It was already getting cold as Clare and I arrived at Moorebank for the hockey. I stood there with a pink champagne (a charity fund raiser was on at the same time) watching the girls get ready. By the time the game got underway, it was dark and quite cold.
I chatted to a dad from the other team, for I had overheard him mention Armidale.
"Where does your daughter play", I asked? "Goalie", he said. "So does mine," I responded. "Yes", he said, "Clare was born in Armidale when we were up there. I was teaching at Dem and completing my honours at the University of New England." "Good lord", I said, "My Clare was born in Armidale too. How do you spell Clare?" "C L A R E" he said. "Same spelling," I said. "What did you do honours in?" "History", he said. "So did I", I replied.
We chatted on, two dads with the same degrees from the same place, watching two daughters with the same names born in the same city play against each other in the same positions in a city far distant. There was a certain symmetry to it all.