Sport with weapons...
My granddad was apparently a no-nonsense type of a man, died before I was born so I never got to know him. This particular story has been passed down the generations however, and will probably be told to my son as well...

Granddad was in the Army, the Black Watch to be precise, and saw a reasonable amount of action in WWII. After the war however, he developed an enjoyment of playing hockey for the regiment.

On one particular occasion, the Sgt. Major playing for the opposing team had been subjecting him to a bit of winding up, which was then augmented with some rougher than usual play on the hockey pitch. Not standing for this kind of thing from anyone, let alone a trumped up, cut-glass Sassenach, and furthermore carrying a large, wooden stick in his hands, granddad seized the next opportunity to introduce said stick to the Sgt. Major's shins at some considerable velocity, nearly breaking both legs.

Thus it was that a few days later my dear granddad was court martialled on charges of attempted murder on the hockey pitch. The court martial did not last long, though, it must be said as the general officiating it threw it out on the grounds that Sgt. Major had "bloody well deserved it!"
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Sat 21 Apr 2012, 21:20, 3 replies)

I do bellydance.
We did a routine last year where we all shimmied, then stopped on an abrupt hip drop. When we tried it in dress rehearsal the belt bells all sang and then stopped simultaneously at that point. Except for the fat girl's, which were still bouncing happily around...
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Sat 21 Apr 2012, 21:16, 3 replies)

she nailed the landing.
About a decade ago a group of us (friends, friends of friends, friends of friends of friends etc) were in the park- enjoying the sunshine, drinking beer and eating burnt yet raw meat from a bbq. Games were suggested and games were played. Touch rugby lasted all of 5 minutes before we all agreed it was shit and started playing football instead.

It was quite unofficial; more 'us lot here versus you lot over there' than an actual picking of sides, so there was a fair mix of people on each side ranging from people who could actually kick a ball and make it curve, to those who were there to simply bolster the numbers. I would put myself somewhere in the middle.

At one point the ball came to me and as I looked up the 'pitch' seemed remarkably clear in front of me so I trotted off on a little run. A dozen or so yards ahead of me was a female player of the other team and to proceed on my way to 'Barnes vs Brazil' individual glory I would have to get past her.

I sold her what I believe to be known in the trade as 'a dummy'. I dropped my left shoulder as if I was heading that way, when in fact I wasn't!! haha!! She bought it completely!! Unfortunately as she was in the 'number bolstering' section of the talent pool, rather than thinking 'he's heading to my right, I'll go that way and intercept' she actually thought something along the lines of 'Shit!! get out of his way!!' before unleashing a shrill yelp and jumping out of my way.

Or at least the way she THOUGHT I was going.

This is how all the other park users came to hear a scream and turned to seek out the origin of it just in time to see me ram my shoulder into her at about hip height whilst she was in midair, sending her cartwheeling over me and into the ground wrist first, and pretty soon after, head second.

She had broken her forearm and received a concussion. I was cunt of the week. I hung about long enough to see her placed into the back of an ambulance crying but it seemed no one really wanted to play on anymore and were calling me all kinds of names so I went down the pub.
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Sat 21 Apr 2012, 17:19, Reply)

Watersport
I doubt I will ever forget the sight of my mates stood astride their dodgy secondhand jetskis riding in perfect formation side by side at speeds of up to forty miles and hour...




up the road on the back of the trailer.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Sat 21 Apr 2012, 14:27, 2 replies)

B3taday pea roast and cake all round

Every year we have an Channel Island interinsular football tournament with Jersey and Guernsey habitually meeting in the final. The year in question the final was held in Guernsey. Along with a small but passionate group of supporters and my then six year old we make the short trip o'er the water to the game. Our seats in the 'stadium' (read: field with some chairs) were right alongside the most rabid home supporters. As passions rose so did terrace chants and, well, abuse.

