Ahhhh PE
A short story and a long story this week whilst I can remember such things. Other posts may be forthcoming.

Story number 1: One of my PE teachers, Mrs Walker, happened to also be my mate Rob's mum. Name is not changed as I doubt he reads B3ta, given that last time I saw him, he had muscles bigger than my head, and bigger than his head too, so he's unlikely to read this (and if he does, Hi Rob ya big ginger!). As a result of this blessing and curse, I was the only one in the class whose name she knew and so, was usually placed in a position of responsibility, and also the only one she would ask questions to, despite the fact that I was A) daydreaming, B) crap at most sports and C) often off my head on drink or glue (I was 14 and in a dark and troubled place, what can I say?). Thankfully she was only a temporary teacher to replace our last one until he recovered from his operation and I could sink back into anonymity.

Story number 2 (the long one):

After the above story, our regular teacher, Mr Short (both in name and in stature, which was kinda amusing), decided that we were going to split into two groups and either do badminton or football. Given that my footballing skills at this point were about on par with Stephen Hawking, if not slightly worse than his, I opted to do badminton. And this is where I found the first sport that I'm actually good at.

Given that I was a scrawny bastard at this time (think Christian Bale ala Machinist, now apply that to a 14/15 year old), and wore glasses, everyone assumed that they would find it easy to beat me in badminton as I apparently had no muscles and thus, nothing to power my shots with. Plus I was one of the four guys in a class full of girls, so there was always an atmosphere of sexual tension present in the lessons as I was at that awkward teenage age of wanting to fuck anything.

First lesson, and I'm playing against my mate, J, (name altered because he may read this), who is quite possibly the most unsubtle bastard when it comes to badminton. He tends to blast any shot, and falls into predictable routines, so I find it easy to win. Which is a shock, as I never win anything sports-related. I play one of the other blokes, and win again, double shock. Two wins on the trot is something that I can only dream of. I'm told to go play one of the hottest girls in my class, who also happens to be one of the sportiest. Despite getting a hard-on as I watch her pert jubblies bounce around in that tight white PE t-shirt she wore, I manage to win the game, but it was a close thing.

Three wins in a row, and I'm amazed. Despite having never had any formal training, and only a brief soiree involving tennis, I am actually one of the best in the class. Never mind the fact that it was a girly sport, it was a sport I was good at. As the year progresses, I opt for staying on and doing badminton, and remain one of the best in the class. Eventually, this gets to the point where me and a few mates ask Mr Short if we can run the after-school badminton club as well as helping out during the lessons, to which he agrees.

So I now have responsibility for an after-school club, of the one sport (at the time) I was good at. We used to have a laugh, offering both serious games, the piss-around/fun challenge area (such as playing a game whilst sitting down, or playing a game on one leg, etc), and a general break area for those who weren't as fit as we were and needed to cool down.

During one of my numerous overseeings of games (i.e. standing on the sidelines and perving on lithe teenage bodies), I got chatting to a girl, who was interested in helping run the club, or so I thought. So I agreed to let her help out, and we kept chatting every week, and she started sticking to me like shit to a stick (except she was a lot less smelly and squishy). However, me being the oblivious teenage kid back then, I was unaware that she was flirting with me. Including such conversational gems as, "Hey, we should meet up later and help each other with that IT database project," and "Shouldn't you learn your phone number at some point? What happens if a hot girl wants to give you her number?". Yes, I was fairly fucking dense to not recognise this as flirting.

The end result of me running the badminton club was actually helping someone train to eventually play at county level, and at the same time, manage to be completely fucking oblivious to a hot girl's attention. Sigh. Oh well. You win some, you lose some.

There was also a later event, where I managed to take on three people at badminton, all by myself, and won. I like to feel that my years of running the club and playing at it helped me win.

No apologies for length, some people like it.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 0:04, Reply)