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This is a question School Sports Day

At some point in the distant past, someone at my school had built a large concrete tank behind the sheds and called it a swimming pool. Proud of this, they had a "Swimming Sports Day" in which everyone had to participate, even those who couldn't swim (they got to walk across the shallow end of the tank).

This would probably have been OK if the pool hadn't turned a deep opaque green the night before due to lack of maintainance. Even the school sports stars didn't want to go near the gloopy mess in the pool. We were practically pushed in. I'm sure some of the younger kids never surfaced again and the non-swimmers looked petrified.

Tell us your sports day horrors.

(, Thu 30 Mar 2006, 11:13)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Bastarding rugby
I hate rugby. It's a wanker's game. I was made to play rugby for years at school. I hated it. I was put in the year's 3rd team with the rest of the geeks, losers and quadraplegics. For years I struggled with that bloody stupid game. Because I was wee (then) I got put in the middle of the scrum as hooker. (This does not mean I was a prostitute but I would probably been of more use to the team dressed in fishnets, a miniskirt and baldy-applied lipstick.) They had tried to make me full back but I only tried tackling bravely once. A huge giant of a kid in the first team (who at 14 was the size of an 18-year-old) ran at me. I literally bounced face down into the mud. It summed it all up.

I then was banished to join the mouth-breathing element of the scrum. Because I was trapped in there I never, ever, ever scored a try.

Until one day. I somehow scampered free and ran with the ball towards the line. The line of backs of the other teamdrove me towards the corner but I just sneaked and dived for the line.

Joy. Joy. I had finally done something impressive on the rugby pitch. Maybe I wasn't a completely malcoordinated div. Maybe I could aspire to sporting competence. Maybe the girls would finally...

Then the pituitary case of the PE teacher blew his penis-substitute whistle and, with ill-disguised glee, pointed out the tiniest studmark of a toe on the line. Now, in a proper sport, say football, you can tread on the line as much as you like so long as the ball doesn't go out. But in the bureaucratic wet-dream that is rugby you mustn't touch the line.

Try disallowed. Bastard.

But I have had my revenge, to this day that man is still a PE teacher. Mwuhahahahaha.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 11:32, Reply)
wasn't much good myself, the odd 2nd 3rd and 4th in primary school, mostly joint 1sts in 100metres and 2nd in hurdles....every year. never won any kinda trophy, except for when i won the swimming championship for us girls with anoter girl in my year....still haven't received the trophy....after 5 years....god damn it!
aaaanyway, sports day, year 12. wasn't allowed to compete (was supposed to 'help', as the crap ones always did) appart from the 6th form relay which i did in the most tiny shorts ever (which were my sisters) got the attention of the teacher i liked (:)) and won my leg...and then the fun came.
Teacher relay - geography teacher, we'll call him Mr. A. His leg was the first. Gun went off, Mr A starts running...about 5 steps, turns the corner on the 6th step and trips, falls to the ground, batton goes flying into the air, Mr A rolls off the trach and onto the grass where he finally stops in a heap. Crowd roars with laughter. One of the funniest days of my life! :)
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 11:27, Reply)
anti bullying gone wrong.
Every year i won the three legged (well two years when i was 6 and 7. My partner shall be called Amy for that was her name, we were the best 3 legged team a small rural primary had the pleasure to witness.

But when i was 8, they desided to take Amy away, and tie me to the fat girl (Teresa Mogg, who genuinly wished to be called Mog Mogg who had already put me in hospital 3 times in my short school life) in there stratergy of "working together to over come bullying".

well obviosly we lost. so she pushed me over, while still tied together, and it was another trip to A&E.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 11:17, Reply)
unofficial archery
normal sportsday deal, those who are involved, race, those who arent amble around the school field due to the 'afternoon off but not able to go home' policy

chap called wayne steel (you couldnt make it up i didnt) decided that he would be a little more industrious than normal and not being involved meant this creativity found an outlet in 'classroom weaponry'

he took a scale ruler, one of those things that had three edges. he made a notch in one edge about an inch from the end. into this he inserted a thick rubber band, which he looped over the end of the ruler into the dip on the top side of the ruler.