As I pray that my lad doesn't pick up and repeat any of the amusingly colourful ditties, especially to Mrs Number 5, he starts to join in with some of my fellow supporters' witty slur "you fat bastard" aimed at the largest and most mentally unstable skinhead in the Guernsey end. His crystal clear scream of "YOU FAT PASTA" manages to stun an entire end of some three to four hundred fans into silence. I didn't have the heart to either correct him or rebuke him for his hooligan tendencies.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Sat 21 Apr 2012, 14:02, 2 replies)

I was kicked out
of the orienteering team. I was disoriented.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 21 Apr 2012, 13:52, 1 reply)

Pussy
I shoot for sport. I once killed a lion at full charge from 4 meters using a Lee Enfield .303. It was a majestic beast and I was saddened by its death. However its pelt now serves as insulation in the dining room. Thus, through reducing my dependence on fossil fuels, the universe is in balance. There are many more lions than one imagines.
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Sat 21 Apr 2012, 12:49, 3 replies)

I have a friend who is a PE teacher
makes me all itchy to think I know a PE teacher.

They were cunts to a man.

*edit* I know this doesn't answer the question, but all PE teachers are cunts.

*edit again* That said, they do show you this in teacher training college as an example of how not to teacher a PE lesson:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=dP66T8ktiTA
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Sat 21 Apr 2012, 12:33, 3 replies)

Rugby and dog shit.
I'm a skinny guy, always have been. This makes it thrice as painful when playing rugby or contact sports in school, so I always made excuses to not have to partake. This involved forgeries, tales of woe and other such bullshit.

But the one day I was FORCED to play ended up in complete disaster as no sooner had I managed to get the ball and run, I was crunched to the ground by some big guy and I lay in a stunned and painful heap. But despite the pain in my back and bruised pride, I felt blood flowing down my leg. Closer inspection revealed that I had been studded and it had torn the flesh and I was sent off the pitch and back to the shower room. Result!

All was good until I got home and then proceeded to fall sickeningly ill, completely nauseated, shivering, fluctuating temperate and feeling like death. I was rushed to the Doctors and it appeared that some dog shit must have been on the bottom of the studs which had cut my leg and had infected me.I was then given several injections and had to spend four days in bed.

This is why I don't do sports.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Sat 21 Apr 2012, 11:59, 1 reply)

Orienteering- or was it?
Whilst undergoing basic training, some bright spark of an officer decided to hold an orienteering competition. A lesser spark volunteered me to be on the team of junior bandsmen. Big mistake. If Lesser Spark had checked, he would have realised that a) I had no interest in or aptitude for the sport and b) couldn't read a freaking orienteering map, which to me looked like a drawing of a rotting omelette with a pretty grid next to it. So, out into the woods in running kit on the back of a 4 tonner, dropped off with the rest of the ( very keen ) team at the start with said omelette. The whistle was blown, and I started walking in their tracks whilst my teammates disappeared off into the undergrowth. Lesser Spark grabs me by the arm and says " if you don't start fucking running you'll be in clink when this is over. " I duly complied, becoming quickly and thoroughly lost. Once out of sight of the gathered arseholes, I returned to walking, found a couple of checkpoints, punched random squares on the grid, and found myself somewhere comfortable to have a kip for an hour or so within distant earshot of the start. After a nice doze under the trees, I got up, stretched and ran back to the start. Lesser Spark and the rest of the team were hopping with rage: apparently they would have won easily had I emulated their athletic prowess. Moral of the story? Do your research before picking your team; fuck me about, and you will pay.
( uncle bastard is twanging a dan moi, Sat 21 Apr 2012, 11:44, Reply)

cricket heroism at school...
My greatest (only) sporting achievement at school happened thusly:

Ended up bowling against the champion batsman in cricket. He stood there smirking while I took a run up and lobbed the ball and I somehow managed to fall flat on my face in the process. He was so busy cracking up that he didn't notice the ball roll slowly between his legs to hit the stump.
I pretended I'd done it on purpose but everyone knew I didn't and I still got chosen last for team sports.

PS sorry about the garbled version earlier on. My brain is 95% cheese
(teasus likes tea, Sat 21 Apr 2012, 10:32, 3 replies)

I scored a hat-trick
but we lost 18-0.
( nightbuffalo needs more duct tape, Sat 21 Apr 2012, 1:55, Reply)

Olympic lege...knee...ankle-ends
according to the BBC Sport website, some diver twatting his heid off the diving board on the way down ranks as a "great Olympic moment".

which gives me hope that one day a shot of me doing a four-point cartwheel sans hands in the 60-yard dash as my hand-me-down over-sized shorts slipped down my legs will appear between Daley Thompson doing a backflip and Eric The Eel not drowning.

www.bbc.co.uk/sport/0/olympics/17742447
( nightbuffalo needs more duct tape, Sat 21 Apr 2012, 1:42, 1 reply)

My first goal
At lunchtime all the boys played football on the playground. If you didn't you were gay or something. I would rather have read a book, but I was smart enough to realise that wouldn't do me any favours.

