Disabled Wrestling Pro
When I was in me secondary school I was not the most able of kids and put in the lower PE class. I wasn't bad actually, just wasn't interested in playing rugby in horizontal rain conditions.

Ya know, looking back at this our school was incredibly black and white when it came to if you were worthy of real PE or not. If you were then all football and rugby, if not it was always in the gym every day it's raining playing tennis-ball cricket. Also because of this central divide it meant that people who was not that bad at sports and PE were stuck playing dodgeball with the disabled kids.

Not that this isn't fun. Hurling a giant tennisball full pelt in a dribbley's face and not getting arrested is something every child should be allowed to experience at least once in their life.

But one particular disabled kid in this rough council estate all-boys school was actually one of the lads and it was generally regarded as cool to hang around with him. "The Weebo". He was about 4 foot tall and completely circular in body mass, and walked with a limp due to one leg not being formed correctly. Due to has overly large mass and odd composition however he was freakishly strong, even though he couldn't run and only move about like a one flippered penguin. In terms of marbles though he was quite possibly one of the most sound and funniest guys I've ever spoken to.

Anyhows, back to PE. Weebo as normal is forced to sit this on out, as he couldn't pretty much move unless he had 5 minutes notice beforehand. He's managed to perch himself on top of a vaulting horse to the side of the gym, on the touchline. We're all playing football and having a laugh, that was until one of the larger school bullies started throwing his weight about during the game. Well I say larger, he was the same height as us but just had a big head (in the physical and attitudal sense). He started mouthing off and was bullying some of the lesser able kids and was making himself look a complete wanker. The PE teacher is totally aware of this by the way and just stands there watching him abuse everyone. Cheers teach you cunt.

Halfway through the game, aforementioned cunt wins a throw-in right in front of Weebo's perch. As he's getting ready to throw in he whispers some sort of insult to Weebo before turning his back on him. Oh dear, Weebo didn't like that. So much so that he leapt off his perch and all 15 stone of him landed on the prick's back, while Weebo got his tree-trunk arms around his throat and got him in a choke hold. Amazingly the prick managed to stay on his feet for about 5 seconds before the gorilla swinging of Weebo eventually slapped him hard to the ground. Even more amazing was the fact that Weebo didn't let go and they rolled about on the floor, choking the life out of him.

After about 30 seconds of everyone watching this and pissing themselves laughing (in some cases literally) the PE teacher finally decided to step in, which only seemed to be when the bully's head started turning a rather healthy shade of purple. Ah well, maybe the teach wasn't such a cunt after all. Also, because the news of a disabled kid beating up the bully on school ground and being allowed to get away with it by teachers meant that the bully's days were numbered. As Weebo was always there. Watching and waiting :D
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 10:01, 3 replies)

Inter-school championships, lots of parents and attractive sisters of my fellow pupils, and I was on somersaulting-over-the-horse duty
Ran, bounced, flipped, kneed myself in the face so hard my nose burst claret all over the shop and brained me well enough to result in my faceplanting directly at the feet of the prettiest girl in the room.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 9:50, Reply)

PE = Possible Emergency
Deciding that the field was too wet to play rugby, due to the teacher being Welsh (Mr Jones - you didn't see that coming) it seemed to be the only outdoor sport he wanted to teach, we moved into the sports hall to try something different........the high jump. We were taught to try and jump over the bar with both feet together and land on your back/arse on the wafer thin 'crash mat', I can still hear the comment "try not to hurt yourself" as he encouraged the first person in the queue to give it a go. Needless to say there were a few injuries that day.
We also had to club together a cricket team for a match on a Friday evening, we weren't very good at cricket, the other team was. They batted first and piled on the runs, after finally ending their innings the PE teacher in charge of us gave us some encouraging words, "hurry up and get out, i'm supposed to be going out tonight". I think we scored about 30. He was happy.
(Midamachewspageoshirkews We don't need another hero, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 9:44, Reply)

I've mentioned it before but
My status as Richard's "worst enemy" was confirmed when I shat down his back in the sports day piggy back race.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 9:40, 2 replies)

David Kirkham.
He'd got hairs on his willy a good 12 months ahead of everyone else. Made most of us feel thoroughly inadequate that did. The pubescent git.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 9:40, 2 replies)

You only need three,
Fight The Power, Don't Believe The Hype, and Get The Fuck Outta Dodge.

