Make Sunday a fun-day?

This isn't the most active of days I've had. Actually, there have been too many Sundays over the previous four months where I have been so bored, I have had to resort to playing cricket shots in the garden in preparation for a season that begins in May.
Many people have their jobs, or even studies to occupy their time, and my so-called 'job' has not been available for a little while. I am a referee and sadly in this weather, matches are not coming around too often. My one chance to earn that extra bit of cash needed for social events has been thwarted by this angel and demon we call snow. Before university, I relied solely on the income of refereeing, and most weekends I was earning £50-75 officiating games from U7s to U15s. Now my Sundays are filled with the depressing boredom of sitting around waiting for Monday's antics to show up to relieve me of my pain.

Despite previously stating today wasn't as active as I'd like it to be, I did have a change in routine for once. Staying at my dad's, I was immediately given the task of helping him take down his thousands of Christmas lights from the house. Yes, I have over-exaggerated with the thousands, but let's just call them a fair few for the time being. After labouring for a good hour and a half, we completed the deed and then headed to the event which I had prepared myself for with anticipation and focus-Darts at my grandparents' house! There was money on the line, something I wasn't going to let slip my grasp. In previous three-way ties between my granddad, dad and I, my dad was usually the lucky man to come away with the coins. How differently today would unfold. The first two games I played there was no money up for grabs, but it enabled me to gain some early form before going into what I call the 'crunch' matches. I slaved away to victory against my dad, thundering the darts into the board in what I can only describe as a Jelle Klaasen style of dart throwing. Next was my toughest test. Against the father of the father. The man I see as a genius dart thrower, the odds of me staying on the board and retaining my form looked limited.

I started fantastically, hitting consecutive 100s forcing my granddad into an early state of shock at the quality I was portraying, quality which forced my dad into claiming: "He's been practising in the pubs at uni hasn't he?". Again his judgement was wrong. It was my typical form after a long stay away from throwing the mini javelins. I knew that to have any chance of winning the last two games and claiming the designated prize, I had to carry my form with me into the next hour of darts.

One hour and twenty-six minutes later, and my record of two wins out of two had been turnd into two wins out of five. I had three disastrous final pre-money matches which saw me struggle to find the 20 on too many occasions, so my opponents thrived on my mis-fortune to obtain vital momentum heading into the crunch clashes. The time soon arrived where we all put our pound coins in and the game commenced. Simple rules, start on a double and finish on a double. I immediately found my touch by hitting my favourite double 6 then hitting 20 with the next two darts. My dad on the other hand, despite scoring well throughout the day, struggled to hit that important double to enable him to score. By the time our two games of darts for the grand prize had finished, both my dad and I had finished £2 poorer, and my granddad, with a grin on his face, managed to flourish an extra £4 to what he had at the start of the day.

Many reading this will find it impossible to believe how I can talk so long about a game of darts, but there's a moral behind this post. My darts performance today is a perfect example of how a usual Sunday entails. It starts off well, enjoying the occasion and another day of living, but as the hours pass, the quality of the Sunday heavily decreases, into a state of the unknown or to an extent a sense of disbelief at how atrocious they can sometimes be. My darts display began with a flourish, only to end like a 0-0 draw at a football match you have paid £50 for-a shambles!

Today was different. I enjoyed myself, and in the winter it is little things like this that make Sundays was they should truly be. Sundays should be a fun day, one which doesn't follow the stereotypical view that just because it is religious, we shouldn't enjoy our day. For now I will find new ideas of creativity to entertain me on these dismal days, but it is only three months until my Sundays become one of the most important days for me. In three months, the cricket season starts and every Saturday, Sunday and Wednesday, my day will be filled with nothing but cricket.

Many Thanks for reading

G.M