Hockey in Franschoek

Aaah, Saturday morning, a time of glorious hedonism. The sleep in! In my house, that means staying in bed till 06h40 instead of 06h30. You see, at precisely 06h29 every morning, bucket loads of adrenaline are released directly into my children’s bloodstreams.

But on a Saturday, there are a beautiful ten extra minutes that are all ours! Mainly due to the understanding that failure to comply is punishable with much pain and possibly even death!

This particular Saturday morning my wife and I were up long before the children mainly because we have a very rude alarm clock. My oldest son also had four matches to play in a hockey festival. It was our pleasure to awaken both sleeping boys before their morning adrenal dose. And so we found ourselves on the road as dawn cracked and then shivering on the side of a hockey field in Franschoek in no time at all!

There were kids everywhere. Small kids, smart kids with two jerseys, big kids, skinny kids, and each one with a stick in their hands. Some were playing, some kicking, some rolling in pain, some just screaming in triumph and others crying in defeat. Then there were the kids playing hockey. The words wild and dangerous don’t really sum up the occasion very well!

Sticks flew in gusty swings, turf gave way in clumps and violence boiled just below the surface. Heads bobbed and wove, completely oblivious to the wild whooshes whipping by their cute little ears. By some divine grace the games ended, tears were wiped away and the chaos resumed.



The hockey thoroughly exhausted the parents but for the children it was only the beginning. There was nothing to do but to beat a hasty retreat to a wine cellar in order to pep up those flagging parental spirits. Our cars had hardly stopped before an impromptu soccer match had begun upon the magnificently manicured lawns. With wine in hand we waited patiently under the splendour of the Franschoek mountains for the latest dose of energy to ebb before thinking of making a move.

Poor us!