The Quarter Time Sprint

Shh! Don't tell! Miss C and I have been quite enjoying our Saturday mornings watching the ( I can't believe that bloke is)Under 19s play footie while young 12yr old Mr A does his bit in the umpiring team.
We are gaining in appreciation of the sport, whilst enjoying the finer parts of the culture - there's the banter with the canteen folk while waiting for a cuppa and (occasionally) a bacon and egg roll. Some of them have been volunteering since their 19 year olds were 5!

There's fantastic people watching available, this week we set our folding chairs up next to a very proud mum. I suspect that she was one of the Burmese Karen people who have settled in Australia as refugees. Her son was an awesome goal kicker! She was cheering him on, he heard her, looked round and gave her a quick smile and undercover thumbs up from the hip. Mums around the world are a mix of embarrassment and encouragement to their kids, aren't they?
Another bizarre aspect of the culture is the quarter time sprint. The hooter sounds the rest for the players, and dog owners with all sorts of beasts descend onto the oval. They run all over and then as quickly, scoot back off again.
Our two joined in the fun.

Me? I was fully participating in World Wide Knitting in Public Day with my second glove on four tiny needles, so couldn't possibly do the sprint!