Patriot Games (1/2) By Kenton Hall

(1/2), (2/2)

The other night, as I lay sun-stroked and pissy along the length of the familial sofa, drinking coffee from a giraffe-shaped mug and watching Gene Wilder get repeatedly thrown from a train, I had an epiphany. I'm prone to them. This particular revelation occurred when I was startled from my grumbling reveries by a flash of blonde and an explosion of sound. It moved across the room from left to right at the kind of speed more appropriate for a commitment-shy sprinter faced with a Las Vegas Wedding Chapel.

The sound made by this howling apparition was difficult to duplicate, but after a quick refresher course of Roddy Doyle, I made an attempt at transcribing the dialectic shriek:

ENNNNGGGG-EEERRRRRRRR-LANNDDDDDDDDD! it said, ENG-ERRRRRRRRRR-LAND! Now, ordinarily, I assume that any loud, unbearable noise that occurs within the family dwelling is made by one of my two daughters. On this occasion, however, I am briefly convinced that it could not possibly be, as we are a non-football household, with nary a flag of St. George to be seen. And I am pretty sure that along with the blonde and the noise, I saw a tell-tale flash of thin, plastic red and white stream past me.

Of course, being me, I was utterly wrong. It was, in fact, both of my daughters, taking it in turns to obscure my view of Silver Streak and leave me even jumpier and short-tempered than usual.

Bloody child-minders. You never what your children are going to pick up when you leave them in the care of others: For my children it has, so far, been nits and patriotism. Now, as this is a new column, I can not afford to assume that you have all the background knowledge of my regular readers, so I'll, briefly, get you up to speed.

I'm 29 years old, I stand at the front of the band ist and sing words, I have two small children and I write my opinion down with monotonous regularity. And I'm Canadian. This latter fact, I suppose, is of great importance. Many of you will have already sensed that I am no patriot and that the sight of England's soccer brigade getting their asses kicked once again has dragged nary a tear from my eye.

Continued...Next Page (2/2)

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