Back in our first year of senior school,
I was the shy and quiet one with hardly any friends (no, this isn't another Carrie related post).
I did a couple of after school activities which nobody really knew about, until one day in P.E., our teacher got out a trampoline.
She showed us all how to bounce, and how to do some basic moves (seat drop, full twist etc), and so we all took it in turns to have a go.

And it got to my turn. Should have seen the look on everyones faces when I started showing off my somersaults....teacher said I should have told her beforehand I competed at a county level!

Mind you, I did get beaten up afterwards for being a "show off". Didn't stop me doing the same thing in gymnastics, though!
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 17:21, Reply)

Apparently...
...it's not the done thing at a School Awards Evening, upon receiving the Inter-House Football Cup, to lift it aloft and shake it above your head.

It finally sank in after I stayed behind and wrote it down for the 200th time the next day after school had finished...
(SonoraAeroClub "OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!", Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:55, Reply)

Over-enthusiasm
Did anyone else have the over-enthusiastic P.E. Teachers? - During our Rugby lessons, the faster that people ran, the shorter their names became. Christopher became Go on Chris! Go Chris etc.

Well I'm sure to this day that the PE teacher in question had no idea why, when in a freak incident a humoungous, yet bone idle and very slow lad called Nadeem ended up with the ball and started to make a leisurely amble to the try line.

The resulting stampede of excitement soon turned "Go-on Nadeem" to "Go-nad" - resulting in the try being scored because everyone was peeing themselves.

Another rugby related memory that always haunted me was when there was a fresh dog turd on the pitch at the start of the game. At the end of the game, the turd would always have "roll marks" on it - but remarkably never seemed to get stood on.
(libraryboy Cheer up, you could be french!, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:52, Reply)

Our lovely PE teacher imprisoned for being a kiddy fiddler!
Early 80s, 12 years old, jump out of the pool and go to get changed into indoor kit, damn I've forgotten my shorts. Our lovely PE teacher says this is not a problem, you can run round the field instead. Which is three inches deep in snow. In your trunks. Without your shoes. And no, you don't have the time to get yourself dry either, get out and get running. It seemed rather harsh but was fairly typical of the man.

The man being one Terry Lowther, who used to like getting into the showers with the boys and giving his bits a good shampoo, and was imprisoned just a few years ago after spending his 20 year tenure at the place showing young boys pornography and then fiddling with them. Thank god someone reported him and some other lads backed it up.

I suppose running around the field in the snow probably wasn't really that bad after all... perhaps he ignored me after my dick shrivelled up in the cold.
(Mei Wel Hung, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:42, Reply)

Group Showers
I'm sure there is a law that prevents teachers from forcing students into group showers. Didn't stop our school though. I would happily walk around school smelling of mud to avoid being touched up by the prematurely horny ones.

On the other side of the coin, it was bloody hilarious sitting in queues of classes and watching your friends bollock slide out of his shorts and nobody saying anything.
(Zgrzyt My dog gets more Christmas cards than I do., Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:30, Reply)

Cricket
The ubiqitous Mr Hanky described the quintessentially English game of cricket so eloquently in a previous post that I could barely add a shred of justice in detailing further, suffice to say that to me at the age of eleven, it gave off the air of the bastard spawn of an evil magician, what with its averages, run-rates, economy rates, overs bowled, wicket maidens, etc. Indeed some of its Esperanto-like terminology (long-leg, tickle to the slips, wafting outside off stump, stroking through the covers, et al) had me wondering whether cricket commentators doubled-up as pen writers for Forum and Knave.

So anyway, in our first summer term at 'big school', we began to play 'summer' sports. Running, jumping and rounders were all safely negotiated. I had to admit tennis wasn't my forte, but I gamely tried - but cricket, God, boring old cricket - here was a game that got right on my f*cking old wick!

I had no interest in the game (see first paragraph) and to be quite honest the game really f*cking annoyed me. Especially as the kids' programmes would be curtailed every other week during the summer holidays as these were the days when the Beeb (BBC) still had the televisual rights to screening England Test matches. Yaw-f*cking-uwn.