Given that at age 9 most playground football games consisted of a dozen people crowded around a football buzzing around the playground, I opted to play in defence, so basically just standing around waiting for the crowd-with-a-ball-in-the-middle to come somewhere near me. Worked quite well as a left-footed left-back, since I rarely had to do anything.

This particular lunchtime the "refereeing by democracy" had determined that the opposition be awarded a penalty since more kids were shouting for it than weren't. Everybody lined up on the edge of the penalty area, me right on the end, as the opposition goalkeeper, who had earned the right via the medium of raised fists, ran up and struck it hard and low to our keeper's right.

Only he got a hand to it (he later went on to two seasons in League Two, so perhaps not so surprising). The ball cannoned off his outstretched hand way off to the left hand side of the field. To me, in fact.

I had no idea what to do. Absolutely EVERYONE was pretty much in line with me, nobody was further up the playground. So I just hoofed it towards the opposition goal, hoping that our players could run faster than theirs.

As it turned out, it didn't matter, because despite their best efforts nobody could get to it in time to stop it trickling over the line with its last bounce. I'd scored my first goal from the edge of my own 18-yard box. I was a hero! For five minutes, at least.
( The Light in Chains don't touch the Pope's boner, Sat 21 Apr 2012, 0:22, 4 replies)

Yawn, not another fucking rugby story.
My school had a very long and distinguished rugby history being, as it was, quite a posh grammar school. As a posh grammar school many of my fellow students were posh inbreds from posh rugby playing familys who's qualifications for entrance into such a fine educational establishment were based more on their parents willingness to pay a fucking fortune to put them through the preparatory department than on their actual propensity for academia. I however came from the scummy shithole school on the other side of town and, although aware of the existence of a game called rugby had never played it nor watched it. I had seen some American football games on the telly though, this lead to me being severely castigated by the games teacher (we didn't have PE, I think that is only for working class oiks) for "sacking" some poor kid on the "line of scrimmage" within the first 5 minutes of my first rugby lesson.
Anyway apologies for the overlong preamble, turned out I was quite good at rugby because I was "a bit mental" and as such was selected for the school team. Still not too hot on the rules, within 10 minutes of the kick off I palmed off an opposition played on my way to the try-line....I wondered why I was in the end zone celebrating my touchdown on my own when I was beckoned over by the referee (also my vice principal) and sent off. Turns out you are not allowed to palm off with a closed fist to the (now broken) nose. I became the first ever player in over 150 years to be sent off for my school's team.

2 weeks later I became the second ever player in my school's illustrious 150 rugby history to be sent off. Kicking in the balls is also not allowed in rugby for those of you unfamiliar with the sport.

The next week I was sent to join the rest of the people deemed unfit to participate in team sports and spent the rest of the term doing cross country.
(Figmaus, Sat 21 Apr 2012, 0:21, 2 replies)

I only have a few stories
and this is one of them:

A chance to pearoast this...

There's nothing quite like P.E. for separating the strong from the weak, and even sorting them into a pecking order. The particular bête noir in this case was the Cross Country Run - out of the school gates, along the gully to the park, along the canal, down the hill, through the wood, across the playing field and back to the sports hall. Two and a half miles, come rain, snow, sleet or hail.

Like most people with an ounce of sense I figured this for more of a "taking part" than a "try your utmost" type lesson, and so used to regularly come in the last 5 out of 30 in about 26-28 minutes. The other five were a couple of other smart-and-uninterested types, and three fat kids. In retrospect an attitude of "we're too good for this" probably didn't endear us to anyone.

Now I didn't have slope-browed, knuckle dragging bullies. I got a set of smart, easily bored sociopaths who identified early on that it's more fun and less danger to bully other kids than set fire to pets. So one fine frosty morning, as we're all milling aimlessly prior to the start, 5 kids approach me and the other strollers.

"We've got a new game, lads!" they announce gleefully. I get that sinking feeling. "It's really simple. Whoever out of us you don't beat, gives you a beating. If you don't beat any of us, we'll all give you a pasting. If you beat all of us, you get off scott-free!" Chortling to themselves and smacking fists into palms, they stroll over to the start line.

