b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » PE Lessons » Page 1 | Search
This is a question PE Lessons

For some they may have been the highlight of the school week, but all we remember is a never-ending series of punishments involving inappropriate nudity and climbing up ropes until you wet yourself.

Tell us about your PE lessons and the psychotics who taught them.

(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:36)
Pages: Latest, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, ... 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Cunts and paedophiles the lot of them
French exchange students didnt know they had to bring a PE kit so they were doing it in their boxers in the snow.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:39, 1 reply)
Not showing off but ...
I had the most patient PE teacher in history. Being the worlds worst (outside of B3TA) at sports he diligently stuck by me trying me in a variety of sports and teams. I couldn't even get long jump right and that's 'only fucking jumping son'.
We eventually made a breakthrough when we discovered I could catch a ball, woo. Cricket beckoned until i was clean bowled on the very first ball of the match, oh well.
I never truly enjoyed sport but he was one of the few teachers in my school who actually had my respect.
It's just a shame that i am genuinely a lazy cunt. I eventually chose table tennis along with all the other asthma types.

He was an excellent teacher, no fiddling or peeking. Unlike Booker the Looker who took the other lessons, he fulfilled the obligatory PE paedo quota, pervert.

I wonder how many other posts will involve needy old perverts. It's just like the History Boys without the high drama.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:38, Reply)
Music and Sports.
For many many of my school years, I was "The Fat Kid". Suited me then, and even now I've lost a lot of the weight, I'm still quite portly. In short, I was built for comfort, not for speed.

End of year 9 and ShitBag Comprehensive School, and I'm invited to select my GCSE subjects. English Lit and Language, and Maths being compulsory. I pick Combined Sciences, Music, History, ICT and Design Tech.

Only I wasnt allowed to do music. A subject I'd excelled at to a reasonable level(read: I had dillusions of my own talent). I'd been playing guitar for a while by this point, and despite a better grasp of basic music structure than 90% of the mouth breathers I went to school with, I was forced to do PE instead.

Being the aforementioned friend of the pie, I was somewhat less than impressed with this, and used the theory classes as a doss/slight advantage into the biology section of science.

The practical classes, however, were a different kettle of fish entirely. In no way was I going to suffer the indignity of running around a part concrete, part bare-earth "playing field" for no man, woman nor beast.

In my younger days, I wasnt a terrible footballer. In my middle school, I'd made the right-back slot my own(looking back, that may be due to there being no decent left sided players in the borough) and as such, at high school I was almost always forced into standing on the far side of the pitch and glaring when the ball came near me.

I was even accidentally named on the starting 11 on one occasion, so I thought I'd make the effort, not let the side down, blah blah. Turned up and actually got stuck into this particular game. And then some utter gobshite slid in on me quite hard and wrenched a stud in behind my knee cap dislocating it rather severely, thus ending my glittering and illustrious sporting career at a tragically early age.

As a result of several weeks of crutches, there was no more PE practicals for 2 years, and a B in a subject I detested.

Also: My PE teachers were actually not too bad. Quite laid back. When I was at college, I used to see them in the pub a fair bit. I'm still on fairly good speaking terms with 3 of them now.

Also also, fuck PE, and all who sails in her :)

I still play music, and have been in several bands who have had very minor success on the local gig circuit. There is noise of getting some demos done in a proper studio for a change. Woo!
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:33, 1 reply)
Miss B
If you were having your period you were excuse from showering after PE.
However you had to go and tell Miss B. Now we all knew she was a lesbian who would ask for proof by looking up your snatch (well it was always said she had done once, to the friend of someones sister).
So if you braved it then you could tell her and she would mark it in her little book.
If you claimed to have your period too often then she would force you to have a shower.

I heard she got married - to a man.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:29, 2 replies)
A question within a question....
Why the fuck, when the weather was gloriously dry and sunny, did they insist on doing something indoors in the windowless light free gymnasium? Whilst, when it was shit and freezing, they got us all playing outside playing something akin to rugby?

I've seen PE teachers in the sun. They do not have some Twilight-esque quality. No Diamond-like skin, nothing about them is inviting and the only way they could be deemed to be ruthless killing machines is if they were to sodomise people to death.