So, anyroadup, it was soon realised by the PE teacher in charge that there was a divide in his set - those who were good at the leather-and-willow pastime and those who were not, and yours truly neatly slotted into the latter grouping. Let's face it, when batting, all I wanted to do was to smash the bloody ball as far as I bleeding well could (the basic idea of the game from a batsman's POV) and when bowling I just wanted to smash the bloody stumps out of the ground (the basic goal for the bowler). However, more than not I would adopt the air of a Dutch windmill when batting, miss the ball by a country mile and be dismissed either stumped or bowled. When bowling, not having been able to master the fundamentals of running and releasing the ball while in motion, I frequently launched the ball a full 10 feet above the batsmen's heads, aficionados would term this a 'beamer', but the recipient would need a step ladder to even get anywhere near one of my deliveries, which contained no danger whatsoever to life or limb.

So fortunately, us 'dubbers' (to use a colloquialism) were usually (and thankfully) left to our own devices during PE lessons.

Until one lesson. Now, I was slowly starting to get the hang of this archaic Victorian relic of a game, and was batting when Teach came over to see how we were getting on. I'd realised that you didn't have to belt the bollocks out of every ball you faced, you could just bide your time and hit the bad ones (what with there being six balls in an over, tended to be between four and six per over) and was progressing nicely - something like 23 not out. Looking to impress Teach with my new-found batting prowess, I decided I'd launch the next delivery from the bowler into the stands, West Indian-style. So, lame kid tosses another dolly down, I dance down the wicket, calypso-style, like a latter-day Mark Ramprakash, heave the old bat....and miss completely. Fuck-a-rucka! thinks I. Here loseth my chance to further my sporting prowess with the command of a sport which I had no interest in. So, as the ball sailed past me, I swivelled on a sixpence, thrust my bat at the stumps, clattering them in all directions, managing to break one of them clean in two in the process and yelling "I'M IN....!!"

I span round slowly and caught Teach's gaze. He just shook his head slowly, turned around and went back to the cool kids. Next summer we had the option of cricket or softball, so I took the lesser of two evils...
(SonoraAeroClub "OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!", Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:30, 3 replies)

Unlucky teacher
A long time ago, far far away, I had the misfortune to be a teacher. Crap pay, some dodgy kids, but some very good fellow teachers. One of these entered the annals of legend, by having a spectacular start to his P.E. teaching career. Three weeks into his first term he is taking a bunch of miserable 15-year-olds for soccer. Like many teachers, the occasionally joins in, firing in the odd cross, and generally showing “how it's done.” Towards the end of the lesson, he decides to demonstrate his heading skills, by jumping high and nodding the ball downwards. Perfect. Unfortunately, his landing wasn't. He goes down in a crumpled heap, and after a minute or two, several of the students wander over realising this is not normal. He had managed to break his leg in two places. We still don't know how.

He is out for the rest of the term.

Two terms later, he manages to improve upon this. I am walking past the boys toilets during lesson time and I hear several students chatting away inside. Obviously, being a teacher, I have to find out what's going on. The students were not the brightest, but they were not bad kids. I always remember their response “Mickey XXX just broke Sir’s nose with a baseball bat, and Sir told us to get some wet tissues for him to clean up the blood.” Mickey XXX was okay 90% of the time, but he had a very serious temper problem, and about once a year he would really, really lose it. You may not know this, but most schools have got a coded message, which if used, tells other teachers to drop whatever they're doing, or leave their classes, because one of their colleagues is in deep trouble. So I was going round various classrooms, using this to round up a posse so we could go to the P.E. area mob handed, ready for anything. So we steam into his changing area, and find him quietly supervising the changing room, with blood spurting on his face, and Mickey XXX sitting in the corner saying ” I'm going to get expelled, I'm going to get expelled” over and over. Turns out Mickey XXX is left-handed, so he was swinging the bat in the opposite direction to righthanders, and so he was swinging it into the face of his P.E. teacher. Apparently there was a loud cracking noise. Oops....

He is out for the rest of the term…again.

Bizarrely, for the next five years he does not have one sick day, but he was still known as “Skiver” Smith.
(buriram, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:25, Reply)

I've been an avid reader of QOTW and B3ta in general for ages
Am I the only one who's getting increasingly concerned about the nastiness and outright hostility on here? Its one thing to have a joke with someone, but calling someone a cunt just because you don't like what they put on without contributing anything yourself isn't clever, it's just nasty.