his arrow was a long needle compass, pulled out flat.

when fired, it buried itself with such speed and precision, that the first year it hit didnt realise it was in his thigh until a mate pointed it out.

i came third in the 1500 the same day, but received less attention from the police.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 11:02, Reply)
joint last forever!
I spent my primary school years in the worlds smallest village primary, in a village were no one ever forgets anything. there were a grand total of 18 kids in my class and sports day always filled me with fear and loathing as I am just not built for sport and neither was my best friend. Hence we agreed to walk each and every event holding hands and just enjoy being last in everything together, with none of that pressure to win or even try. the teachers cottoned on to our plan quite quickly and forced us back to the start line of the sprint area with the instruction that 'you WILL run.' so we looked at each other, ran half way down the track...and sat down. we got sent back to the classroom for being cheeky, and spent the afternoon doing quiet reading which was much more our style anyway! twenty years later, I am still reminded of this day by the people of the village who witnessed it. not much of an urban legend but a small hamletty one.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 10:55, Reply)
Our freaky mental PE teacher became obsessed with buff men in speedos covered in oil. His obsession was so great he forced the boys to try out for a new school sports team, the school folkstyle wrestling team!!!

All went well. Being 14, 6ft tall and quite hefty I actually got into the team (only time i ever excelled at a sport).

Jump to big inter-school tourny. I am down on the ground as my mum, dad, all my mates and my g/f of the time are watching helplessly as a large, lardy ginger sweaty lad has his arms around me...

...with his sweaty crotch in my face...

Twat must have been enjoying the game as seconds later his fully erect cock was prodding me in the nose.

I decided wrestling really wasn't for me.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 10:12, Reply)
Fun Run
Okay not quite a sports day but close enough.
Bakc when I was at secondary school (early to mid 90's) we always had an anual fun run over the downs (the big hilly bit of sussex, not the local spackers) which was nice enough, however it was the scoring system that always made me laugh.

The general rule of thumb for performance was all the cool kids would come first and then thier mates (who would be cool-by-proxy) and so on till the 'special needs' lads would bring up the rear, however the school had a great system to make them feel like they still mattered by using a reverse scoring system so

"Even if you can in last you could still score big for your house!"

dispite the fact that the house with the highest points lost the little morons were overjoyed at loosing. For the record I came in before the specials but way after the cool kids because I was an IT geek.

Sorry about the length, the fun run stops being fun after teh 2nd mile.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 9:54, Reply)
I hold no illusions of being a sports star
however, no one else in my class at school was one either. This meant that in my year 6 school sports day I actually did rather well; winning a couple of events and coming in at respectable places in the others, earning me a 'gold award' (unsurpisingly, the best they had on offer). I recieve my award and notice that written in the little box to explain what I had done to earn the treasure my teacher had written "tried hard in some events"

I hate to think what people who got the silver or bronze awards got.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 9:40, Reply)
Highschool Swimming Carnival.
The players: My dry-humoured mate (DHM); Kid-A sporting a rubber swimming cap; Kid-B, younger brother of Kid-A, sporting a piece of gaffer tape binding two of the toes on his left foot together.

DHM to Kid-A: "What's he got that on for?"
Kid-A: "Buggered toe."
DHM (looking at Kid-A's cap): "Is that why you've got that on?"
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 9:39, Reply)
Never like school sports
so was actually pleased when I stood barefoot on a bee whilst training for the three-legged race: I got to spend the whole afternoon sitting on a chair in the sunshine while everyone else had to run around like morons.

Including Mark, who was my three-legged partner. I bet he wishes he'd seen that bee first.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 9:21, Reply)
being known as a bit of a wimp and shite at games
everyone was extremely shocked (including me) when I suddenly managed to come third in the school cross-country race.

