She was so close yet seemed to care so little. My daughter was one beanbag away from landing all three bags in hoops placed at various distances but the last toss skipped through the ring and without a care in the world she meandered to the back of the line. Not a, “RATS!” or a kick of the ground. Not even a, “C’MON, pull it together next time, will ya!” There was skipping and water sipping and visiting with friends.

“Why is she skipping and water sipping and visiting with friends?” I asked myself, exasperated by her lack of a competitive killer spirit on her first Sports Day here in the UK. Sports Days are common place in schools here and consist of beanbag tosses, and rope skipping, egg and spoon relays and other such intensive contests. “Why isn’t she focusing on the next toss?”

And that is when the subtle thought entered my mind that my daughter may simply be content to have fun sometimes and not be competitive all the time (if that is even possible!). I quickly chased the idea from my mind and began helping her understand that if she tossed the beanbags instead of throwing them she’d have more control and possibly score three out of three. I got that, “Whatever, dad” look.

Now let me just state I’m NOT one of those parents. You know the type, they shout through the backstop at the umpire during a T-ball game, or shadow the coach constantly telling him why their kid ought to be moved to a more strategic position. I set out three years ago when my daughter played on her first soccer team to encourage participation and fun.  It never crossed my mind that there are people in this world who somehow have managed to separate competition/winning and fun, so imagine my surprise when my kiddo didn’t particularly like the games, but simply loved being at practice with her teammates.

“My name is Chris,” I could just see myself meekly say with lowered head to an ex-jock, win-at-all costs Competitive Dad’s Anonymous support group. “I have a great kid, exceptional in math and reading, respectful to her mom and I and to other adults, who enjoys music and art and friends and dress-up and butterflies and strawberries and trampolines, but most times when it comes to competition is content to….participate.”

Funny thing is, my daughter is competitive. She hates losing at board games and loves nothing more than to beat her daddy at, well anything and everything. The smallest thing is a competition. Backgammon is a Battle Royal. Beating me is fun. Losing brings on the waterworks. I’ve tried to tell her, “There’s no crying in Backgammon!” I’ve even heard myself say, “Try your best and if you lose that’s okay. It’s about having fun competing.”

And come to find out that is what Sports Day in the UK is about. Teachers spent most of their time encouraging five, six and seven year old boys and girls to stick with it, keep trying, “keep chin up.” Enjoy the competition. And fortunately these fine teachers weren’t interrupted by any of those parents. I don’t think there was a child who will look back on this day and say they didn’t have any fun, including my daughter, who gave Sports Day two thumbs up.

She’ll never remember that third beanbag that skipped through the hoop, and I need to learn to celebrate the two she landed.

I have repeatedly stated how much I enjoy living in the UK. I love Brits’ use of English and the mingling of language use and British humor. I love the rich history. I love the (ethnic) food (sorry, you can only eat so much fish ‘n chips before the arteries begin hardening). I love rainy British days and I love that intensively hot summer days only push the mercury to 85 degrees.

I even love tea. I never drank it much before coming here, at least not the hot variety, but I’ve grown to understand which brands common folk are inclined to drink and which ones the posh people consume, I enjoy them all. I love almost everything about the UK.

And then there’s cricket.

We had a village fair (fete) today and the local cricket club was playing a “friendly” against a neighboring village.  I focused intense energy from afar trying to understand what the heck was going on. Having played baseball I could draw some similarities. There is a batter (batsman) and a pitcher (bowler) and a ball (interestingly enough, also called a “ball” in cricket). That was about all I could piece together. I wandered down to the scorer’s tent in a determined effort to come away with an understanding of how score is kept at the least. If successful, I was certain I could handle an explanation as to why test matches last four days.

As I approached the tent, I picked up some handy vernacular. “Oh, well played James,” as a ball was thrown back toward the wicket; and “Peter, that was well handled, brilliant!” when one of the fielders actually managed to catch a ball without trying to surround it like a soccer goalie. “Cracky” got a mighty swing on the ball and hit it over the boundary and into the weeds. “Cheers Cracky. That’s a six.”

“Hey, could I disturb you gentlemen for a few moments to explain to a novice the nuances of cricket?” I asked, certain I’d get a most welcome response, which I did.

“Actually, cricket spectators and baseball spectators have much in common,” replied one chap waiting his turn to bat. I asked how so. “Both consume massive quantities of beer.” Of course I laughed and agreed, but in my mind thinking “I’d probably consume gallons if I actually had to play cricket…or watch four consecutive days of it.”

Thirty minutes later I got up to leave believing that if for some odd reason our television only received one channel, and I was desperate to watch TV, and the only thing on was a cricket match, I’d at least understand better how score is kept (but still with no clue for why a game – match – takes four days). As I was about to slip away, one kindly gentlemen (as all of them were) invited me to play next Sunday. How to respond? “I’d rather be beaten with a sticky wicket,” shot through my mind, but I managed to say, “I’m afraid I wouldn’t do the game justice, but I deeply appreciate the offer.”

Maybe I’ll give lawn bowls a go.

Andy Summers is 67 years old today.
And Pete Quaife is 66.
The two played instrumental roles in bands I love; The Police and The Kinks respectively. I was standing over the sink washing dishes when the local BBC radio station played songs by both bands and mentioned that today, Dec. 31, was the day both were born. As I scrubbed stir-fry residue from a wok, I thought about some of my favorite bands or performers that come from the UK. Below are a few of them in video form. No, they aren’t part of the British Invasion of my parent’s generation that was ushered in by the Beetles, but they weren’t far behind.

Andy Summers opens this favorite Police song of mine.

Yes, I know what the song is about, but you gotta understand the Kinks. They never took themselves that seriously.

These guys may have been some of the most preeminent musicians ever. I never get enough Yes.

Is it possible to make a list of great British bands without Queen? NO BODY has a voice like Freddie Mercury had. (I know, I know….and I’ll probably hear it from my mom).

They weren’t there in the beginning, but Genesis easily makes my list.

It is possible to go on and on but I’ll end this list with another of my favorite British bands with Pink Floyd, the musical equivalent of Fantasia…only better (by the way, which one’s Pink?)