Rugby 101
At junior school I was in the '6th Game'. For reference, the '1st Game' was all the proper sporty types who played against other schools and shit. The '2nd Game' was a slight drop down - they played other schools too, but not at such a high level. And so the list dropped, right down to us in the '6th Game'. We had no other schools to play against (though once we lost to the local girls school in a volleyball match) and we were assigned the worst, non-sporting, couldn't-give-a-shit teachers to watch over our games sessions.

The 6th Game at HF Prep was quality through and through. We had the wets, the weeds, the fatties, the asthmatics, the Japanese, the Indians, the special needs and the 'differently abled'. None of whom had any desire to be anywhere near a playing field on a cold, drizzly Weds afternoon.

The game was rugby. The teacher was Mr Pullen, the science master. Pullen was a legend. He had a shock of red hair and an equally red beard - both of which he left to their own devices, creating the mad-scientist look he was probably aiming for. He was famous for careering down corridors, heaving kids out of the way shouting, 'COME ON YOU PEOPLE!' at the top of his voice. Nutter. Probably wouldn't be allowed near children in this day and age.

His science classes were legendary too. He used to leave the chemistry cabinet open – cue me and many others leaving school with ribbons of magnesium and bottles of mercury, leading to burnt retinas and a probably cancerous later life.

But anyhoo...back the question. The game was rugby. Mr Pullen had never played rugby before. He actually turned up to the pitch with a huge booked entitled 'The Rules of Rugby'. He got us to jog round the pitch, then called us to the touchline and started to explain the rules. He could barely be heard above the wheezing, retching, feeble mass of bodies that was the 6th Game. He explained kicking. He explained tries. And then he explained tackling.

A volunteer was needed. Pullen pointed at Rapinder Sood, the skinniest, bow-legged, tiniest - but still only moustachioed boy in the school.

We noticed the Head had wandered to the games fields with a couple of prospective parents in tow. They paused to take in our lesson.

'You boy!' Pullen shouted. 'I've got the ball, I'm going to jog over there, I want to tackle me, below the knees and retrieve the ball. Got it?'

'Yes Sir.' mumbled Rapinder.

Pullen jogged off slowly. Rapinder followed behind even slower.

'Now boy. Now!' screamed Pullen.

Rapinder caught up with the teacher. He made an effort of diving for Mr Pullen's legs but missed any real connection. But he succeeded in just catching his ankles...and he held on for dear life.

Mr Pullen continued to jog on. Rapinder continued to grasp his ankles. There was no way Rapinder was ever going to bring the teacher down. But something else did come down.

Rapinder's doggedness in hanging on to Mr Pullen's ankles made sure that the teacher's tracksuit bottoms were pulled all the way down.

Mr Pullen was not wearing shorts under his tracksuit. Mr Pullen was not wearing pants under his tracksuit. Mr Pullen was wearing fuck all under his tracksuit.

And there he stood, for a split-second that will be held for all eternity, stark bollock naked from the waist down, a shock of ginger pubes surrounding a not inconsiderable cock and balls.

The 6th Game were rewarded that day. So what if we never knew the joys of winning a game in the last minute. So what if we never felt the surge of victory as we vanquished our opponents. So what if none of us have been near a ball or a blade of grass for the last 20 years. So what. Because we can tell the world with clarity and conviction about the day Rapinder Sood de-bagged Mr Pullen on the rugby pitch, in full view of the Headmaster, some parents and every member of now legendary 6th Game.
( Albert Marshmallow is a completely irredeemable cunt, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 14:05, 1 reply)

Have a click
I'll go away and learn to breathe again.
(The Ear-Trumpet Addicting is NOT a word., Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:41, closed)