I personally think they were just cunts.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:25, Reply)
I very much doubt that we were alone in that our PE teacher was a bullying, horrible cunt
This fellow would get us kids to do laps of the sports hall and would launch hockey balls at us in really quite spirited attempts to hit us. He'd generally just beast his classes in every sport he was obliged to teach, I often thought that he viewed the sport as an irritating necessity in order for him to get on with his true purpose of knocking fuck out of 13 year old kids.

Numerous muttered rebellions, which came to naught, occoured over the years until one fateful day. The testorone fuelled twat had gone spazmo over some imagined slight and had run the whole class ragged over the sports pitches - We were on our arses, puffed out, caked in mud and just completely disheartened until one lad sneaked back into the changing rooms and told us what he'd done. While our nemesis was berating the smaller lads for not putting the equipment back properly and was then stood over them as they redid their chores, our man calmly walked into the twat's private changing area/office/nonce HQ and proceeded to rub one out into the bottom of one his rugby socks. How we hooted in delight at the prospect of the wretched fucknut getting his foot covered in boyjizz.

He later got fired for allegedly getting a 6th former up the stick and getting head off a younger girl - Years later a mate saw him in the town shopping centre and from about 40 yards away bellowed "OI! insert name here!" at which the cunt turned around to be greeted with "You fuckin' nonce!". Cue much scurrying.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:22, Reply)
A friend of mine...
...once ran full speed straight through a tennis net, ripping it to shreds. Oh, how we laughed.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:21, 2 replies)
Jolly hockey sticks
We had hockey at our Winter Sports Days, a strange and unnecessarily cruel event. And despite being quite good at hockey compared to most sports, the PE teacher (or enforcer) still hated my guts. The fact that he had played for England at this wonderful sport helped his arrogance along a treat. So in this competition, in which he'd put me in the first team, he decided to berate me continuously from the touchline as we were playing. We were winning! And as the final 5 minutes came round, cruising to a 13-1 victory, I was still on the receiving end of 'You shit bastard!' in front of parents and the whole school. Understandably, I raised my hockey stick and smashed it into a nearby teammates knee, shattering his leg in two places. After the unfortunate victim had been taken to hospital, the sergeant major came over, not to bollock me, but to tell me that 'We all get a little angry from time to time.' Useful.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:20, Reply)
Ah, PE...
Going to an all girl's Catholic school made it mandatory that we were 'taught' PE by an ancient sadist who may or may not have once been a woman. We called her Adolfa, and she retaliated by hating each and every one of us with a venomous passion which was somewhat akin with how Nick Griffin views non-indigenous Anglo Saxons. Or how non-indigenous Anglo Saxons feel about Nick Griffin. Or how everyone feels about Nick Griffin.

As was Adolfa's wont, all PE was done outside, unless there was ACTUAL SNOW on the ground. Our PE kit consisted of an Aertex polo shirt and a gym skirt. That was it. Trackie bottoms or even shorts were verboten. So all we did was play tennis, hockey, netball or rounders. In arse-biting cold and rain.

The school had, for some unfathomable reason, installed a full-size swimming pool about a year after I arrived. This was never used, as the only time they tried it, 29 out of 30 girls in every class had their period every week for two months. Smart.

PE sick notes had the same kind of street value as a medium sized shipment of heroin. The girls who had more 'grown-up' handwriting would rake it in every week, often charging the extortionate price of TWO cigarettes or a whole bag of Maltesers for one (you may now be able to see why we hated doing PE, given that all we did was smoke and eat chocolate).

The best times I had doing PE were when we played rounders (although I am quite adept at whacking an enemy in the ankles with a hockey stick. If provoked. And holding a hockey stick). Upon the announcement that we would be playing rounders, before the teams had even been picked, at least ten of those too unfortunate to have a sick-note, and even those who did, would immediately shout "DEEP FIELD!", and leg it up to the top of the hill next to the rounders field, which was covered with long grass, and listen to music and smoke until it was time to come in (I do now see the irony of us RUNNING up the hill, but we didn't want to stick around long enough for Adolfa to thwart our plans. I suspect that Adolfa reasoned - as much as a PE teacher can do so - that at least we had done some exercise). In addition to the smoking opportunities afforded us by the camouflage of the long grass at the top of the hill, it was also the perfect vantage point from which to perv at the lads from the posh all boy's school doing PE.

