Soccer's a kick in the grass

Get home from work early today, still exploiting the boss retaining me as his unofficial consultant on all soccer matters. Decide to get in wife’s good books by mowing the lawn. She’s been complaining about it for weeks. Of course, there’s a method to my madness. I want to try to get those distinctive lawn stripes that you see on all the best soccer pitches on television.

I’m no amateur. I spend some time online researching how best to do it before I start. Turns out to be easy enough. I just keep mowing in one direction in the same line, then switch to the other direction when I move across one lawn-mower width. Within the hour, the lawn looks like the most professional soccer field in the world, well, if the pitch had a deck protruding into it around halfway. After I’ve finished, I gaze at its beauty when I have a sudden brainwave.

I drive straight to Sports Authority (boycotting Dick’s Sporting Goods for failure to stock US women’s shirts!). Within the hour, I’m back at home, getting on my cleats. When wife arrives home, she finds me in the back garden with my latest purchase – a full-size soccer goal to go with my beautiful lawn stripes. The whole thing looks magnificent.

‘What the heck!’ she screams from the deck.

‘Hi honey,’ I reply, pretending not to notice her anger as I curl yet one more shot into the taut net.

‘What is that?’ she asks, gripping the rail of the deck as if struggling to stay upright with rage.

‘You know perfectly well what it is,’ I say, using the most annoying calm voice I can muster. ‘It’s a soccer goal.’

The last thing  I hear is a sentence beginning with the words ‘son of a…’ as she marches back into the house. Pity she leaves when she does. She just misses me dispatching a perfect half volley into the top right-hand corner.