Yeah Boiiiyyyyyyyyy!
( Ping_Pang_Piddley_Dee couldn't give a big shiny fuck., Fri 20 Nov 2009, 9:39, 4 replies)

Mr Foley
Bit of a jack the lad.

One on particular fine morning a few of the big lads in the year above thought it would be hillarious (and to be fair in hindsight it was) to open the door to the staff room, pick me up lock stock and barrel and lob me inside, slamming the door closed behind to prevent a swift escape.

However this particular fine morning was also the morning that Mr Foley had chosen to cop off with the fittest teacher in school* Miss Wilkinson, I was frozen to the spot with fear, hands were quickly withdrawn from nether regions and I was promptly propelled from the staff room in much the same manner as I had arrived.

I was later assured by everyone in my class that they'd been having sex, and I of course was a hero having seen** what Miss Wilkinson had to offer.



*as voted by year seven
** not really, but why shatter the illusion
(Psymon_Spark Jesus Saves! The rest of you take 4d6 damage, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 9:35, Reply)

The boys' changing rooms...
...at our 'Lower' School (ages 11-14 for you pedants out there) were, by a weird stroke of fate, situated above the girls' changing rooms. Nothing of note there you may think. However, a drama block was located slap bang in front of the entrance to both changing rooms (we entered and went upstairs, the girls marched straight in). Now the drama block was 'finished off' so to speak in a type of shiny, plastic-ey enamel-like surface, which gave it qualities of reflective-like proportions.

Thus it was that we got to feast our eyes upon pubescent norks and growler until the powers that be cottoned on and re-covered the offending services, not before 50 pre-teenage boys had avoided showers for a year, lest their *ahem* "emotions" were displayed. it's a good job we had school bags as they covered a multitude of sins, including the walk from the bus to the first lesson of the day...
(SonoraAeroClub "OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!", Fri 20 Nov 2009, 9:34, Reply)

Mr Thompson
Was a legend.

There was this one time when in the old year 5, (10 now?) We were in his car being driven back from another school after playing rugby, just after lunchtime, the rest of the team being in assorted other cars behind.

As we got within about 300 meters of our school and he spotted another PE teacher from our school who was walking on the pavement, returning to school. She was the swimming / hockey teacher and rather fit - we knew he was banging her!

He decides to turn off the engine and coast up behind her and give the best arse slap ever. Considering we were doing about 25mph at the time plus his swift ninga type arm movement he must have caught her at about 40 miles an hour! She jumped out of her skin and screamed as he started the engine and we all drove off laughing like a cage full of baboons at feeding time.

Top bloke was Mr T.
(Suck it and Sea, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 9:31, 6 replies)

To you, Mr Nastase
Two of my PE teachers used to be keen tennis players.

They'd often go and play each other at lunchtime. My mate and I used to sit and watch them, just for the hell of it. But the odd thing was that they used to pretend they were Ilie Nastase and Yannick Noah. No kidding. For the entire game, they called each other by these names.

It was most bizarre hearing such exchanges as:

"Oh, good shot, Mr Nastase".

"Thank you, Mr Noah"

between two white, middle aged, Scottish PE teachers, one of whom was rather pot-bellied.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 8:56, Reply)

School report
For PE in the last year simply read:

Who?
( snee held his breath since, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 8:45, 2 replies)

"This is how to take a drop goal lads"...
...said Mr Bastard, our PE teacher in a lesson involving the big posh sod's game of rugby, standing a mere 10 yards from the uprights (he wasn't really a bastard, he was OK, but just thought I'd keep in with people's recollections of PE teachers this week).

He proceeded to hold the weird egg-shaped object (ie. the ball) out in front of him, dipped at 45° angle to the ground, and swung his right boot back behind him. As he did, he released the ovoid item from his grasp. As it fell, it breached the sodden ground and bounced up, barely and inch or three from the deck as his dirty great big clod-hopper came through on the arc, connected,* and propelled the ball up towards the uprights.

It took a somewhat flat trajectory and hit the crossbar on the underside rim, causing the giant piece of hen's arse produce to ricochet back towards him at a rate of knots and smack him bang in the face.

Well, we didn't know what to do. So we decided the best course of action would be to collapse in paroxysms of laughter (I mean proper 100 sit-ups belly laughs; I had a washboard stomach after that episode). He then proceeded to make us all do two laps of the entire field - but it was worth it.