And, yes, this DOES remind me of my terrible PE lessons. I really thought hostility for no aparent reason was a thing of the past for me and probably the silent majority who come here to get away from the real world and have a bit of a chuckle.

relurks.
(Great Amy, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:25, 5 replies)

Tramp Attack
Our school was big on trampolining for some reason. I honestly don't know why, it's not like we were the champions of the local Imaginary Trampoline League or anything, but we had two of the fucking things, and both our heads of sport were masters of the bouncy lattice. The big chief – let's call him Mr C, not because that was his name, but because I'm a huge Shamen fan – was a PE teacher in the classic mould. Every day he sported tracksuit and bling, with his glassy eyes covered in big tinted specs – imagine '70s Edward Woodward playing Jimmy Saville in a biopic. He was the Gene Hunt of secondary school atheltics, and as a result had earned the imaginative nickname of 'The Bastard'.
For our first lesson, in order to making bouncing seem somehow glamorous, Mr C assembled the class for a demonstration of tricks which were SO DANGEROUSLY DEATH-DEFYING that the pupils must NEVER, EVER perform them. Got that? That's the only reason I'm showing you these tricks, maggots, so you know not to do them. That sort of thing. To be fair, it was quite impressive as he performed a raft of double-kneejerk frock slides and underarm arctic rolls and all that stuff you do on trampolInes when you have NO FEAR OF DEATH.
Demonstration finished, Mr C then reached the critical 'warming down' phase, in which you gradually reduce the intensity of your bounces until you, and the mesh, come to a complete and harmonious stop, preventing you from falling off and bashing your head. You can guess what's coming next. That's right, he misjudged a bounce and landed bollocks-first on one of the springs, which locked its pitiless springy jaws fastly on the stems of his testicles. Mr C was in agony. Sweet, hilarious agony. Once the class realised this was not, in fact, a demonstration of a trick they should never try (well, I suppose it was in a sense), absorbed the awesomeness of the situation and stifled their hysteria sufficiently, they left the gym to alert another teacher, and eventually the emergency services. All the while Mr C was suspended by the balls, trying to hold himself steady as the spring crushed his nickynackynoos like a vice - after all, the slightest twist would result in instant nadputation. The sounds he made were along the lines of a wildebeest trying to rap in Chinese.
Once the fire brigade had stopped laughing, they realised the only way to free Mr C without eunachising him was to cut the attached of the trampoline away. Thus he was publically stretchered into the ambulance with a sqaure of trampoline chowing down on his dillbag. Following a short and humiliating operation, Mr C was finally freed from his bollocky nightmare. When he awoke, he was given the sad news – one of his men didn't make it out of the ordeal alive. The kids, as you can imagine, were sympathetic. They stopped calling him 'The Bastard' after that. Instead they awarded him a gentler, altogether fluffier nickname. 'Womble'.
(electricteeth, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:25, 5 replies)

Brown Pellet Hampered Swimming Trip
I have never been able to face swimming again, ever since a school swimming trip to the local council pool went awry.

While in the varucca-infested damp changing room putting on trunks in the most embarassed manner possible, a teacher leaned in to the doorway and a sudden expression of horror appeared on her face.

'EVERYONE OUT!' she screamed, and we soon realised that we wouldn't be swimming that day, as one traveller boy in our party had decided to curl out a small pebble of shit onto the floor before pulling up his trunks.
(mobileabuser I liked... clive, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:20, 1 reply)

I've just remembered another Heslin one - The bastard!
Games were finished and we were all in the changing rooms.
I was carrying a ball and "Odzie" called over for me to pass it to him. I dropped it onto my foot and lobbed it to him... and he caught it.
A tap on my shoulder and Heslin says.. "Go upstairs and ask Mr.McC for his belt."
So I did.
Mr.McC : "Who's it for"
Bof : "Mr.Heslin"
Mr.McC : "No... who is getting punishment?"
Bof : "Don't know"
I bring the belt back down, hand it to Heslin and turn to walk away.
"Come back here" he bellows.
"Hold out your hand" and then he proceeds to give me 6 strikes.
In some shock, after the six, I go to take the belt from home and return it (standard practice in a school run by the sadistic SJs)
"Other hand,now" and the shit gives me a further 6.