In all my years at that school, not one person ever hit the rounders ball even half-way towards where all the deep fielders sat. It was at least 150 yards away.

It does say something to their tenacity that they didn't just scrap the whole ridiculous exercise and give us an extra lesson of SOMETHING USEFUL (for most of the girls, this would have been lessons in how to keep their legs shut - 60% of girls from my year had at least one child by the time they turned 20).
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:16, 5 replies)
As a lardy teenager, I failed to run the 1500 metres in the appropriate time. I am not built for running, or anything like that really and 1500 metres is a fuck long way.

The punishment was that I (and the others who didn't make it in time) were to rerun it in a future lesson.

At the time there was a local radio programme that was popular with most people at school (The FUNSTER! in retrospect it might have been shit). One of the segments let you ring in and put someone 'up against the wall' (like a firing squad, not in a rude way) for things they had done wrong. Mostly it was mates who'd not phoned each other or something.

I phoned up and nominated my PE teacher. I was on the radio for ages about how mean she was to make us run the 1500m twice.

Next day at school the lardy swotty kid noone noticed suddenly had the respect and admiration of her peers. Only for a day or so, mind, but it was worth it.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:16, Reply)
You can't spell Paedo without PE!
Our teacher had some sort of obsession with dance, unfortunately in his mind it involved a compulsory weekly lesson for all year 7 and 8's. This was nothing more than him getting us running in circles in the sports hall, wearing our white shorts and t-shirts that they insisted upon as uniform and skipping occassionally, whilst he played "I've got the power" or the the theme tune that was used on televised cricket for most of the late eighties.

It was the gayest thing in my life at the time and it was forced upon me weekly.

I cast my mind back now and realise that he was probably a paedophile.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:12, 2 replies)
Didn't need any, I'm fully aware of how my knob works.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:11, Reply)
My very first rugby lesson at secondary school
I'd never played rugby, never seen rugby, knew nothing about rugby. For the first and last time I got the ball and the opportunity to score what was apparently called a "try".

Legging it down the field with the ball, I crossed the try line and triumphantly hurled the ball down to the floor and did an over the top American football style celebratory dance.

No one had told me I had to be holding the ball when it hit the ground for a try and I got a severe mocking.

Fucking cunts. My classmates were just as bad.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:09, 1 reply)
I have no fucking idea about football
Like, I suspect, most of the other denizens of this 'ere board, I spent every football "game" in goal instead of being the team's star striker. I was shit at the game and, moreover, had no interest in becoming any less shit at it. My classmates seemed content to spend most of their time chasing that off-white leather bag at the other end of the pitch, which suited me. I got to spend an hour each week leaning against a metal pole and daydreaming about birds and sky, much like Fotherington-Tomas.

During one memorable game my team was a bit crap and let the ball cross to my side of the centre line, instead of keeping it at the other end of the pitch where it belonged. The defenders were nowhere to be seen, so the ball rolled towards me. Seizing my opportunity to execute a heroic save, and make a name for myself as not being completely crap at football, I ran forwards and picked up the ball. The sadistic bastard cunt PE teacher immediately awarded a penalty to the other team.

How the fuck was I supposed to know that the goalie's only allowed to use his hands within a defined area? What's the fucking point of being goalie unless you can pick up the ball at any time and place of your choosing? It's not like anyone took the time to explain the rules of the game to me. What, was I supposed to absorb the rules by osmosis, like the chav vermin with whom I was forced to associate every week?

Fucking stupid game. I hated it. And the miserable cunt of a teacher who made us play it. It was the same cunt of a teacher who disallowed my one and only rugby try (Yes! I scored a try!) because apparently he'd blown the final whistle some 15 seconds before my scrawny, 90-lb. frame crossed the touch line, and I hadn't heard it.

(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 18:00, 5 replies)
"what's the biggest muscle in the body?"
Asked the breezy looking bald guy with a trans-Atlantic accent to a group of keen year 7s.