*check out the Oxford comma
(SonoraAeroClub "OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!", Fri 20 Nov 2009, 8:44, 4 replies)

Mrs Whitwam
She hated it when we called her Mrs Wigwam but we did it as often as we could.

PE sucks. Much better as an adult.
(British Steel was participating in awesomeness on, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 8:29, Reply)

The girls
female PE teacher at our school got caught in bed with the home economics teacher (also female) by a whole class of 14 year olds when they wandered into the mock house in home economics.
Didn't have bloody mobiles with cameras in those days, didn't even have mobiles. Bollocks.
(Captain Spacker I lick windows, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 7:43, Reply)

Stringy Knackers
I have a happy memory thanks to PE Lessons. Back in the '70s, sports kit was provided by the leading giants such as Admiral and Ruccanor. The shorts at the time, were in a satin finish, very loose fit, with slashes up the side. A very odd affair to start with.

Me and my mate were sat on a bench in the gym - because we "had a note" that I had duly created for myself and him that morning. Being an early smoker, physical activity was not high on my list of things to do.

The rest of the class were engaged in crab-football... that peculiar game were you make some sort of "gymnastic bridge" and scurry about on the floor, with your head forwards and tackle upwards.

Not really paying much attention, my mate nudges me and says "look at Motty's stringy knackers". And it was so true.

Motty's ginger-ball-bag was flapping around in a devil-may-care manner astride the gusset of his shorts, his plums visible on the longest downward gravitational stretch of a scrote ever witnessed by man or beast.

We laughed and laughed. We pointed it out to others. And before long, Motty's Stringy Knackers had become a legend in their own double-PE lesson.

Motty was a very good friend to me throughout my teenage years, and sadly he is no longer with us. So my thoughts are always tinged with a little sadness - but the stringy knackers were just the beginings of the happy-funny-shit that mad son of a bitch and I got up to.

Miss you mate!
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 7:40, Reply)

Two for One!
Something about Star Wars, followed by a conveluted and shite pun.

How's about something with some comedy next week? I can see this one ending tears, for some reason.
(The Boy Monders I have ginger bits in my beard., Fri 20 Nov 2009, 7:39, Reply)

bin done? not seen it
Those who can, do. Those who can't do, teach. Those who can't teach, teach gym.

Woody Allen
(DreddPirateBob has watched every scifi film ever on, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 7:31, Reply)

Towel-Snapping
I was just trying to have a pleasant, anonymous shower after PE, when the bastards started provoking me, by rolling up bath towels and snapping them at my ass. Oh, they were hooting like a grove of chimpanzees, they were!

So I lunged for one of the towels. I missed the towel, but grabbed something else, something soft between the legs of my chief tormentor.

Oh, they were hooting like an entire jungle of chimpanzees after that!

Bastards!
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 5:32, Reply)

I spent a term
learning the lyrics to "Making Your Mind Up."

To this day, my favourite subject is Fizz Ed.

(Next term wasn't as good. They changed the name to Physical Education, and we had to study Olivia Newton-John).
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 4:57, 1 reply)

I couldn't urinate without getting it all over the seat
until I had PE Lessons.
(Hitler's other ball. R soul., Fri 20 Nov 2009, 4:18, Reply)

I have a swimming certificate
that congratulates me for swimming 2 metres.

This was after 4 years of lessons at school. I assume they gave up, seeing as I was about to enter big-people-school.

I'm still prouder of it than my real qualifications, although I fancy in a few months when I graduate pretending my science degree is actually a "Bronze Swimming Certificate" to go show my old teachers to prove them wrong.

Yay Red Dwarf
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 4:14, Reply)

My best mate in small-people-school
Always ended up fielding in cricket with me. Whereas I would randomly leap for the ball in the complete opposite direction to where I should have gone, she just refused to go anywhere near the ball because "the ball is dirty and boys have handled it."

Didn't stop her having her tongue down most of the year's necks though...
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 4:04, Reply)

Let's get this little one out of the way:
If you're *dyspraxic*, you have a learning disorder that amongst other things, affects physical coordination and following muscle movement sequences.

This means that, like dyslexics who require extra English lessons to get by in the real world, you want *extra* lessons. Obviously, the kid needs a teacher who understands and thus is willing to explain how to catch a ball/run correctly/run through sequences of movements and if they're diagnosed at school these days this should over the next 10 years or so now be the case.

