Children’s AFL Skills, September 7th, 2014

There’s always room for a little help from Dr. Phil…

It’s a sunny day, you need that vitamin D, you need that great satisfaction we all get from being an active and healthy human being. Perhaps you’re a parent and the kids are nagging “Take us to the park Dad, take us, take us!”

So rather than being a douche-bag father and drinking your body weight in Victoria Bitter and watching V8 supercars all day you decide to be the dad your father never was and take your kids to the park. You grab the footy and you pile into the car ready to feel like a great parent.

The park is glorious. The sun is glorious. The whole damn day has been glorious.

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Argh! Come on kids! Lets go show the fuckin English how to play AFL!

You and your kids storm the park like William Wallace and his clan, ready and waiting for action.

Your children are screaming for you to kick the ball to them.

You drop the ball.

It glides like silk down your leg and onto your old high school footy boots.

It soars into the air like an albatross in full fluid flight.

There stand your kids eager and chomping at the bit to get a taste of sweet AFL glory.

The ball drops in perfect time, unlike that final kick in the Grand Final you missed. Remember that? When Davo punted you the ball with 4 seconds left?
You were just shy of 50 meters out. You had the ball in your hand, you slipped down to your boot, you missed it and kicked that really big fella, some called him Mr T’s stronger brother, on the other team right in the nuts. I mean look, he probably deserved it because he was sleeping with your wife but you didn’t know that at the time and you let the team down.

Khal Drogo used to play AFL. Khal Drogo used to sleep with your wife.
Khal Drogo used to play AFL. Khal Drogo used to sleep with your wife.

How depressing…

The footy smacks them on the chest, your child drops to the ground like a sack of old rotting potatoes, the sound of defeat echoes throughout the land and a great shame appears on your face. It’s at this point in time that you and everyone around you learn how much your kids suck!

They suck. Face it. I was watching as I lay sun baking with my super model girlfriend, and we saw how much they suck! I had to resist the urge to boo them.
I even considered writing score cards and handing them out. We’re not talking a points system here, no 8/10’s for these kids. No! My score cards would have a sad face and the words “Your dad finds you disappointing” written beneath it.

After spending what seemed an eternity laying face down in the dirt he emerges, his face and clothes caked in mud. He finds his way to ball, resembling some sort of chicken that’s been force fed growth hormones and Johnny Walker Blue Label for a good 12 months, Colonel Sanders has some secrets to tell, exactly what are those herbs and spices hey buddy?

I'm here today to stop your children from becoming shadows of your broken dreams!
I’m here today to stop your children from becoming shadows of your broken dreams!

That’s beside the point, back to your kid and how much he sucks.

Look at that excitement on his little face. He’s still having a great time despite how much he just let you and anyone who’s ever played sport down. He throws the ball up and concentrates with all his might, it strikes his foot and he cries. That’s your kid. Right there, covered in mud and crying. That would be fine if he was 3. But is he? No he is at-least 9, maybe even 10! Face it already, the damn kid sucks.

Now lets look at your other kids. What are they doing?

Let me tell you, just like your first kid, they are sucking.

The one in the yellow shirt shows some skill, he can get the ball back to you in a minimum of 6 kicks. That’s pretty good. No awful score card for him. But can he catch it? Nope. Instead he runs towards it like the worlds biggest Creed fan, with arms wide open. Much like your other child it smacks him square on the chest and he collapses faster than the excitement I felt for the Soundwave line up.

The one in the green shirt can’t even co-ordinate enough to run in the same direction as the ball, his shirt appears to be caught on an invisible clothes line that keeps spinning him right round baby right round. And even when he does manage to get a hold of the ball all he can do is kick it into his own face. Bang, into his face. Bang, into his face. What’s that I see? Oh, nothing… Just your kid kicking the ball into his own face again. I hear plastic surgery is expensive, better start saving now. He’s going to need at least 53 re constructive operations on his cheek bones alone.

I mean, come on! To paraphrase the great Homer Simpson, I’ve seen kids suck before, but these kids are the suckiest bunch of sucks that ever sucked.
Your kids sucked so much that Dr Phil is about to launch a book entitled “Making sure your kids don’t suck at stuff you failed at”.

After you left everyone in the park imitated your children… Here’s a photo.

Oh Gertrude, that mans children really sucked! Let us fall over and mock them!
Oh Gertrude, that mans children really sucked! Let us fall over and mock them!

Your mullet 10/10
Your kids football skills -12/10
That doughnut your kid was eating looked about a 9/10
My review 45,345/45,345

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