Now, to be honest, while they carried themselves with confidence they probably weren't that good. But I didn't know that, and we were so consistently bad they must have figured it was a done deal.

"Go!" yelled the PE teacher, heading indoors for a cup of tea. I suspect that nowadays you couldn't get away with letting 30 young boys run off into the local woods unsupervised, but those were simpler times when a paedophile was just encouragement to run faster.

I was first to the gully. Third as we reached the canal - so far, so good; the two who'd passed me weren't "game" players. I settled into an easy rhythm along the towpath, surprised to discover that I'm not actually that bad at running. A glance behind me as we came to the end of the canal stretch revealed one of THEM closing on me. Nooo!

I stepped up the pace. So did he. For the next 3/4 of a mile he was right on my shoulder but I refused to let him pass, my vision narrowing to a tunnel. Finally he gasped, "Christ! You're giving it a proper go. I'm out - I won't beat you up." I glanced back and he nodded at me with something like respect as he passed.

I was flagging now and more runners came up behind me as we wound through the woods, but none were my nemeses so past me they went. Just the playing field to go, there's Sir in the distance sitting in his deckchair checking times.

I crossed the finish line in 6th with a time of 18 minutes 50 seconds. My fellow victims, it turned out, were either insufficiently motivated or genuinely crap at running, as they got the shit kicked out of them.

Of course, by the next week it was back to beatings for looking at them funny, but just for a little while life was good.
( The Light in Chains don't touch the Pope's boner, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 23:55, 2 replies)

Two sports attempted, two hospital trips followed
Ok the first one is technically not sport related but I was going home from doing it so I say it counts.In my youth I, along with my brother, decided learning Jiu-Jitsu (or however it's spelled) would make us ninjas or some such. Anyway, after going for a few months and not being utterly horrible at it I was a happy chap. One evening I was making the journey home and jumped over a low wall by the sports centre it took place at. I landed a little heavily so put my right hand down to steady myself. It turns out a broken bottle was right at that point of the floor and went right through the skin and muscle etc. of the palm of my hand and revealed the tendons to my thumb and index finger. I was, understandably a little upset at this and ran home and then got a taxi to hospital with my mum. I've still got the stitches somewhere. I never went back to Jiu-Jitsu due to a fear of damaging my hand.

The next one was when I was 16, the week before my GCSE's were to begin to be a bit more precise. I was in goal during the regular Friday afternoon P.E. session which was football as it happens. Anyway, I was in goal and had just saved an effort on goal, I was actually lying on the floor for a second or two and was about to get up when some utter bastard decided that the ball was available to kick and jumped on me. the crack my collarbone made when it broke was described by the teacher in charge as being 'like a gunshot'. Needless to say the parental units were informed and off to hospital again for me. The fucker never did apologise. Still, it got me a bit of lee-way with the GCSE scores/time allowances due to not being able to write very well.

tl;dr (1) Hand plus broken glass = don't go to Jiu-Jitsu again.
(2) Broken collar bone while playing football leads to GCSE success.
( Funkenschlag still likes dogs more than cats, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 23:11, Reply)

Being not just unfit, but an utter shit
I signed up for Tae-Kwondo at university to try to rouse my puny student body with some physical exercise. The classes very informal and put on by a third year student who was regional champion or something so that he could practice his teaching skills.

Anyway, I met and got on great guns with a very attractive Russian girl and we had a good time sparring with each other. I soon found that having asked her how to say 'I love you' in Russian (it's pronounced "ya lubloo tebeer" for your information) that this was her weakness.

So, with this ammunition and told to spar, we'd commence the mighty battle. If it looked like she'd be winning, i'd fix her with a stare and say the above and she'd crack up giggling.

Then i'd hit her. Victory!

As it happened the class was quickly sewn up and told to keep quiet as our instructor accidentally broke the nose of a student he was demonstrating a punch on and noone had any insurance. The guy was actually alright with having a nose streaming blood and out of joint as the following week with a nice nose splint he said the he was happy just to be able to say he had broken it in a fight, unlikely for a chap who made Graham Norton look like he'd deck you for looking at his pint wrong.
(Monchberter Can't go wrong with Doom, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 22:18, 1 reply)

Life saving
I do surf life saving. The sport. What that basically is, is everything to do with surf life saving,except the life saving bit.