So they, teachers and kids alike, decided I must have cheated, and my achievement was wiped from all records.

I loved school.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 8:56, Reply)
Sports day qualifiers
At my school, we had qualifiers for the sports day, which meant getting out of classes to run around on the playing fields. However, as I was a fat lazy twunt at school, and (as I thought) smarter than the average bear, I used to opt out of going to the qualifiers, thereby avoiding having to run around pointlessly and waste valuable energy. And because virtually everyone else took the opportunity to get out of classes, there were too few of us left to make it worthwhile for the teacher to take the lesson. So those of us remaining used to get to sit on our fat arses and do nothing.

Furthermore, come sports day itself, because I hadn't entered for any events, I could wander around at will and perv on all the fit birds running about in very short shorts (this was the '80s) and tight t-shirts.


The downside of course is that none of them took any interest in me, being a fat lazy git. It was only many years later that I lost weight and started taking any exercise! No apologies for girth nowadays though.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 8:54, Reply)
Swimming at school
Not so much a school sports day as a school swimming pool story. We had a very small and very cold pool at our school, and after our first enforced foray into it we had a shower and then went into the changing room to get dressed. Being 12/13 years old, most of the lads were somewhat embarrassed by our bits and trying very hard not to expose ourselves to view. But I became aware that my mate (who shall remain nameless, and who happened to be getting changed next to me) was sporting an enormous hard-on. Now I'm not gay, but I found it difficult not to look, primarily because he seemed extremely well-endowed, whereas at that time I still had a small, prepubescent boy-todger (which, to further heighten the contrast in dimensions, was of course not in a tumescent state at this point).

The odd thing was that, while not exactly waving it around for all to see, he wasn't exactly embarrassed by having a full stiffy in a boys' changing room. Maybe he's that way inclined nowadays, I don't know.

Anyway, this disturbing memory has been imprinted on my brain for nearly 25 years, so I thought I'd share it with you all.

Sorry for length (my classmate's, not mine)
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 8:42, Reply)
Ferret man
Cos at primary school i was kinda cross between a fat kid,a lazy kid and a shy kid,i never took part in sports day. I remember in year 5,getting bored,and wandering off to the side fence of the field which looked onto the street. There I found a guy with a pet ferret,who i spent most of sports day prodding (ferret,not the man).

Although i have thankfully seen my last sports day,i spent my later school years sitting in the shade,with my nerdy gay friend,writing stupid stories and drinking that gross watered down shitty drink they give you,in a white plastic cup with flies in it.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 7:54, Reply)
this wasn't me...
...I got it off the blog www.darpism.com, but it's still good - and it has a swimming carnival *and* an athletics carnival in it.

Time to put a personal spin on the refugee debate.

I’ve often found that exposure to seemingly different peoples and cultures is the best way to bring about mutual understanding and acceptance. For instance, your regular suburban teenager might have a few issues with gay people as he is growing up but once they find themselves mingling and interacting with 'Johnny Pollywaffle' they find a growing understanding creeping up on them, a realisation that despite a persons ethnic background, religion, economic status, preference for women or men – we’re not all that different.

It’s a realisation that transcends that foggy notion of tolerance and becomes something more fruitful and tangible - acceptance.

I was very much fortunate with regard to the refugee debate to encounter many Afghan refugees in high school. Marsden High has long sponsored an Intensive English Centre, this is where FOB’s (Fresh off boat) come to learn English in an integrated school environment.

The school’s ethnic mix has always been extremely varied. Anglo’s, Polynesians and Arabs probably made up the majority. Then there were your Serb/Cro groups, Italians, Greeks, Koreans, Viets, Phillo’s, Russians and an enclave of Armenians. The newly arrived Afghans blended well into this environment. Our Soccer team began winning EVERYTHING under the sun and our canteen finally got some decent food.

