“CLINTON?! No child of mine is playing soccer for Clinton! Not while I’m head of this house!”
But being a benevolent dictator, I put it to a vote. What followed was a frenzy of ballot box stuffing, vote rigging, and shady backroom deals that made a Labor pre-selection battle look as soft as a Playboy Bunnies pillow fight.
That was ten years ago, but I clearly remember the moment my ‘Anti-Clinton Bill’ was defeated thanks to our PUP, Dumb Dog, having the casting vote. One month later, the Middle Princess ran on for her first game of soccer dressed in the hated green, while I stood on the sideline wearing a disguise and silently cursing the democratic process.
To this proud United man, Clinton is the Manly of the local soccer league. I recalled the many low blows, elbows to the face, knees to the groin, stomped on toes and smacks to the back of the head; and that was just the stuff their supporters did to us as we ran onto the field. Things got much, much worse when the game started.
But during our time at Clinton, I was stunned to discover that most Greens’ players, coaches and fans weren’t all late tackling, penalty milking, ref bullying, bloodsucking, cheating thugs who would happily run down their own mothers in the car park if it meant they would win a game.
They were genuinely quite nice folk. Still, I wasn’t exactly devastated when the girls decided to switch to Meteors.
So this weekend, when the Littlest Princess plays against Clinton in the Grand Final, I personally won’t be howling for Green blood; well, not until the second half at least.
And before next years’ season I’ll organise a coup to reclaim my position as head of the house, so Team Bray will finally be United.