I'm a sports addict, you see. And if I'm going to maintain my sport watching at their current levels, I need to be ahead of the game - and selling the merits of as many games as possible to my children.
As the eldest, Jamie is first in line and a very important deadline is rapidly approaching. Micro rugby starts a mere nine days from now and it very much suits my purposes if I can persuade him to enrol.
If he can be transformed into a rugby enthusiast, I can go to see him play for many years to come. Plus, he'll let me watch rugby on telly whenever I want. (As things stand, I'm not confident of getting away with the All Blacks v Australia first thing tomorrow morning - especially as it clashes with some new episodes of Ben 10 on Cartoon Network).
I've been trying for weeks to get him to agree to sign up, with little success. But today I played my trump card; I arrived home with his first pair of boots.
And the good news is that he's thrilled.
But not as thrilled as I'll be if he enrols next week - and returns to play again the week after. And the week after that.
Needless to say he will be made to wear his Ulster Rugby shirt.
