Not quite bat and ball
Whilst I viewed the majority of my secondary schooling like the only job I could get when I was skint (hated it, but did well because I needed to), there was one particular moment that sticks out as funny/enjoyable (I'll have to decide which is more appropriate).

One of the sports we played during PE was softball; the weird bastard child of baseball and rounders that involves a fairly sizeable bat. We had a rotation of teachers handling the less demanding sports (never worked out if this was a slack off, or a punishment), and on the event in question we had the inimitable Mr.Rodgers, a real twat of a science teacher, who nobody liked, even some of his colleagues.

Anyway, it was my turn to bat and after sending the ball off on a good trajectory, I released the bat on the back swing, preparing to run. What I hadn't counted on was Mr.Rodgers proximity to me when I was swinging, and I sent the bat straight at his ankles, managing to hit both of them with a nice thick wallop.

I'd ran about six feet before I realised that something was wrong, and I turned round to see a grown man on the floor clutching both ankles, quietly sobbing. At this point I got an instant hit of guilt, then humour and then, remembering the twat level of this man, pride.

He did eventually get up, nothing was said and I received no punishment, however I did appear to trigger some kind of trend. As, a subsequent two times, Mr. Rodgers managed to get hit in the ankles, by different people on different occasions.

Some people, they never learn.
(ShiftyBastard won the World Cup on World Soccer Champs 2010!, Mon 2 Feb 2009, 10:11, Reply)