Children, Life
Leave a comment

Little Kickers

Zachy started Little Kickers this week, a football training class for toddlers.  It was only his first time, so he doesn’t have the official Little Kickers team strip yet, but I did buy these other little kickers to help him to channel his inner Beckham.  At £28 a pair, I consider it an investment into our pension plan (at least that’s what I told the Greek God(zilla).

The class starts at 8.30am on a Saturday morning (about 30-mins earlier than the time I used to crawl home from a quick after work drink 10 years ago) but I figured this could work out well for my rather devious sleep-in-while-daddy-takes-Zachy-to-football plan.

As this was Zachy’s first session, we all went together this week.  We arrived at The East Dulwich Community Centre bang on time but needn’t have worried about that, as the place was completely deserted.  The front doors were ajar, so we ventured through them expectantly, hoping we might stumble across the David Beckham Academy once inside.   We stumbled across an empty community centre hall instead.  Hmmmmmmmm.

Zachy was looking at me quizzically as I paced with him outside, mentally preparing a strongly worded email in my head, but then another little boy arrived in full kit and I felt relieved, at least, to be in the right place.

One by one, other little boys and one little girl arrived and eventually, their teenage coach.  ‘Coach Nick’ sat on a bench outside and pulled a few balls out of his bag and let the little ones have a kick about with their dads on the 5-a-side asphalt pitch.

Zachy was a bit reserved at first and wouldn’t roam too far from my side.  At one point, he seemed more interested in a stray tennis ball that found its way onto the pitch than the actual football.

The Greek God(zilla) and I decided it would be best if I left them to get on with the ‘boys stuff’ so I drove off to fill the car with petrol and inflate the tyres while daddy & Zachy ate raisin oatcakes offside.  Is this what I had paid £68 over 6-weeks for???!  I could have bought him a ball and arranged a playdate in the park for £2.50.

I was pleasantly surprised when I returned to see that the real ‘coach’ had arrived, albeit 35 mins late, and was taking the kids through a few of the more technical football drills – like how to sit on the ball and put it on your head.  No matter, Zachy was joining in and not crying for his mummy, until of course he saw mummy return and then all he wanted was a cuddle.

“I think it’s best you don’t come next week love” said the Greek as I practically started drooling into his lap over the thought of a sleep-in.

The coach picked up pace then and I mentally deleted the strongly worded email I had drafted in my head.  One of the other Dads came over to speak to us and explained that this was not usual procedure for the class.  The usual coach is, by all accounts, quite brilliant and will be back next week AND he even gets there on time!

Move over Messi, Zachy’s on your heels!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

CommentLuv badge