Cross cuntry running...
..at our school consisted of being made to run around the sports field for as many laps as we could in the 1 hour double games lesson.

Each lap must have been at least a mile and a half so by the end of each lesson the less sporty of us would be thorougly knackered.

Well we would be if it wasn't for the Hockey nets at the far side of the playing field. Our Hockey nets had a metre high wooden board at the back of the net behind which 15 or so of our lazy arses would accidentally trip and never get back up again for the remaining duration of the class. If we kept our heads low enough it was far enough away that we couldn't be seen at all from where the PE teachers were sat.

The teachers either didn't care, or didn't notice that half of their cross country runners were often nowhere to be seen.

After we'd got confident that we could get away with our scam we'd take fags, snacks and other distractions to entertain ourselves with as the more sporty members of the class kept up appearences.

From time to time we would get up and do another lap, making sure that the teachers saw us.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:34, 1 reply)

The deep blue sea
Mumbles Regatta, about 1982

I was in a rowing club when I was at school - my dad had done it when he was a kid, and it was one of the few sports that didn't punish short-sightedness on account of being able to wear glasses. (Soft contact lenses were available then, but only just and at punitive cost.)

I was racing Under 16s in a coxed four and it was my first time rowing on the sea, rather than a lake or river, so the waves took a bit of getting used to. To avoid snapping the boat in half on a particularly big swell, we raced parallel to the shore, but bigger waves still slopped over the gunwales and into the boat, and you had to wade out from the beach to put the boat on the water. (Lake and river boathouses usually have concrete steps so you don't have to get your feet wet.) I was wearing a pair of cheapo blue trainers which tended to release their dye when they got wet, and for the first couple of heats I wore them to walk the boat out, then took them off because racing boats usually have shoes attached to the 'stretcher' (bit of wood you put you kick off from; the seat is moveable along metal slides on each side, allowing the rower to use the power of their legs as well as arms and back).

Aaanyway, I was embarrassed to see the seawater slopping over the edge of the boat was bright blue - my trainers must have got wet enough to start leaking their dye. We won the first heat, and the second. Blue swilling water sloshed around the bottom of the boat each time.

For the last race for some reason I left my trainers behind, only to noticed that the water was still blue - really blue-green, like copper sulphate solution or WKD. We won that heat too, and went on to win the final, but that's not the problem, it was the water.

It wasn't my trainers. Maybe it was our socks or someone else's shoes? Nope, we were all wearing our school strip which used brown socks, and no one else had shoes in the boat either. As an experiment, someone picked up an empty pint glass from the clubhouse bar, and filled it with seawater. Lo and behold, the seawater was as blue as the default Windows colour scheme. Looking across the bay, you could see a fucking great big steelworks at Port Talbot. We didn't bother with the tradition of throwing our winning cox into the water after the final. He might have melted.

I've since seen stuff on tv about Swansea being a huge world centre of copper production from the early years of the Industrial Revolution until it finally died out in the mid to late 80s, so it probably was copper salts in the water that turned it blue. And while it was near death in 1982, environmental cleanup was still years away, so two centuries of toxic heavy industry was still leaching its filth into the waters around Swansea. Including Mumbles. And they let us row on it. I've still got the engraved pewter tankard I won for taking part somewhere.

Of course, it never did any of us any harm, apart from Porky Morgans who died of leukaemia in his 30s and had been for a swim between heats back in 1982.
( shinyshinyscalp less a man, more a way of life, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:33, 2 replies)

what's better than winning gold at the paralympics?
walking.
(Handel blah blah blah, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:26, 4 replies)

Paralympics
They don't have global sporting events for people with cancer, diabetes, gout etc, or for people who are overweight, puny, uncoordinated or just generally crap at sports.
All of the above are either caused by illness or genetic accident, so why should there be a whole series of special events for other people who were born different or had a leg blown off by a land mine?
Come on, why? It's PC gone mad I tell ya!
( P-MONKE We're all fucked, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:25, 3 replies)

