Thunder road

The problem when you sign new players is you never know what kind of parents you are going to get. Before a ball is kicked at the first practice of the season tonight, I’m assailed by a father. Guy in a dapper suit, hair combed and pasted to within an inch of its life.

‘Hi there, I’m ____, my son is ____’ he says, sounding suspiciously like Troy McClure from The Simpsons.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ I respond, trying not to encourage any further conversation.

‘I hope you’ll be keeping an eye on the skies coach, there’s a threat of thunderstorms this evening.’

These parents and their weather obsession. It’s either too hot or too cold for their precious little darlings to practice. And the mere possibility of thunder and lightning has them quaking in their boots. Do they really think one of their kids will get fried out on the field by a bolt from Thor?

‘I hadn’t noticed’, I lie, turning my back so I’m no longer staring at the apocalyptic black cloud looming in the distance.

‘I’m a meteorologist, by the way,’ continues Guy Smiley, ‘you may have seen me on the TV news.’

Now he’s getting annoying.

‘That’s your job?’ I ask.

‘Yeah,’ he says, mistakenly getting the idea I’m impressed by this occupation.

‘Wow. I thought you guys were all toupee-wearing holograms onto which they project the same tired, old lines and fake personality implants every single day and night to save money.’

He laughs at this like I’m joking.

‘I’m actually a highly-trained professional,’ he says in the same tone he obviously uses when bantering with the newsroom blonde for the benefit of the cameras, ‘and I’ll be keeping an eye on the weather just for you.’

I walk over to where the kids are gathered, and, along the way, resolve that his son will never, ever start a game for this team.