The institution of weekend sport has remained unchanged for generations. Kids today are probably dreaming the same outlandish dreams we once did at their age: scoring a winning try, bicycle kicking a goal into the back of the net; or, in my case: imagining my rightful place in the Silver Ferns squad.
Our national netball team never called, so the dreams of sporting greatness are now replaced by an amateur imaginary motorsport called “Wellington’s Saturday traffic”. Weekend sport commuters claim victory by pulling into the car park closest to the field. Extra points if you make it in time for the warm-up.