So, its rescue board races, racing IRBs (life saving boats), swim races, flag races (essentially musical chairs), and swim racing. It's lots and lots of fun, very sporting, and gets the theme tune from Baywatch stuck in your head, except the Hoff never seems to have to wear the silly hats.

So, one event involves a team of two. One member of the team swims out to a marker buoy beyond the breaking waves, and then the event is ready to start. What happens is the other team member paddles out on a rescue board, 'rescues' the other team member waiting by his buoy, and then they both paddle in together.

Well,in this particular event, the chap on his buoy was never rescued. The event finished, and he's still out there waiting to be picked up. No sign of his rescue anywhere. The safety boat is called in to find the paddler. No sign. Shit, this 'sport' life saving might rapidly turn into real life saving.

Then his partner is noticed on the beach, helping everyone look for his very self. He's fully dressed. Munching a pasty, but scanning the break for a floating board. 'What the fuck are you doing?' he's asked.

He'd wandered up the beach for a bite eat, oblivous that his event had started. Then came back to see what all the excitement was.

Idiot.
(inflateable, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 21:54, Reply)

Sport (The Odd Boy)
Let's go back to your childhood [echo]...

The odd boy lay down by the football field
Took out a slim volume of Mallarme.
The centre-forward called him an imbecile.
It's an odd boy who doesn't like sport.

Sport, Sport, masculine sport.
Equips a young man for society.
Yes, sport turns out a jolly good sort.
It's an odd boy who doesn't like sport.

"Dear Mr. Poxham, would you kindly excuse Steven from games today? He has had a nasty cold over the weekend and still has headaches and feels a bit snotty. I don't feel he should be outside with the rougher type of boy, as he is a little delicate. Hoping you will understand, yours sincerely, Nellie Maynard, Mrs."

"Give him a nice, cold shower."

Sport, Sport, masculine sport.
Equips a young man for society.
Yes, sport turns out a jolly good sort.
It's an odd boy who doesn't like sport.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 20 Apr 2012, 21:39, 1 reply)

Easy peasy...

www.b3ta.com/questions/sportsday/post51654
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 21:37, Reply)

I did Tae Kwondo for a while
I wasn't very good at it.

At the same time I was working for an outreach program which involved teaching a class full of 7 year olds.

They all walk in for the first time and one points at me and shouts "I know her - I beat her in a fight"

...and I couldn't deny it :(
( Citizen Cavy Admires your passion for conformity, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 20:33, 2 replies)

We had double-PE on Friday afternoon
and one of the options was cycling.

Me and my mate Alex didn't even own bikes but we said that we were doing cycling and either went to the pub or went to Alex's and arsed about with his keyboards.

Until PE teacher Mr. Lynch (I think he may have made the "I am Jack" ripper tapes, not sure) insisted on seeing us on our bikes.

We rushed round our mates and managed to cadge two bikes to show him. I mounted my borrowed steed and confidently rode round to the door by the gym where The Lynch awaited.

I stopped right by him, realised immediately I couldn't get my feet out of the toe-clips and fell over sideways at his feet.

He looked truly disgusted and told me to fuck off, the only time I teacher swore directly at me.
(twattybanjo, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 19:20, Reply)

I'm surprised I didn't get beaten up
Background information: I am possibly the least sporty female on the planet, and I am not exaggerating. I'm also now a professional scientist, something which was fairly obvious was going to happen from the age of about 10.

For some bizarre reason one day in PE when we were about 14 our teacher decided to try and teach the bottom set girls rugby. Luckily she went easy on us and only did the basics of throwing and catching. However, I spent the entire lesson trying to explain to anyone who would listen that throwing the ball backwards is illogical using Pythagos' theorem. If challenged I simply moved onto trigonometry.

I'm now 24 and I still think it's illogical to throw the ball backwards in rugby. Nobody has successfully explained to me why it isn't to this day.

Length? Much shorter if you throw forwards!
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 17:47, 18 replies)

Evil sports #2
Cross country running...

Luckily for us, our school is situated at the very edge of town, and backs on to an area of wood. This meant that when in the outdoor section of our PE calendar we occasionally got sent off for cross country running around a loop specified in the woods (and patrolled by whichever of the PE teachers pulled the short straw and wasn't allowed to doss about back at the changing rooms).

