Sunday Rugby

We don’t have a television. There is a tiny bit of deep hidden political meaning in this non-ownership. It means that we have a lot of freedom in how we view entertainment, but on the other hand, we are also limited. Sunday was a good example of that.

Using the Internet, and particularly the RTE player to watch live rugby with a bunch of under tens is frustrating. My broadband is good enough for Netflix and general browsing, but when it comes to the dreaded RTE player it cannot cope. Scrums and throw outs became nonsensical, when the image hangs and then catapults you into a completely different possession & position on the field. I still don’t know how England got those first horrid 3 points that defined the match. And don’t forget, you the viewer are expected to explain the game to these bouncy boys pummelling you with questions, while your husband helpfully yells go England while the baby spills things! When confronted, the husband explained he was only trying to add frisson to the event. Like that’s what we needed.

Unhappily the game ended with wailing children and much sofa punching with disgust, but the last half was spent by us, mainly ignoring the off on coverage and rediscovering the joys of face painting. The baby was garlanded with Irish flags and white flowers and a bit of war paint. The husband was nicely done up with an English flag and Irish flag on both cheeks, and the kids were jumping around covered in green, white and gold.

It gives us so much freedom living in West Cork, but honestly these days I can feel the limitations too. A bit like using the RTE player to get our shared social experiences.

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