12 of the belt and I didn't even know why.
When I returned it, Mr.McC asks again who it was for and I said, me and that I'd just been given 12, Mr.McC asks why... when I said I didn't know he was quite comforting (not in that way)...

Apparently because I kicked the ball.

Heslin you are dead... and I hope you are rotting in whatever hell you could have imagined.
(bof, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:20, Reply)

I fucked up my knee playing rugby
My P.E. Teacher told me to "Run it off boy!"

I tried, It made it much much worse.

This is the inside of my knee now i21.photobucket.com/albums/b261/sybaf/P7110027.jpg
( Peej, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:08, 5 replies)

Table Tennis
We had a table tennis lesson with a teacher who to put it bluntly was the biggest, fattest, slimiest creep you ever saw. He would take us for table tennis and recommend that we wear small shorts and tight tops so it 'wouldn't hamper our actions' at all. We played table tennis and he watched from the other side of the room for 40 mins. Then after that he would tell us to run once around the school yard and back. When we came back the showers had been put on and he stood there as we filed past into the showers. It was a bit unnerving as every now and then he would pat someones bum and tell them to hurry up.
After this happened a couple of times we decided on a plan.

When he told us to run around the school yard we cut corners and ran as fast as our shorts would let us. We made it back in record time and he was stil packing away his balls(ping pong ones) and seemed a bit annoyed as he came in a bit red faced and half of the lads had already showered.
He came around the room and asked us if we had and we said yes even if we hadn't. He was pissed.
The next lesson came and when we finished and got ready for the sprint+shortcuts he said this time to run around 3 times. (only because he then had plenty of time to put the shit away and then ogle us).
I haven't really thought about the whole situation and how inappropiate it was until writing this message. SO WRONG!!!!
I hear he is dead now, he went to heaven happy though because of us.
All the names and addresses have been omitted to protect the innocent.
(whuppingboy, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:08, Reply)

pe? i loved pe, me.
the smell of deep heat in the changing rooms. those clods of earth outside the sports block, curiously holey, having fallen off rugby boots on the way off the pitch. diving tackles onto rock hard soil in february. being utter rubbish at tennis. practicsing hitting hockey balls on tarmac, the reverberation up the stick as you struck unforgiving macadam still making your hands numb in double music afterwards. the smell of fresh cut playing field in may. genuinely nice and not the slightest bit pervey teachers, all known by their first names. never quite grasping cricket. friction burns from the sports hall surface after a basketball collision. 20 a side games of indoor volleyball. being slightly put off by the mist of young hormones on sports day. feeling the pain of going off too hard in the house 1500m 2nd round. never quite losing the sense of power that wearing hockey goalie armour gives you. loving those two hours a week when you could forget about homework and run about like a loon and have fun.

i loved pe, me.
(magictorch, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 16:00, 2 replies)

Sadistic PE teachers.
I went to a run of the mill comprehensive but just like a grammar school we were brilliant at rugby and had sadistic teachers. It was not uncommon in mid winter, with frost on the ground to see a group of 14 year old lads playing rugby..... Shirts v. Skins !!
The teacher would line us up from the shortest to the tallest then designate which side of the field he wanted you to stand on by slapping hard on the face with a wet hand. Then to get 'warmed up' for the game we had to commado crawl across the pitch.
(Barnetboy, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:57, Reply)

gym knickers
i'm sure i'm not the only female b3tan to remember the horrors of gym knickers. those horrible, thick, heavy-gusseted monstrosities were the bane of the teenage girl's life. most were either navy blue, dark green or deep maroon, depending on the colour of the school uniform.
ours were a hideous shade of maroon.
if you forgot your gym knickers, you were forced to wear a pair of crusty cast-offs from the lost property box.
if you forgot your gym skirt, you had to do the lesson in your gym knickers and gym shirt, whatever the weather. we even had to do cross country in gym knickers if we'd forgotten our skirts.
why we couldn't wear a skirt from the lost property box, i don't know.
what i do know is that, whenever we had cross country, the local old gentlemen would always be out polishing their cars or cutting the grass.
elderly pervs.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:56, 12 replies)

Double Hockey
Nothing put the fear of God into me more than starting a new school year and seeing those dreaded words in my timetable.