Initially not the worst of activities for PE, as you could quite happily walk most of it and still make it back home in time to get changed and not miss lunch. So essentially a walk in the woods with your mates.

This changes somewhat predictably when you add in British weather - what was a nice few mile walk turns into sheer hell in driving horizontal sleet, soaking through the puny lightweight PE kit in seconds, and leaving you at the mercy of the bigger kids who had the main aim of getting you as wet, cold and muddy as possible by throwing you bodily into every patch of mud and puddles they could find.
Getting back to the changing room did have the benefit/hell of being forced into the showers after - lots of bodily unsure barely teenage boys having to shower in one room, and then the predictable chaos on realising that only a certain number in the class actually bothered to take a towel with them (and indeed spare underwear, there were quite a few going commando that afternoon).
(442, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 17:13, Reply)

Evil sports #1
The bleep test, a sadistic test designed to gauge the fitness levels of everyone by trying to kill them...

Everyone starts off at one end of the hall, the PE teachers set a tape going and it beeps. At this point you have to leg it to the opposite end of the hall before it goes beep again, then back and so forth as the beeps steadily get faster and everyone steadily gets more knackered until you are picked out by the teachers as having not ran fast enough and made it to the opposite end of the hall before the next beep.

In theory (and based on many stories) this should be an easy test - run for a wee bit before getting bored and giving up. Everyone at our school on the other hand seemed to take it far too seriously, so it was a debate between killing yourself trying to at least manage a passable effort, or being killed later on when the sporty guys decide to pick on the tards that can't even run...
(442, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 17:06, Reply)

Wheels on fire
Last year, both my daughters got into rollerblading, and I started to take them to a Roller Disco in the local sports centre. Lots of fun, and people of all ages and abilities, so after a few weeks I decided to have a go - despite my total lack of sporting prowess, balance or fitness. I dug out some beat up old blades that were in the garage, and wobbled around. My goal was simply to get a basic level of ability so I could go around with them, nothing more than that.

After a couple of sessions, I was beginning to get the hang of it, and in fact hadn't fallen over once. The skates were pretty much worn out, though, so I decided to get some better ones. A quick session on eBay sorted that, and I was quite looking forward to the next disco.

As usual, I set off for a few gentle circuits. Just as I was about to head back to the seats, I lost it - got into a flailing, windmilling move that was probably quite funny to watch, then my not inconsiderable bulk yielded to gravity and crashed to the floor, like a -- well, like an old fat bloke who's in denial about his age, frankly.

Unlike all the other kids and teens, who seem to bounce back up unscathed and laughing after every tumble, I had managed to fracture my pelvis, and was on crutches for more than a month. Apparently, I was the first person ever to leave the disco in an ambulance, since they'd started - which means that now I have to suffer the humiliation of being recognised, every time I take the kids.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 16:30, Reply)

A) walking past the rugby team sign up poster thingy
and finding the PE teacher had put my name down.

Who got detention for not attending something i hadn't signed up for.

B) Said teacher being very angry with me for failing at cross country. He finally gave in and realised i was rubbish... until he was out walking in the country and watched someone who looked a lot like me running up the front of the Old Man of Coniston and then free-climbing a quite difficult route. I did not get out of sport after that :/

C) i was taught by his brother when i was younger. Who has done time for child abuse since. www.nwemail.co.uk/news/teacher-faces-child-sex-charges-1.824918?referrerPath=/
(DreddPirateBob has watched every scifi film ever on, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 15:44, 2 replies)

I scored a hat trick last weekend
Not bad going I reckon seeing as the first of the three goals was in 1995
(GoodLord doesn't have time for sigs., Fri 20 Apr 2012, 15:44, Reply)

School rugby
I played one game of inter-scholastic rugby at secondary school. "Finally!", thought I, "my months of dedication to being a small but mad bastard with surprising pace have won me some respect!".

It was the only game our team lost in 7 years.

I remember trying to run down a stray ball, it bouncing off at an angle (as is a rugby ball's wont), and lunging after it mid-stride. Tripped myself up in front of the opposition team's parents, missed completely.

The jeers are the last thing I remember- the rest I've managed to suppress.
(a gun that fires other, smaller guns full of jizz, Fri 20 Apr 2012, 15:32, Reply)