My First Quidditch Game

Last Wednesday, I attended my first Quidditch game. Or Lacrosse. Whatever.

Did you know that the cool kids call it Lax? Yeah, neither did I.

When I came home from the MRI, The Boy said to come with him and Button, they were going to watch Mousey play, locally. Button plays LAX (I am SO cool) but she plays varsity, and their game was that evening.

So without forethought and proper paraphernalia, off we went.

We did think to bring money, which was a good thing. I almost forgot that little detail from Mousey’s swimming career. Since I only had 4 American dollars, I did what I always do when in need of cash. I asked Abby, aka Mrs. Got Rocks. As I write that, I know the term is correct, but it makes no sense. What is that supposed to mean anyway?

We drove to the local field, and parked on the grass by a boys sport team that was practicing something that involved yelling and grunting. We widely circled their herd to cross the field.

The Boy and I paid out $5.00 to watch LAX, and Button used her street smarts to not pay. She said she was with the team, because she is. The Money lady also asked if we would like to buy a cake pop for $2.00. We declined.

I then had my first look at Mousey in her away game kilt uniform. Awww, she looked so cute!

The team was running around, practicing all sorts of Quidditch maneuvers. Enthusiastic youngsters.

We chose a place to sit on the metal bleachers, and that is when I realized I had made a serious mistake. A mistake of MONUMENTAL proportion.  That metal bleacher was FREEZING cold on my nether region.

The Boy, Button and I spent the next hour caught between our happiness in watching Mousey defend her person, and bitterly complaining about how cold it was outside, the cold breeze, my frozen tail area, The Boy’s frozen exposed ankles, why was the game taking so long, oh PLEASE don’t let it go into overtime, could we wait in the car?

We talked of a great many things, we three frozen spectators.

I told them how I had received no less that 1000 e-mails that week, regarding all of the apparently essential things pertaining to the team. Much information, needs that they had, schedules for things, there was talk of setting up, tearing down, and selling things. Opportunity for buying things, driving girls to games, pasta dinners, things to be brought to afore mentioned pasta dinner.

Oh, I was overwhelmed just reading the e-mails. We are not a sports affiliated family. I sold water two times each year that Mousey swam. That was my job. Button’s family is a professional sports affiliated family. She explained some of it to me. She said her mom knows it all.  I think her mom is even the Boss of the team website.

After confessing my inadequacy in the sport related e-mails department, we moved on to how Button is in the paper all the time. Which she totally is. The Boy said he is living vicariously through his girlfriend. And guess what? The next day, Button was in the paper! Because she won a scholarship and a very special award because she is gifted in all areas of her life. And she totally deserves it, she is lovely, inside and out. The real deal.

Conversation then drifted back to the fact that we had no blankets, or scarves, and those two knuckleheads didn’t even have gloves on. We discussed options on how to fashion some sort of rudimentary device to warm The Boy’s poor, exposed ankles. I pointed to a tree line just beyond the field, and asked The Boy if he could go and gather small kindling so we could build a fire. Or we could just go buy all those cake pops and rub the sticks together to produce a flame. Like Tom Hanks in Castaway. “I have made FIRE!!”

The game was spirited, the score close, they lost 5-4, the company stimulating, but we were ALL glad to make the wide circle around the yelling, grunting boys and get back to the car.

I was frozen for the entire rest of the evening. Seriously, I could not get warm.

I love our daughter, I really do, but I cannot, no WILL NOT, do that again unless it gets warmer here in The Mitten. She knows this, and is OK with my decision. There are not enough blankets in our home to make me want to do that again.



  1. Marlene said,

    April 5, 2011 at 9:43 AM

    Oh the pain of being cold. I dislike intensley being cold…for any length of time much less a whole game. I am glad Mousey understands that 🙂

  2. Marlene said,

    April 5, 2011 at 9:45 AM

    OOps I think there is a spelling error up there in the FIRST comment of the blog. Hope this SECOND comment is spelling error free. First-born children always like to be first ha ha.

  3. Cindy Stratton said,

    April 5, 2011 at 10:16 AM

    YOU MAKE ME LAUGH! ! ! (You are so similar to Erma Bombeck in your writings)

  4. warren said,

    April 5, 2011 at 3:44 PM

    You need a Hagrid jacket! You might be able to weave something out of The Boy’s hair…or would that be too weird? Yes, yes it would…

  5. Marlene said,

    April 5, 2011 at 5:35 PM

    Since I can’t shut up-I wrote a blog today. Ha! I knew I couldn’t stay quiet!

  6. deb said,

    April 5, 2011 at 6:51 PM

    Yes, I agree with Cindy…your writing reminds me of the late great Erma. Next time, remember your camera….you can keep warm running around taking pictures. You have the gift of storytelling!

  7. Hat Chick said,

    April 6, 2011 at 10:07 AM

    I feel your pain! I hate cold! We are a sports family. The amount of prep for each event is horrendous – chairs, water, blankets, food – it’s like moving out of the house for every game. The best thing that has ever happened to us in soccer is our new team manager (a volunteer dad) who sends 1 email containing all the info for the week (field maps, driving directions, opportunities to volunteer, practice changes). I love it!

    LAX (yeah, I knew that) is also fun. Just wait til the sun is out and those same bleachers are burning your hiney. That happened to me last week. I’m considering a fold up bleacher seat to add to the rest of my gear. GACK!

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