431. “Who?” Said MrsDavy

I don’t ask for much. Really, I don’t.

And as I am happy to testify, MrsDavy frequently occasionally surprises me with her regard and attention, none of which I have earned. Which makes me think that this latest episode is simply her way of messing with my head, like the Wembley crowd booing the saintly and permanently innocent Richie McCaw.

Yesterday, Monday, I came home from an early morning at the pub watching the match and then going to the gym. I was full of the joys of life: reward and virtue in equal measure. So over breakfast I regaled her with all the relevant details of the match, which was all of them.

I mentioned in conclusion that my Man of the Match was Steve Hansen.

“Who?” said MrsDavy.

Sharp intake of breath: a little exhale of that joy I mentioned. Have we been even sharing the same solar system?

“Steve Hansen. The All Blacks coach.”

“Oh,” she said. “Is that his name? I thought he was called Shag.”

There’s a half glass full and empty moment just there. To know the nickname of the coach of a team in a sport that you don’t follow is a rare and precious thing, you might think.


Or as the man himself might say:

Monday, Monday, can’t trust that day;
Monday, Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way.

About Ned Davy

By hokey, the big fella’s tipped into his 50s. A rangy loose forward in his prime, good with the ball in hand, but rarely up with the play any more.
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3 Responses to 431. “Who?” Said MrsDavy

  1. Chris Jones says:

    It’s evident to me that you and I are sharing the long, dark teatime of the soul, which is the result of a glorious, profligate binge of watching back to back rugby for most of the weekend, then finding that you have a whole 3 days to wait before the next fix.
    Sadly, there is also the law of diminishing marginal utility kicking in: I got very bored after 20 minutes of the Irish match.

    Hang on in there, it’s just around the corner

  2. You are a victim of your own success. Having replaced the real world with an imagined dialogue, you now find you didn’t really want to! Soon she will be saying “pass the wine Ned.” I’m sure the French existentialists have a word for what you are feeling.

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