It eventually took several months of daily lessons of about an hour a day for me to learn how to catch a ball. I'm still not good at it, but I can explain what I'm doing and give it my best shot. I may have managed this earlier if I knew what the problem was.

I'll be on anyone who says "I'm dyspraxic, I shouldn't have done PE" like lynx on a greasy chav. You're obviously allowed to complain about bastard teachers who didn't understand that you found it hard but you tried anyway though. Especially if moustaches are involved.
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 3:49, 3 replies)

A lot of blokes found PE a real pain in the arse at my school
but, when the PE teacher was given 11 years for multiple counts of sexual penetration of a child under 16 some of the guys seemed rather disappointed.

Link to follow when I find it.
(bad_advice QOTW survivor from the first trollocost!, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 2:05, Reply)

PE was shit at my school
But, I bet it was fucking excellent at this school.

www.smh.com.au/news/National/Tearful-teacher-jailed-for-sex-with-boy-15/2005/05/05/1115092602035.html

The system needs more quality teachers like this I say, who no doubt drove Honda Accords.

- NOTE - No Horse Sites included!
(bad_advice QOTW survivor from the first trollocost!, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 1:57, 1 reply)

P.E. lessons
It is now a few years ago that I had to endure the P.E. lesson.

All I can remember is that the teachers had a penchant for sado-masochistic torture in the gym. It was (so I would imagine) like being at an army boot camp. Barking orders at you and if you did not complete the exercise, then you had to do it all again.

The weirdest thing was the showers. They had a window into the communal shower that was covered by page 3 wimmin. Only they had a small round circle in the pages that was used as a spy hole. The door to their office was always closed during the shower period.

I chose to stink all day than rather have the thought of the old men having a crafty hand-shandy over the thought of young, nubile boys in the shower!

Thank God that the school was closed down a couple of years ago.

that school was Kingsway High School, and you know who you are!
(ToMeToYou is bumming a Unicorn on, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 1:26, Reply)

Falling to the wet earth in pain
clutching his ankle, my mate Paul swore he'd ruptured something. There was no one anywhere near him to put in a tackle, the big bag of shite just went down and did his dying swan routine. After jogging over and giving him a playful tap on the foot with my studs I realised he wasn't actually faking it.

"AAaaoooowwwwwwWWWWWeeeeeiiiIIIieeeeee !!!" Paul went as white as Michael Jackson after a flour fight as the footie game continued round us. "Think I've ruptured summit !!!" Looking back Paul had probably done in his posterior ligament (easily done without any physical contact, just have to put your foot down at an odd angle).

But that's not what he told the PE teacher. By the time Mr Butler had stopped the game and lumbered his fat bearded carcass over to us, I'd already filled Paul in on what his injury probably was. And the cunt only went and fucking beleived me.

So, as a crowd of milling teenage boys gathered round my sticken mate, rain pouring down, Paul declared between clenched teeth:

"Sir, I think I've ruptured my hymen."

The origin of nicknames is pretty random; for the rest of our time at Northampton School for Boys my mate Paul was known as Paula by the rest of the fellas on the footie team.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 1:25, 3 replies)

Hockey
Without wanting to sound like a black sheep so early on, unlike the majority of the posts so far this week I bloody loved PE when I were at Secondary School. I represented the School in Rugby, Football and Cricket, and when we moved Campuses to start our GCSEs (now known as Year 10) at the tender age of 14, us lads were introduced to hockey.

Now for some reason I found an extra-special aptitude for this queer old non-contact sport; I scored goals for fun. In my first-ever hockey-based PE lesson I scored nine goals. The premise seemed to be that one kid would actually connect with the ball and knock it twenty or thirty yards or so, the 'defence' would attempt to stop the ball by chopping their sticks down on the ground, albeit too late, and yours truly would 'latch on' to the through ball using his cheetah-esque pace and score.

So it was that the School decided that a decent number of Year 10 lads seemed OK-enough hockey players, and a team was formed and fixtures arranged against local Oxfordshire Schools, with me being selected as centre-forward, on account of my prolificacy in front of goal (I had, by this point, scored 26 goals in four PE lessons).

So it was that we played our first match. I soon realised that the tried-and-tested routine - run onto through-ball that the defence completely messes up the act of cutting out - wasn't going to work, as the opposing School had obviously selected guys at the back who had mastered the basic art of stopping a hockey ball coming towards them. I did manage to pinch a goal in that game, and we drew 2-2. Not a bad result at all considering it was our 'debut' hockey match.

