The Abundance of Sport

Football, Wimbledon and Rugby, All at Once

Three o’clock in the morning, and I wasn’t even watching England. I’ve been late to bed most nights since the World Cup started, and this week Wimbledon’s joined in. Today, the rugby world adds a new tournament: the Nations Championship kicks off. England take on the Springboks, and—thanks to my Scottish wife—I’ve taken an interest in Scotland’s game too. Three of my favourite sports, one increasingly tired man, and a bedtime that keeps sliding steadily to the right.

The Time Zone Problem

The late bedtime, in fairness, isn’t entirely my fault. This particular World Cup is being played across the Americas, which means later game times for those living this side of the Atlantic. Kick-offs at civilised times in Los Angeles land somewhere near midnight here, and I’ve discovered that the telly is impossible to turn off if the match is getting exciting.

The Sleep Debt Experiment

The first serious project of my retirement, back when it was all still novel, was catching up on about three decades of sleep debt — a genuine, deliberate campaign, complete with nine o’clock bedtimes. I treated this seriously, and I certainly needed it. The moment my body realised repayment was possible, it demanded full payment. It was a good plan, and one that would once have mattered — a rested body used to be a duty requirement, not a preference. My plan worked, right up until it met a football match I didn’t even have a side in. And here I am, not even a year into the good sleeping life, cheerfully dismantling all of it one late night penalty shootout at a time. The debt I spent months paying off is quietly climbing back up the ledger, and it can wait there as long as it likes.

The Nap Under Siege

There’s not much opportunity to catch up with daytime naps either. Wimbledon runs through the early afternoon, the rugby’s going to take up all day today and the next two Saturdays, coverage starting early morning and running straight through to when the night-time football is on. Between the two of them the post-lunch doze — a reliable repayment method on the debt — hasn’t had a clear run at me in a fortnight. Bed too late, up too early, nap ambushed by a tiebreak. An efficient way to reconstruct the sleep pattern I spent a career trying to manage, except this time entirely by choice, with my feet up on the sofa and with considerably better snacks — salt and vinegar or roast chicken flavour out of preference. My wife has started accusing me of snoring during the games. I’m sure she’s exaggerating.

When Discipline Meets Sport

So: bed at three again tonight, probably, sleep debt reopening its account, and not a single nap safely banked until this lot’s all finished. When I was working, this would simply not have happened. Now I wouldn’t have it any other way — nobody’s enforcing bedtimes anymore, and it turns out that’s all the leeway I needed. Nine months ago, if asked what might surprise me about retirement, the answer would certainly never have been classing a building sleep debt as a simple pleasure.