Shropshire Star

Jack Averty: Split sports personality thanks to parents!

Next weekend, when Wales trounce Ireland in Cardiff and romp home to a Six Nations win and their fourth grand slam in recent history, I will be cheering as loud as Martin Sheen will be from atop his beloved valleys.

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This isn't because I hate Ireland, or England, regardless of how much of a mess the country is in right now, but rather I am half Welsh, and bloody proud of it.

I went to two Welsh universities and spent four of the best years of my life across the Severn Bridge. I was a frequent visitor to Barry Island as a child, I think Gavin and Stacey is up there with being one of the best TV programmes ever made and I adore Welsh cakes.

But I am also a proud Englishman. Nothing gives me greater pleasure in life then watching reruns of the classic British sitcoms, and I have also become very fond of standing in long queues and moaning about it.

No one normally has any problem with my split loyalties and my adoration for both countries and cultures. But I get absolutely vilified around this time of the year for my choice of sports teams.

See I support Wales in rugby, and England in football. If the two countries were to square off in the latter, I would be jumping off my couch screaming for England, with the roles very much reversed for the former. As my partner will attest, I get somewhat passionate when it comes to England vs Wales in the Six Nations.

People hate the fact I support two international teams, they see it as disloyal and, in the words of one of my friends: "f****** ridiculous."

I do not do it to cherry pick. If I wanted to be some kind of international glory hunter then I would happily trace my ancestry back to when Jersey was part of Normandy and claim a fantastic victory for my home nation of France at last year's FIFA World Cup.

The reason I support the two teams across the two sports is quite simple – my parents.

My father is sport mad. I have never seen anyone watch as many sports as him and I am not sure I ever will. If Sky Sports were to introduce a specialist Korfball channel I think he would be the first to sign up. The only time he takes a break from his strict sport-watching schedule is to either nap or catch the occasional episode of Last of the Summer Wine.

But for all the sport he watches, he's never really been a mad rugby fan. Football, cricket and snooker for sure, but rugby just never quite perked his interest like the others. He would watch it if it was the only sport on offer, but that's like saying a serial eater would indulge in lettuce if it was the last food on earth.

With this in mind let me introduce my mother, who is Welsh born and bred. Her passions lie with the Real Housewives series, not the first round of the China snooker open. Whenever sport is on the TV she finds anything to distract herself, and has become quite the competent knitter thanks to my father's hogging of the Sky remote. But when Wales are playing rugby it is like a different woman has come running in from the kitchen. With her daffodil hat on, sport suddenly becomes the most important part of her life. You will never witness facial expressions quite like a Welsh mother watching her team face off against England in rugby.

But on the flip-side, there is not even a flicker of interest from her if it is Wales versus England in the football.

So this is the house I was brought up in, an English football mad father who doesn't much care for rugby and a Wales rugby mad mother who doesn't much care for football. Is it really such a surprise that I have grown up with such conflicting loyalties?

Everyone knows how much of an affect parents have on their kids growing up and this is just one of the many traits that has rubbed off on me.

How am I supposed to garner any passion for England in rugby compared to Wales when my memories consist of my mum going red-faced as she willed Wales over the try-line while my dad just tried to wind her up, not really that bothered if England won or lost against their arch-rivals.

It was then roles reversed when the egg-shaped ball became round and was being passed around a silky grass pitch.

Given my reasons, is it really fair that I get vilified for having torn allegiances when it comes to the UK's two most popular sports?

People's heritage should be celebrated and understood, not used as a stick to beat them with.