Our next game was against a local college - bigger lads than us - so we were to be up against it. Our School had the genius stroke of playing the game to coincide with the School lunch break, so we would receive support from a large number of pupils and teachers midway through the first half and most of the second. We got an early goal to calm our nerves, and I struck just before half-time to put us two-up, just as bodies started beginning to congregate around the pitch. I added to my tally early on in the second period, to some cheers and applause and although they pulled one back, we had a cushion. We scored a fourth, and with ten minutes to go I was eyeing my hat-trick.

So fate prevailed. A through ball was missed by the defence, and I had the chance I wanted. One-on-one with the 'keeper, I advanced rapidly, let him leave the sanctity of his line, and as he rushed towards me I calmly stroked the ball to his right, the ball noisely clacking against the wooden backing of the goal.

The adrenaline was really flowing now. I was pumped, I had an audience, and so, in split-second, my adolescent brain made the democratic decision to play to the crowd and celebrate. I was to lower my shorts and moon them.

Now, this manoeuvre generally requires stealth and dexterity as well as a cessation of movement before the lowering of the flag can take place if you'll pardon the expression. I, however, decided to lower my undercarriage whilst still in motion. I managed to wrest my shorts down to expose the top half of my buttocks, but in this process I managed to lose my balance and tumbled to the ground, one hand clasping my hockey stick, the other gingerly holding my shorts. As I had no hands free to necessitate a soft landing, I hit the ground hard and my hand freed itself of my shorts which dug into the turf as I landed, lowering themselves (and my underwear) to that sacred area between groin and knee, exposing my Crown Jewels to all and sundry.

It not being the warmest day on record, my genitalia had decided to adopt the appearance of a garden snail slowly retreating back into its shell. Thus, not only did I receive dentention after a trip to the Headmaster's office to explain my action (which I also had to explain in writing) but the paucity of my giggle stick prevented me from being deemed a worthy suitor until well into my A-Levels...
(SonoraAeroClub "OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!", Fri 20 Nov 2009, 1:07, 5 replies)

being the fat kid
i always got picked last for teams. this suited me fine, as i'm not the sporty type.
one year, however, our teacher decided it was time to give the unsporty kids a chance, so i was appointed one of 2 team captains for hockey.
unfortunately, my number one enemy was made captain of the opposing team.
the very first game, the teacher blew the whistle and i swung my hockey stick.
with a sickening THWACK! it hit my opposing number squarely in her bulldog-reminiscent face, turning her nose into an interesting piece of modern art.
i, of course, apologised profusely, claiming that my inexperience had caused me to swing far more powerfully than was needed. unable to entirely prove otherwise, my teacher had to accept my excuse and let me off with a warning.
we were back to playing netball the week after.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 1:01, 2 replies)

PE - Hockey and Tennis
I went to a (state) grammar school in the 90s in one of the richest parts of the Home Counties. The school was always one of the best schools in the area and took rugby, cricket and football very seriously. A few times the school played Eton or Harrow and almost always won which caused the PE Department to be on cloud nine for awhile.

Me....well I was one of the people who was always last at sport. It's not that I didn't like it, I did, I was just shit at it.

I did have some enjoyable moments. Shortcutting the five mile cross country circuit so it was less than one was good, but two incidents stick in my mind.

The first was hockey. Now I was...and still am tall for my age. In Year 9 (Aged 13-14) I was the tallest bar one and the hockey sticks that were bought were designed for sodding midgets. An hour of playing hockey used to make my back sore for the rest of the day and so I was never in a good mood when we had to play hockey. This one lesson, it was raining hard and I was up against a "team" of neanderthals whose use of the hockey stick was limited to smashing it against my ankles. After ten or fifteen minutes of this, I saw red and raised my stick above my shoulder and shouted at one the bastards on the other team ready to embed the hockey stick into his face when it was pulled from over my shoulder. Mr Churchill sent me off the hockey field and I spend the remaining 45 minutes in the warm library. Surprisingly nothing came of it.

The other incident was a Mr Whitby who took to standing behind my opponent on the tennis court and was incredibly angry when the ball smacked him on the top of the head, as it came up from my serve. As I reasoned, if I had aimed for him, I'd have probably missed, and that was that. Enjoyable hit though!
(jdharding, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 0:59, Reply)