A keen arthmelow kitted out in 1970s finest raises her hand. Wow! A question I can answer! On my first week in secondary school too.
"the buttocks, sir?"
Lots of laughter from the class, and a very red arthmelow. My brain had exchanged "most important" to "biggest".
And for the next 5 years, I was "Mrs Buttocks" to the PE staff.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:59, Reply)
Cannon Fodder
For a short while I went to a school that my mum taught at. I don't think the PE teacher got on with her very well. Certainly that's the only explanation I have for his utter vindictiveness towards me.

Normally it'd just be things like blaming me for anything that went wrong, or simply pretending I wasn't there, but then after a long holiday he clearly came up with his uber-plan.

I remember him coming bounding up to me on the first day of term with a gleam in his eye, "Go look at the sports notices board." I went. He followed. He'd stuck me in the First XV Rugby Squad. I'm still only a 32" waist now despite being 6'3", and I was thinner and altogether weedier then. I spent most of my time happily prodding an Acorn Atom in a dark basement for christ's sake.

So three times a week I got flattened into the mud by teenagers twice my weight. And every time, if I caught his eye, he'd grin.

I never played for the school, I was just cannon fodder. Tosser.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:58, 2 replies)
The loaner kit
Every school has one, and woe betide anyone who forgets their own kit. On a good day you're sent to pick litter from the school field, which is actually preferable to P.E. even if it's a bit like doing community service.

On a bad day you get the loaner kit. I only knew one kid in our year who got it. He was ginger and his name was Daniel Benson. The loaner kit was a burgundy (nice colour clash with his hair) sweatshirt, felicitously named since it was never washed and was soaked in cold, stale, congealed sweat from tens of previous deodorant-dodging 13 year olds.

But that's not all. Many years after the brief CB radio craze in the United Kingdom, this garment sported the slogan, in reflective silver italics:

"What's your handle?"

To give Daniel credit, he actually wore it with a little panache and tried to make a joke of it. I doubt he ever got the smell out of his skin though.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:55, 3 replies)
Been keeping tabs on the question of the week then got side tracked by Sequential Art, I blame Jolly Jack for me not winning first place.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:54, 2 replies)
The bigger they are...
He should never have been made to go up 'em, but up 'em he went. Not quickly mind, there was much wheezing and panting and we'd all convened to try out the next bit of kit while he was still going up 'em, but all credit to him, he pulled and stretched and forced and wobbled a bit, rested some and went again, but he was going up 'em even if it killed him.

Then he lost his grip, plummeted from the top of the climbing bars and shook the building to its foundations.

He was a big lad; he fell very, very hard.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:53, Reply)
One of my PE teachers
had one leg longer than the other so he walked around with a strange limp. I always wondered how he became a PE teacher, cos he quite clearly wouldn't be able to run and seeing as PE involves a lot of that sort of thing it was mystery as to how he would have qualified as one.
Maybe it was some kind of injury later in life, but I've not heard of an injury that leaves you with mismatching legs :s
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:48, 4 replies)
first page!
i rule (ironic eye roll)
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:47, Reply)
Ha Ha!
Ms Vernon getting hit in the face by discus, funniest PE lesson ever, especially as she had just told all us girls that standing toward the front of the throwing area/circle (whatever it is called) could be dangerous and we shouldn't do it. Cue much Nelson like Ha Ha-ing!
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:47, 1 reply)
I got kicked out of Sports Day
for three refusals at the high jump. I'm not running into a metal bar for anyone. Also, I - like everyone of you QOTW-reading dyspraxic geeks - see no shame in getting kicked out of Sports Day. I spent the day re-alphabetising my floppy disk collection instead.
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:44, 2 replies)
First page
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:43, Reply)
My PE teacher was a paedo just like everyone elses

True story

He was kicked out of one school for having sex with a year 9 which is about 14. Then they let him teach us which is a bit weird
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:42, Reply)
pah, 4th
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:42, Reply)
no prizes for second place

(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:42, Reply)

Edit: Yay! Will post real story of PE skivage soon (I never did PE)
(, Thu 19 Nov 2009, 17:42, Reply)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Latest, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, ... 4, 3, 2, 1