, you might ask, am I inside a gym-like building filled with screaming children and circus music? Well, it turns out the 11-year olds aren’t quite so keen to spend an entire day watching women’s rugby.
And so, to extend the day for the true rugby fans, for my middle son and my husband, I’ve taken the reluctant 11 year-old members of the family for a break to Playzone.
It’s ironic really. My mother is a die-hard rugby fan, a woman who spent her late teen years watching rugby every chance she could at Cardiff Arms, who cheered my dad’s teams on through her twenties, and who in her seventies travelled alone to New Zealand to follow her beloved Canterbury Crusaders around the country.
(She is equally passionate about hockey. The Vancouver Canucks have no more devoted fan than my mother).
But in all those years of listening to my mother rhapsodize about her favourite players, cite sports statistics, and shout at numerous refs, I have resisted any interest in anything remotely related to sports. I don’t do sports.
Until now. Until my middle son got into rugby. Now I actually know what’s going on (sort of). Now I actually enjoy the game. And when it’s sevens, even better!
So, apart from the circus music and screaming children, I don’t want to be at Playzone because I want to be at the rugby!