Wonderpants

When I was a kid, I played a few sports, badly.

Dad was way more into the sports I played than I ever was. He ended up being my netball and hockey coach at various points. I can only imagine the experience would have been better for him if I actually had some kind of co-ordination or interest.

Cut to a hockey field in the depths of a bitter Orange winter. Julia is perhaps nine or ten years old. Play is down the other end of the field and as Julia watches this, miserably, she also realises the elastic in her underpants is, well, unreliable. She can perhaps run two or three steps before the risk of losing her underpants altogether becomes too great.

Soon, the thought of exposing herself to her team, the other team and various mothers, fathers and other adult carers takes up all her concentration. She practises trying to run with her hockey stick, whilst simultateously holding her underpants up as subtly as possible. It works, but just barely. She feels some relief. She may not be able to actually chase after the ball if she manages to hit it, but she may just well get away without anyone noticing her dilemma.

Soon, the other team wrests control of the ball and play starts to head towards Julia, who is at this time sure she’s got this whole one handed hockey playing thing down pat. She runs for the ball when suddenly a noise louder than any siren or whistle ever made booms across the field. It is Julia’s dad, yelling at the top of his lungs as he runs along the sideline.

‘JULIA! Can you leave your undies alone for a second and keep your eye on the ball?!’

I think that was my last season of hockey.