da 'ba'

Do we get to live vicariously through our children?  How about imagining vicariously?  Do we get to do that?  Listening to the radio recently I heard a description of a game called 'kirkball,' which is played in Kirkwall, Orkney Islands.  Upon my arrival home I immediately facebooked my friend in the Shetland Islands who's from the Orkneys asking about the game.  Here's what she wrote:

 Hi Sue! Just ask my nephews; they are mad about the game! It's played on Xmas Day and also on New Year' s Day every year. There is a men's game and a boys' game, and it is like a massive rugby scrum lasting for hours! They tussle in the streets, Uppies versus Doonies ( go the Doonies!!!) The Uppies have to get the ball up to th top of the town in order to claim the win, and the guy who touches the wall keeps the 'Ba'. The brave Doonies have to actually get the ball in the harbour, and the guy who keeps it has to jump into the cold north water to claim it! The game is played in Kirkwall, the capital of the Orkney Islands, and it is simply called The 'Ba'. My dad wa s aproud winner when he was a boy, and you will dind pictures and info on the website. I am not sure of the name of the site, but you will find it if you google it, I am sure!


After reading her description, I immediately began to fantasize.   As the mother of five sons in their twenties to thirties,, I could imagine their playing..  I could see their excitement building as I saw myself describing the game to them beforehand!  Of course I was the one doing the describing....


I saw them before the game; in their own eyes, winners all.  Of course they would be playing for the 'Doonies', that being the team of my friend's relatives.  I imagined them eating breakfast together, whatever it is they eat in the Orkneys, planning strategies, pouring over maps of the wee little areas!  I saw them begin the game running like crazy, jumping over bushes, through lawns and around buses because yes, they must play in the streets too..  I saw them in their imaginary scrums numbering thirty to forty men, depending upon which daydream I was currently inhabiting.  As the day progressed, I imagined them bruised and battered but nevertheless, never giving up; limping, holding various parts of their bodies together with hands muddied, fingers barely intact.  


For the final burst there were the four brothers picking up the smallest (and oldest) of the lot, throwing him full force in the freezing harbor water to capture the ball for the win!  Triumphant!


During it all, my sidelines participation followed as best I could.  Screaming encouragement and a few other things. 


I'm pretty sure the sons would LOVE the game!  I know I did!