sports day
ah, sports day. the day when pushy parents scream their children to victory, so that they can live vicariously though their children's achievemets.
can you tell i didn't like sports day?
there was a very good reason for me not liking sports day: i'm shit at sports. a shocker, i know. the only sport i was ever good at was rounders and that wasn't included in the day's activities.
this tale involves both disaster and triumph, along with a large amount of giggling.
8 years old, first year juniors, last week of summer term. sports day. after failing dismally in all my usual events, i had second place in the egg and spoon race cruelly snatched from my grasp by the girl in third place(stupid pamela!) falling over and taking me down with her, inches from the finish line.
i was gutted. the closest i'd ever come to a silverish medal in my life, only to fall short. bitterly, i vowed to myself that i'd win something that day, and so, i took myself along to see what other races i could enter into. fortunately, there was still one race left. the sack race. oh, yes, the fat kid was definitely going to win that one, wasn't she? fuck it, i was going to try.
standing on the starting line, the edge of my itchy sack(quiet at the back, please) grasped in my hands, i waited for the whistle to blow.
as soon as it did, the fitter kids were off like bouncy, hessian-clad rockets. i began to hop after them, but something happened; i started to jiggle. i started to giggle. once i'd started, i couldn't stop. there i was, about 3 feet away from the starting line, howling with laughter and going nowhere fast.
it wasn't long before people staarted to notice me. soon, they were laughing, too. the more they laughed, the more i laughed. i was still determined to finish the race, but each hop led to a fresh bout of giggling and jiggling. after about 15 minutes, i was finally coming up to the finish line. my teacher ran onto the track to help me, which resulted in us both falling into a heap on the track, breathless with laughter. it was the funniest sports day i'd ever been to.
the best thing was, i did win something that day. i won a sportsmanship award for being a good sport and carrying on to the end of that race, no matter what.
i still hate sports day, though.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:22, 2 replies)

2nd prize
in a beauty contest. Scored myself ten bucks. woo
(Handel blah blah blah, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:19, 2 replies)

I was 13 years old, and at that stage when a boy's body consists entirely and solely of elbows and knees.
Thus it was deemed that I would be an excellent fly half for the rugby team.

Saturday came, and with it the big match against the rival school, to which the parents of each and every boy playing, and all their sisters, who for the past few months had been starting to enter my thoughts in various stages of undress, and all their sisters' friends, and their parents friends.

The opposing team kicked off, and what a kick it was! HIIIIiiiiigh into the air it went, on a very straight, and very direct parabollic curve in my direction.

End over end over end over end it spun, in the glorious clear autumnal sky.

This was it! Calculating the trajectory, I didn't even need to move! I simply needed to stretch out my arms, and capture the ball, and with it, every girl watching's heart, guaranteeing the ruination of my cursed virginity, schoolwide acclaim, and no doubt financial sponsorship offers of some sort.

The ball reached it's zenith, paused, and curved gracefully towards my outstretched arms.

It's amazing how much momentum those things can get from such a height.

It zoomed into my capture, and knocked me three yards onto my back, knocking me clean unconscious, for me to awaken moments later to a ground full of adults and children alike laughing uproariously at the skinny kid put on his back by an over-posh version of a pig's bladder.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:16, Reply)

Only real disaster I can think of was
sailing, we were supposed to be racing from Studland to Lulworth, which is a couple of hours sail. The idea was to stay at a hotel in Lulworth, then saunter back the next day.

Me and a friend were sailing a small catamaran. As we all set off, a bit of a storm blew up. Some chaos ensued, lots of people were getting seasick, waves were breaking over boats and it all got a bit dodgy looking.

Anyway, me and mate decided this was all a bit foolish, and went back to Studland, jumped in my car and drove the 20 miles to Lulworth.

Where every single other boat that had entered the race turned up. Yes, we were the only ones that had chickened out. We made our walk of shame to the car park next morning, as everyone else was rigging up.
(username failed moderation, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:13, 2 replies)

People who play sports are twats
People who watch sports are twats
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:11, 6 replies)

Infants school sports day
I remember it well

My family came to watch

I was selected for the special obstacle course

It was called special because the "athletes" were special*



*shit
( Fadgebadger (1 like), Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:10, Reply)

I won a cricket match once
At school, I was firmly in the bottom set for every sport.

For some sports, this was a godsend. Top set boys hockey got to play the girls, and the girls who played hockey were scary. They outplayed, outweighed and outgunned their male counterparts, who usually returned looking like they had been trampled into the mud. Which they had.

Anyway, 4th-set cricket is tedious beyond belief, on the grounds that most of the runs are wides (from the terrible bowling), and most of the wickets are self-inflicted. For the rest of the time, you just watch the balls trundle by the inept batsman as he flails the bat at it 2 seconds late.

It was a hot, sunny day in about 1982. Our opponents this day had managed the impressive score of 7 all out, and we were on 4 runs for 9 wickets, with the last man (me) still to go in. My helpful team members had attached pads to my shins, thighs, arms, and I had one as a hat. After strolling in, then strolling out again to remove the non-regulation items, and strolling back in again, it was my turn to face the bowler.

Fwiff, fwiff, go the balls as they sail past. Fwiff, fwiff, goes my bat as it fails to connect. Zzz, zzz, goes everyone else. We switch ends. My partner gets a single. I'm facing again.

Fwiff. Fwiff. Clonk! Miracles, I've hit it! And as the fielders are all asleep or playing I Spy Wildlife, it bimbles aimlessly toward, and then over, the boundary.