Amongst these new arrivals there was a standout chap named Farames. He arrived when we were in year eleven, eleven years ago. The word ‘geeky’ really doesn’t do enough to sum him up; tall, gangly, coke bottle glasses and wiry afro complete with Rick Moranis ‘nebish’ mannerisms.

In the ensuing years I would get the Farames life story on the bus we shared to Uni. It’s a tale worth the telling but I’ll stick to the shortened version here.

He is a Shiite Afghan by nationality who was raised in a farming community close to the Iranian border. The Taliban didn’t like Shiites and had taken to butchering as many of them as possible. When they captured the Afghan capital Kabul in 1992, Farames’s family saw the writing on the wall and began making plans to get out of the country. Iran was having enough problems dealing with Shiites on its Afghan border so they weren’t too keen on staying there. Not content to eke out an existence as perpetual refugees they decided to make for somewhere in the West.

They didn’t move fast enough, almost overnight Taliban militias swarmed down into the Farsi speaking Shiite regions. Farames’s two brothers and a cousin were shot execution style during these raids.

Farames’s mother had died years earlier so he and his father packed all they could into one rucksack and made a break for the Iranian border.

What followed is an odyssey worthy of its own book or movie. The two of them trekked and hitched across Iran, relying on the kindness of strangers. They unfortunately entered harsh and rugged Kurdistan just as winter was setting in, they tried to cross the mountains before the snows made them impassable but got bogged down halfway across.

They were taken in by a Kurdish mountain village for the rest of the winter. Farames recalls that he nearly died here due to a mixture of pneumonia and god knows what else.

When the snows melted and he had recovered his strength they crossed the Anatolian plateau and reached Ankara, the Turkish capital. From here, things get kind of fuzzy. Contact with one people smuggler leads to a boat which takes them to Egypt, from there another boat takes them through the Suez canal and to Sri Lanka. From here it’s another island hop to Indonesia and from there to somewhere on the West Australian coast.

So he was illegal. They applied for refugee status at the Australian and Canadian Embassies in Ankara but simply didn’t have enough money to sit out the waiting time. They had no proof of their status as refugees and remember, this was 1992 – the world was yet to realise how nasty the Taliban were. They had just enough money to make their own way, so that is what they did.

They somehow found their way to Sydney and sought out help from the city’s Afghan/Iranian communities. To cut a long story short, they were both granted refugee status and visas.

So Farames comes to Marsden ready to take his chance at a new life with both hands. He became an instant school celebrity with his somewhat comical appearance combined with a willingness to participate in every aspect of school life.

During our swimming carnival, Farames entered everything despite the fact that he couldn’t swim. A few of us counselled him against this but he waved us off, “So what if I can’t swim? Last week I didn’t know how to play Rugby and now I can. If I want to be a real Aussie I have to win a swimming race.”

So he mounted the blocks in his resplendent blue Speedos and did a massive unco belly flop on the starters gun. He floundered around wildly for a few seconds until a few of the boys jumped in and dragged him out. “I guess it is much harder than it looks”, was his response.

School dances are an occasion that separates the cool kids from the geeky ones. Despite falling into the latter category, Farames managed to clean house in an impromptu dancing contest. You know when a circle is formed and people jump in and bust a few moves? Well, all the good dancers had done their bit, ironically to Young MC’s Bust a move, when Farames decided to cut in and show us how it was done.

It was like some spastic central Asian Cossack dance for the Saturday Night Fever era. Very similar to David Brent’s dance routine from The Office. The crowd went crazy.

Later that month Farames was the first to sign up for the school musical. He couldn’t act or sing and everyone knew about his dancing ability but it didn’t stop him. He wanted to be involved with everything, no matter what.

It was around this time when I spied him jotting down notes backstage. This was Bats the musical and I was playing Igor the hunchback. I ambled over to have a stickybeak and saw that he was writing poetry, hey bro – we got something in common.