Gym I could do. Tennis wasn't too horrific. And I could bluff my way through netball by sheer dint of a lot of running round like I knew what I was doing. But hockey... Hated it. Consequently, I used to contrive to have as many doctors appointments, opticians appointments,whatever I could manage, scheduled in for 9am Thursday mornings.

Luckily, whenever fortune forsook me and I actually had to go through with the lesson, I had a backup plan. Not quite sure how we managed it, but I and a couple of friends who disliked PE as much as I did managed to get ourselves as the two Half Backs and Keeper for the people in the class who were actually rather good. That meant that they were all up one end of the field tackling the opposition, hitting them with sticks and scoring goals, while Jane, Claire and I were up the OTHER end, having a chat about last nights' Red Dwarf.

My well known hatred of the game reached such an extent that by the 5th year, come the Interform tournaments, I always made it onto the list, playing the somewhat unique position of "Kitimariana, Left Inside"...
(Kitimariana, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:48, Reply)

Heslin and the Yellow Peril
This is one for the more "mature" (ancient) B3tans out there...

It would be the late 50s early 60s when Bof was only about 7.
Heslin was a PE teacher. (so was 'Nancy' but I won't go there).
As it was after the war, I can only assume that Heslin was a fitness instructor in the forces and a really nasty bastard to boot (hmmm... boot camp?)
At the start of the lesson, we had to line up for a kit inspection.
Is it clean? Is your name clear and present on it? Do I like to look of your arse? (well, maybe not that one)
Take one step, two steps or even 3 steps forward.

Then out came Yellow Peril... it was an old plimsole and his instrument of torture.
"One pace forward brigade, touch your toes!"
Then along the line he went... *Crack*, *Crack*, *Crack* until this phase of his mission was completed
"Two pace forward brigade, touch your toes!"
*Crack-Crack*, *Crack-Crack*, *Crack-Crack*, *Crack-Crack* until he was finished
"Three pace....." I think you get the gist.
A complete and utter masochist to 7-8 year old kids.

Someone stole Yellow Peril and became a hero overnight.

I found out afterwards that Heslin also thought of himself as a Greyhound racer.
He bought a dog and taking by taxi to it's first race,the bloody thing died. He did what anyone would do, I guess, he stopped the cab pushed the carcass out onto the side of the road and drove off.

Just an everyday event in Glasgow.
(bof, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:45, Reply)

Who remembers 999 life savers????
I can recall one episode a lad went running out on to the sports field only to turn around to find a javelin poking out of his neck.

Well, this plagued my adolescent dreams because one day, about a year previous to seeing this television programme, whilst smoking down the field. I was the sporty type you can tell, my friends and I found a stray javelin.

We threw it over the fence, after school went an picked it up.

Oh, the fun you can have with a javelin. We took it down the woods threw it at targets, used it for 'spear fishing' stabing cray fish mainly. We invented a 'game' called poker where one would climb a tree and the others would stand at the bottom with the javelin trying to poke the person up the tree other people would also be throwing stones at tree to 'encourage' the pokee in to pokeable reach.

When I thought about it after seeing that programme. BTW I am not a big person now so when I was 13 girl I was little at the best of times, jumping maybe 3 meters out of a tree with a bunch of other 13 year olds beneath one weilding a javelin scared the shit out of me.

But fear not I never got a javlin through the neck or any other part of me.

Before you start I know it is off the subject.

On subject!

Modern Dance - Like PE just more embrassing.

Take a number 11-16 year olds, insist they wear skin tight lycra, put in a room with full length mirrors at either end and ceiling to floor windows either side.

One windowed side over lookes the car park, anyone arriving/departing even just walking past the school can see you, other windowed side over looked about 15 class rooms.

Prance kids prance!
(Free pens 100, 101, 102 is still counting on, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:43, 5 replies)

same old theme - IT'S PAEDOGEDDEN!
We had the two default Welsh, rugby loving, ex-army, failed teacher types. One was a bit 'rapey-eyed' in the showers, but one was actually pretty nice and not a bad teacher. I got a bit sick of being picked for teams and having to spend my saturdays playing rugby though.

The girls had the standard lesbian/schoolgirl-interface love scandal too...so pretty much more of the same.

