Roger Swinburn

The Swinburn family was among six others that went to Scotland together in 1998. We stayed in the Invershire House on an estate in the town of Kincraig, about 120 miles north of Edinburgh. We all knew each other well. Roger and I coached soccer together. David, my son, and Greggy played soccer on the same team, and in school, were part of a gang that challenged the sanity of more than one SRS teacher. The Invershire House was a large lodge with a long driveway, a big circle out front and its own 9 hole gold course. Roger sized up the circle and the bought a cricket set from the town store. There were something like a dozen kids with us, completely Americanized and none of them — except for the Swinburn kids— ever even heard of cricket. But Roger’s liberal approach to refereeing and enthusiasm won the day. The kids loved cricket and played each day. It got to be that even our day trips were subject to getting back home in time for the day’s cricket match. When we finally put the kids to bed, worn out by pitching and batting and fielding, and the Laphroaig and the cigars came out, Roger was still going strong. Telling stories, gently needling and filling the lodge with his laugh.