Anyone who knows the Persian/Farsi culture reasonably well knows that they are HUGE on poetry. Unfortunately it doesn’t translate that well to English but Farames was determined to show his new country something beautiful about his culture. He wanted to write a volume of his own, in both English and Farsi, it was to be called The Wings of Love

I had a read through his drafts and I don’t want to bag him out because he’ll probably be reading this soon, but there was room for improvement. I guess it just loses a lot in translation.

Farames had his own starring role written into the musical. During one of the songs he would take centre stage in Transylvanian peasant garb and do one of his dance routines. Needless to say, he completely stole the show. There was not a dry eye in the house afterwards, everyone was laughing too hard.

Come the athletics carnival later that year and he once again entered absolutely everything. The 100, 200 metres, discuss, shot put, javelin, high jump, long jump. He completely bombed out in all of them (and damn near broke his neck in the hurdles) but it didn’t dampen his spirit. Come the 800 metres, the entire field had finished the race leaving him with one lap to complete on his own.

I guess it was one of those highly emotional moments when you realise that Australia is pretty fucking fantastic country. If I ever get around to making the Farames movie, this will be the feel-good ending, something that really makes you believe in the natural goodness of the human race.

The whole school swarmed down to the side of the track as Farames rounded the last bend, cheering like crazy. He looked as if he was about to keel over but screams of “do it son, go go go and FA-RA-MES” obviously gave him heart. He collapsed over the finish line only to be picked up and chair lifted off the track.

The school principal arranged a special NSD (Never Say Die) award for him at the assembly later that week. Naturally we all cheered the house down when he got up to receive it.

He went on to join me at Macquarie University where he completed a BA majoring in English Lit.

Yes, he was an illegal immigrant but the same dogged determination that got him through all manner of hell to make it to our shores is of the same ilk that now spurs him on to make a better life for himself. The same determination that helped him finish that race.

The Wings of Love was published in 1997, I have an autographed copy sitting at my elbow as I write this. You may call it a trifling contribution, but I feel it to be highly important that someone is trying to introduce the great Persian poetic tradition into our cultural landscape. It's just another example of what makes Multiculturalism great.

We can only become a richer nation for it.

Upon publication, he got a nice write up on the front page of The Northern District Times, complete with geeky photo.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 6:27, Reply)
a few tales
i'm a big bloke, not fat, but i've always been tall and built like a brick-shithouse. people assume i like sport, i don't.

first year of highschool, sports days are compulsory, so i had to compete in about 4 different running events, starting with the 800m in order not to tire ourselves by sprinting first.

we were told it wouldn't matter where we came, or how long, it was getting into the spirit of the sports that mattered.

i walked. and since i chose to complete the whole 800m rather than stop after half a lap when everyone else did, no one else was able to run an event. i was then told i didn't have to compete in the other events. this ingenuity rubbed off onto some of the other lazy bums, and forced a rethink of the compulsory nature of the games.

sometime later, we had a hurdles event, but rather than the usual hurdles you see on proper hurdling, these ones were designed to swing open like a gate if hit, so as not to maim children while they did this for "fun". after being told that it was time that mattered, not how few hurdles you hit, i just ran full pelt (for me) through all the hurdles. teachers were not impressed.

the next year the school had an Events day, which had all the usual running and jumping, but also had 3-legged-races and so on for those of us who didn't feel like running (ie: me). so i devised a plan and paired up with a much smaller girl, and despite everyone laughing at the fact that she was a good 2 foot shorter than me, we won. i picked her up and jogged over the line myself, rather than stumble like you're supposed to.

the next year, the rules we changed that 2 feet had to be on the ground at all times. so i picked her up and skidded my way to first place, never once picking up my feet.

then there was the semester we played some form of Rugby. like i said, brick-shithouse me used to get the ball and saunter to the endzone, regardless of how many people were hanging off me. that was fun. i also broke a guys collarbone when he got the ball, turned around and ran full pelt into me and bounced off.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 6:05, Reply)
being a sooky, nerdy weedy type...

...I always disliked and was a bit scared of competitive school sports in a similar way to other people, and thus generally avoided them, and exercise in general, as much as possible.

