Like all serious coaches, I carry my official league ID in my wallet. The thinking behind this is quite simple. If something terrible was to happen to me, a fatal car crash or whatever, I’d like the doctors and emergency personnel to know that I was a coach first and everything else second. I definitely placed the card on top of my driver’s license after last Saturday’s game but when I go to look for it this morning it’s nowhere to be found. I remember showing it off to somebody at work earlier in the week but I know I didn’t take it out.
‘Have you seen my coaching pass?’ I ask as wife irons my beloved Adidas polo shirt with my name on the left breast.
‘No, honey, I haven’t,’ she replies.
As I empty the pockets of my jacket, it hits me. Something in her tone of voice. The casual use of honey. She’s the culprit!
‘You’ve hidden it, haven’t you?’ I shout, marching back into the kitchen.
‘Hidden what, honey?’ she says. The incriminating honey again!
‘My coaching pass. My ID.’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ she says, a very sly smile on her face as she carefully places the shirt on the back of a chair and walks out.
After fifteen more minutes of frantic searching, I'm in a real sweat. Running late for the game, I go to put on the polo shirt and there it is, the coaching pass. Nestling in the breast pocket. Now I know she's just toying with me. As I get in the car, I shake my head and think: 'Well played wife, well played.'
No comments:
Post a Comment