Four runs! We win! Our teacher declares the end of play and to my surprise I am carried off the pitch by my team-mates, which is the most exercise they have had all afternoon.

The disaster was that this was my single positive memory of sport at school.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:07, 1 reply)

This one time I came first in some family sports day thing
After a minute or two of thrashing about whilst gripping my filthy sack, I ended up laying on the ground, sweaty and dishevelled and surrounded by kids, yet with a real sense of satisfaction

etc
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:03, 1 reply)

Eh? Whut?
I could have sworn that Quentin and I had both risen to Scarpe's bait only a few seconds ago. Have our responses been mod-deleted already?

The words "For fucks's sake" spring to mind.

UPDATE: And now Rory's version of this has gone as well. Are you going to keep this up all week?
(Star Wars Starwarsy McStarwars Face, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:02, 4 replies)

School Cross Country
It was called "The Sewers", because that’s what it was. A run round the sewage works, with the smell of shit forcing itself up your nostrils as you struggled for breath.

The first mile or so was relatively easy - a jog across the school field, up the main road to the farm track. That’s when you hit the mud. Mud built up on your feet like giant dinner-plates, making running nigh on impossible. I was once running behind a kid called Steve, and the next minute he'd disappeared completely in a huge muddy puddle. As far as I know, he's still there.

At the front of the course was Jimmy. Jim, so it turned out, was a county-class runner who actually enjoyed this kind of thing. He had just moved to the school, and desperately wanted to make a good impression of himself for Mr Prince. He was miles out in front. Before the race, Prinny told him the route so he wouldn’t get lost. "Down to the river, follow the path along until you get to the railway. Then follow the railway line back to school." Couldn’t be simpler than that, could it?

"...Follow the railway line back to school..."

So he did. He vaulted the thin wire fence and ran along the railway line. What the hell, the rest of the race, struggling for breath, freezing cold and soaking wet all followed him. It was like that scene from the Railway Children, only without Jenny Agutter to save our lives. Jim reached the school, and finding that the fence was now twenty feet high with no way through, kept on going.

At that point, if the local station-master hadn’t called the police, we’d have been halfway to London before we realised something was up. Police cars and vans screeched to a halt on the bridge. Boys were physically dragged up the embankment, where, not knowing what to do with us, let us run back to the school, where a proper bollocking awaited.

Prinny made us do it all again the following week. Jim ended up in Henley.

(There's a full version of this containing yet more mirth and woe which I wrote about ten years ago when I was a decent writer HERE
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 14:02, Reply)

I went ice skating on a date with a lass when I was 14.
First time skating so basically went around in circles holding hands, as you do. There was a flash bastard who skated around the rink backwards, crossing his ankles over etc. the place was busy, and one girl fell on her ass. This guy, still going backwards, skated over her face - diagonally from her right eyebrow to the left side of her chin. There was blood everywhere, she was screaming, loads of other people were screaming, and we all had to clear the rink until the ambulance turned up which took a full forty minutes. When they finally did they had to chip her face off of the floor because all of the blood had frozen it to the rink.

That's the only time I've ever been ice skating.
( Turquoise Hexagon Sun has just dropped acid on, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 13:59, 4 replies)

Coventry City
I win.


They always lose.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 13:58, 1 reply)

r...
Emirates stadium..
Arsenal are a disaster.
(lordy lordy, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 13:58, 3 replies)

A polite request.
I just touched on this, but i think it deserves saying more seriously.

I know that this will fall on deaf ears. I know that this will get me mocked and shunned and ostracised because this is a 'humour board' and 'anything goes' and it's OK to be in bad taste here, but please, please, don't spend this week laughing at Hillsborough. It's not a laughing matter, these people, their families, their communities all deserve our support and our understanding. They are victims of one of the most tragic circumstances, one of the worst events that could befall any person. So please, put yourself in their shoes. What if it were happen to you? What if you had suffered the horror of being born in Liverpool?
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 13:58, 8 replies)

as an oik..
I pretty much came second to last in every cross country run I ever entered, apart from one pupil whose name I can't remember, somebody Wyatt...
He was always last, and sported a hard on in the showers
(lordy lordy, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 13:56, 1 reply)

Just to get this out of the way
Munich, Heysel, Hillsborough etc. are not acceptable answers. I will frown upon them and tut.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 13:48, 12 replies)

Disaster, I came 3rd.
(Amberleaf, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 13:46, 2 replies)

Second the best.

( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 13:43, Reply)

I win!
First thing I've ever won.

This, sadly, is the closest I have ever come to a sporting achievement.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 19 Apr 2012, 13:43, 5 replies)