My favourite sports memories were becoming the area's champion 'cricket ball thrower' - when we were too young to do shot putt etc....

Also, lobbing a freakish sized man-child from almost the corner flag (total fluke though) during a interhouse football competition was a favourite moment.

Non P.E. but school sports related, man-marking and hacking down a schoolmate every day numerous times because I didn't like him ended up getting me a shoeing - Looking back, I deserved it.

In essence though, Cross country in the snow, Broken bones, Unsupportive Bra's, Playing 'skins' vs shirts, Ball in the face/nuts, communal showers and horrible repressed memories.

Goal.
(Pat_Gash, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:43, Reply)

i get this might be a bit of a tenuous link with PE lessons
does anyone remember the news a couple of years back when a school hired a registered sex offender as a boys pe teacher?

that was my school.

of course, when he left, there were a couple of idiots in my year that started saying one of the chemistry teachers had been looking down their tops and making lewd comments. given the bad press around the school at the time, an old man who'd not actually done anything wrong and would have been looking at retirement in a couple of years was fired almost instantly.

i went to a nice school, you can see.
(ladyintheradiator, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:39, Reply)

I never got over the fact
That our PE teacher was - by a massive, massive factor - the fattest human being in the entire school. I can't imagine he had ever done anything more strenuous in his life than repeatedly lift his hand to his mouth to take bites of pie.

He never demonstrated anything because he was physically incapable so we learned nothing about technique or skill in any sport or excercise of any kind. I once remember him trying to show us how one was supposed to leap a pomel horse: he managed to lift one leg slighty above the shin of the other leg and almost fell over. So after that he just gave up and laughed at us while we tried to work it out ourselves and fell off repeatedly.

And yet he lorded it over us poor, pale, nerdy schoolboys like he was the living reincarnation of Roger Bannister. Crossed, somewhere along the line with the sadistic tendencies of Pol Pot. It wasn't fair. WASN'T FAIR I TELL YOU.
(MattDP (Squiggle), Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:39, Reply)

Cross bastard country
I hated sport. Couldn't see the point. So I signed up for cross country. This was a desultory trudge round the perimeter of the huge playing fields our school shared with the local council. The advantage was that, once round the first corner, you were out of sight of the teachers and could stop for a cheeky ciggy and a natter with your mates. Give it 45 minutes then cut through a few bushes to the end of the course, and bob's yer uncle.

Sadly. our psycho head of PE sussed us out so from then on, he used to pace us for the whole circuit in his car.Whilst smoking a fag. And blowing the smoke at us. Git.
(Doktor Egg, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:23, Reply)

PE was great at our school, for a girl
At the beginning of every year, we had a bleep test. It was mainly to make you exercise in the summer to stop you feeling like a fat cunt.

We had rugby, tennis, long jump and football.

Girls had to do cross country once a year. Boys had to twice a month. Even still, most of us walked behind the rest, smoking.

Tae Kwon Do. That is all.

Dance. We dedicated a term in year ten to learning some fifties dance routine.

Trampolining. How the hell that was supposed to be hard work, I'll never know.

Aerobics. One person a week chose the music. Three girls in a row picked EBM (kind of goth-dance music).

Rugby and hockey: a brilliant fucking chance to sort out any fights that we had brewing up. Nothing ever came of it after PE. What happens in PE, stays in PE.

For a comprehensive school, it was fucking brilliant. No suspected paedo teachers, no assaults in the showers, no 'I'm not being on HER team'.

At the end of every year, there were two types of match: boys vs girls, and teachers vs students.

The school had its own pool, 2 gyms and tennis/basketball courts, long jump wotsit and more.
( Methylene Blue - electrohead, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:21, Reply)

All PE teachers...
...are bullies or pervs. Or both.

I was a late developer and my PE teacher Mr Welshgit used to delight in taking the piss out of my hairless cock when I was in the shower.
The nickname he gave me - "No-Pubes" - didn't help my chances with the girls at all.

My 19 year old sister asked me if Mr Welshgit was my PE teacher and I said he was and asked why she wanted to know. She replied "I got off with him last Friday in the Dark Lantern" (local pub).
She also told me she was hoping to see him again.
They apparently had indulged in some rather vigorous nocturnal PE...

