Foosball. The only people I knew who had a foosball table were Chandler and Joey on “Friends.”
Oh, okay, I didn’t really know them know them. But they did have a foosball table.
And now I have a foosball table too.
About two months ago, before we knew we were moving, we re-arranged the boys’ shared bedroom, a shift that included moving Caleb’s legos from one side of the room to the other. His response to this shift was something like HOW CAN YOU MOVE THINGS IT’S PERFECT THE WAY IT IS NOOOOO PLEASE NO CHANGES NOOOOO PLEASE DONNNNNNNT.
You would’ve thought we were asking him to take up residence in the cupboard under the stairs but without the consolation of magic or Quidditch.
So as you might imagine, I felt a tad anxious about how our change-averse eight-year old would handle the news that we were moving.
Then in a sporting goods store, where we were buying one of the boys new
soccer shoes football boots, I had a revelation. While I was paying, I saw Caleb and Liam playing with the foosball table that the store had on display. Or rather, the boys saw “foosball” but I saw a bribe an incentive: announce the move and then tell them that the new house would have room for a foosball table.
Worked like a charm. We explained that we were moving, Caleb immediately began to angle for livestock–bunnies, gerbils, guinea pigs, dogs–then we countered with the foosball table and he was sold. Wondered why we weren’t moving RIGHT AWAY.
I found a foosball table for sale on dubizzle, the UAE equivalent of Craigslist, and voila: here it is, wedged into the living room behind the couch:
Do you suppose that either Chandler or Joey ever played foosball in his underpants? That’s Caleb’s preferred uniform.
True, my living room now feels a bit like a frat boy lounge, but you know what? Foosball is wicked fun and I’m thinking that spinning all these knobs is probably good for my triceps. I do slap the ball into my own goal with alarming regularity, unfortunately, which means that I’m at the bottom of the family foosball tournament ladder.
Heh. But I practiced this week while the boys were at school and I’ve developed a little whizbang shot that works like a charm. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go kick some eight-year old ass.