Yesterday, my son took part in a junior tennis tournament. As I watched the competitive matches in progress, there was a lot of fist pumping, grunts, muttered expletives, muted swearing, loud groans and self flagellation. And that was just the parents. Most of the kids were just enjoying the tennis.

I often wonder how many of these parents were living out their dreams through their offspring. Both of my children have already achieved more in competitive sport than I ever did so I am immensely proud of them and just try to support them in everything they do - win, lose or draw.

I adjourned to the clubhouse for a coffee and took a moment to enjoy the hilarious, self-important, officious proclamations on the noticeboard:

‘Members are reminded that predominantly white tops or T-shirts must be worn at all times.’

‘All members are reminded that, during the club tournament, sporting logos on attire must not exceed 3 inches in size.’

‘Shoe tags must be worn by members.’

‘The Club shall be called the Mincing Old Boys Lawn Tennis Club.’

‘A mandatory ball fee will be levied on all participants on club nights and mornings.’

As I emerged again with my coffee, I noticed another parent quietly watching his son from the sidelines. However, this gentleman probably wasn’t living his dreams through his child. It was Pat Cash.