Revenge is a dish best served to someone half your size.
Long time reader, first time poster. Hello all!

Getting people to tell stories about PE teachers is a bit like shooting fish in a barrel, especially when that forum is Internet based, but anyway, here is mine.

When I was at secondary school we had a PE teacher called Mr. Ravensdale (Even his name sounds "hard"!) who was well know for being a bit of a hard man amongst the kids. I wasn't amazing at PE, neither was I terrible, just one of the many faces in the crowd, but I could take active part in any game that was thrown my way.

So, this one cold and wet winter day we are playing football, two teams, usual hoohah. Mr. Ravensdale decides that to balance out the teams he will play both referee and an active part in the team that I am playing for.

The game progresses in the usual fashion, lots of running about as a large unruly mob, until the ball breaks a short distance before me and I realise that should I get to it, and give it a right wellie, it might even hit the back of the net! Head down, running as fast as I can, I hurtle toward the loose ball and my moment of fleeting glory. Sadly, unbeknownst to me, Mr. Ravensdale has spotted his opportunity to claim his moment of glory too. We both arrive simultaneously at the ball and crash into each other. Hard. We both go down in a tangle of arms and legs, and I find myself counting the stars floating before my eyes. Mr. Ravensdale is not happy. Not happy at all. He gets back to his feet and suggests that perhaps I would like to change sides, though being as fast on the mental ball as I was hoping to be on the actual ball, I turn down his kind offer, sensing that hard tackles might be in my future should I relent.

The game continues.

Mr. Ravensdales continues to suggest that I perhaps I would like to change sides.

I decline.

In a fit of inspiration Mr. Ravensdale realises that all that is required is for HIM to switch sides instead, and does so. Uh oh, I think. In an act of sheer self preservation I spend the rest of the match avoiding going anywhere near the damn ball, until he has to finally blow the whistle and send us back to the safety and warmth of the showers. Phew, I think, bullet dodged! Not so, as we trudge off the field he lines up the ball as I walk past and kicks it as hard as he can, straight at me, hard enough for it to knock me off my feet and leave a bruise the size of Nebraska on my thigh. Fighting back tears of anger I walked back to the showers, though I took this "medicine" from him and never complained to parents or teachers alike.

The only thing he achieved was to badly hurt a 13 year old boy and any respect that entire class might have had for him.

The universe, and karma, however, had other plans. I didn't see it myself, but he left a year later after, rumour has it, he was given a thrashing by the metalwork teacher (20 years his senior) for attacking another young chap in the hallway.

Length? A bit long for a virgin!
(DoomDalek Purple is a fruit!, Wed 25 Nov 2009, 13:43, 1 reply)

Welcome
And have a click, too.
(Kliper Filllets Getting noticed by twats on the internet since, Wed 25 Nov 2009, 14:45, closed)