The next PE lesson I casually mentioned to Mr Welshgit that my sister said to say hi. There was mild surprise on his his face that an underdeveloped spotty yoof such as I was the brother of the girl he had spent Friday exercising his love muscle with.

His expression changed to abject horror when I insisted she was only 15.

He stood her up on their already arranged next date and never gave me a hard time again.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:21, 8 replies)

Me and my friend Alex used to have double PE on Friday afternoon.
We used to pretend to do cycling and just go to the pub. However, one Friday Mr. Lynch insisted on seeing us on our bikes, which we didn't own. We managed to find a couple of bikey mates willing to lend us their bikes for ten minutes so we could look legit and cycled them round for the inspection.

I pedalled round to where Mr. Lynch was waiting to see us. Not having used toe-clips on a bike before I pulled up next to him, couldn't get my feet out and fell over sideways still attached to the bike.

He looked exasperated and told me to fuck off.

Also, my friend Richard once left a pair of filthy football boots on a windowsill for a half term holiday and came back to find them covered in lush, green grass.
(twattybanjo, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:19, Reply)

Holy shite....
I was in PE with this "guy" in Penlan Comp....he got bullied to hell for looking odd and was absloutely pig-useless at anything sporty.

Here he is now.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lisa_Lee_Dark

Fucking hell.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:18, Reply)

Bandy.
Back in the early seventies I had very, very bad anger management issues, mainly brought about because I was a shortarse and not very good at anything, never mind sport. Then my Dad’s mate decided to take a role in “straightening me out”. “Come to my club,” he said, “Wear a baggy t-shirt and baggy jeans.” So I did. And was introduced to the wonderful world of Martial Arts , the club being known as the Martial Arts Academy. Although it was mainly Shotokan Karate, there was also a strong element of sadism and extreme training. As a result within six months I was fit as fuck and far more muscular than an early teen should be, with a very Zen attitude (they also taught basic yoga and gave credence to a hotch-potch of eastern mysticism). Another six months and I was quite useful in a raw talent sort of way. How does this go with PE you may ask? Read on, oh best beloved, read on.

We had a PE teacher forever known as Bandy for obvious reasons. He was shit hot at everything and especially hockey. He also happened to be an enthusiastic teacher and pretty damn good with the kids. Except me. I was his biggest source of frustration and most lessons ended halfway through with the scream of “Porkylips, get out of my sight! I can’t stand this any longer.” However one day he asked the fateful question “Are you good at ANYTHING boy?” and instead of muttering or mumbling and fidgeting I replied in my brightest and most enthusiastic manner “Yes sir, I do martial arts.”

After he had stopped laughing he asked for a demonstration and I demurred, being a bit reticent in general. “Come on son, try and hit me. It’ll be Ok I’ve got belts in aikido.” We both adopted an opening stance and I flying kicked him very hard in the face. He didn’t even get a chance to raise his hands. After that I was given no leeway whatsoever. He reckoned if I was that fit and fast I should be much better at sport. Fucksticks. I did however discover the lethality known as hockey but that’s another story.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Fri 20 Nov 2009, 15:06, Reply)

I was outstanding at PE/Games...
..in that I was the most useless at it that my school had ever known. That was 30 years ago, and I would be very surprised if they have seen anyone more useless than me since then. My most enduring memory of PE was when we all had to vault over the wooden horse in the gym when I was in my last year at prep school (13 years old). Everyone found it easy. Everyone except me, that is. I couldn't do it.

Now, if you can't do algebra or conjugate French verbs or whatever, the teacher accepts that this is quite common and tries patiently to help you. PE teachers don't think like that. In fact most of them don't think at all. Their reaction to someone not completing said vault, or a triple somersault, or shinning up the climbing ropes is that OF COURSE you can do it really, you're just being stroppy.

Well the bell went, so I thought I'd been saved. Not a bit of it. Despite my protestations that I'd get into trouble for being late for my next lesson, the PE teacher kept me behind and made me keep trying, much to the amusement of the junior kids (9/10 years) who were waiting outside for their PE lesson. I never did get it right.

I sometimes think that if I'd been born 50 years before and ended up in a German POW camp, my efforts at vaulting would have distracted the guards long enough for the Eurotunnel to have been built a long time back.
(eesnahk, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 14:35, Reply)