So fuck you PE, you acheived the opposite of your supposed intention with your half-witted insistence on making everything a competition. I now ride every day and am fitter than most people; take the PE out of exercise and kids would actually do it.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 5:25, Reply)
Every year...
...that day rolled around when the jocks got to run around in an unfettered orgy of testosterone fuelled activity. I hate sports of all descriptions (except maybe midget tossing and lawn bowls). As usual, the creepy geography teacher had erecteed the poles with those old metal tannoy loudspeakers which bounced any audio fed to them around the sports fields until it became a howling mass of glass shards. The one good side of this is that people were allowed to bring in tapes to play - mostly death metal that year (ages me a bit...). I decided that 'Rocket Queen' by Guns n' Roses would make a nice addition to the playlist and nearly pissed myself laughing when half way through the song a lady starts to have an orgasm at ear drum shattering levels. The entire day ground to a halt with panicking teachers and dropped jaws all around. Result!
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 4:07, Reply)
Grade 9 track meet
I've always been a skinny guy, the kind who'd get picked last for every team game. In junior high, every year for phys ed we did a unit on English football and a unit on Canadian football. Whichever team ended up with me was always shocked to find I was the best fullback in the grade. In the Canadian football, I was the fastest runner and made it a habit of scoring a few touchdowns off interceptions per game. Still I hated sports just because I'm the nerd and I'm supposed to be bad at sports. You couldn't be good at both physical and mental activities; it just wouldn't be had.

At the very end of our final year, we had a mandatory track meet, and were told "You must compete in three events or you will fail phys ed." So rather than skip it, I showed up and put myself down for a couple events.

1) The 100-meter run. I didn't even take off my poncho, which was the fashion at the time. We lined up, the starting gun went off, and I blew past everyone. I heard the one black guy in my class shout "Holy crap!" as everyone had figured he'd be the easy winner (being black of course). One event down, one first-place ribbon, and one stereotype broken.

2) The long jump. We got two jumps. I did my first one and it was just about average. I was disappointed, but everyone said, "No, no, that was a good jump." I did a second one and got around four meters, which was good for a 14-year-old. Everyone was silent, staring at where I'd landed, way farther than everyone else. So that's two first place ribbons.

3) Near the end of the day, I realised that despite my two victories, I still needed to do one event or I'd fail. The only event left was the triple jump, which I totally bombed.

Pretty soon after, everyone forgot I was more athletic than them, including me. Twelve years on I've really let myself go. Last night I woke up on the couch with a half-finished beer in my hand, and I could hardly bend at the waist.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 4:01, Reply)
One sports day, Cha was in elementary school...
It wasn't so much "sports day" as "put a bunch of kiddy pools in the playground and hope for the best" day.
Of course, I was like eight and excited like crazy and it was all anyone had been talking about for roughly nine millenia, and I could not wait.
The day came, oh joy
I was sitting on the asphalt basically suicidal, on the hottest day of the year, watching everyone else cavort around in the pools, splashing each other, blowing bubbles, and generally being smug little asshats.

Worst part? I got the most horrifically painful sunburn ever. I can still feel it. Yeesh. Fuck you, splash day.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 3:27, Reply)
my school had a walking event...
...which I trained pretty hard for; my Dad took me out and he jogged alongside me while I walked.

On the day I was the only one who actually raced - everyone else just walked normally around the track. I beat the person who came second by at least a lap.

My friend came second and all my other friends thought it'd be funny to cheer them and ignore me.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 3:24, Reply)
It was awesome...
They had this underwater viewing room at my local pool. You could sit in this room, and watch everyone swim around, pull faces, touch the bottom... heaps of fun.

I forgot my bathers/swimmers that day, and the teachers made me swim in my undies. Turns out that white underwear goes see through when wet, and all my 14 year old class mates had front row seats.

The water was cold too :(
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 2:36, Reply)
Miss Chewbacca
A long time ago in a galaxy far far away (Hull/'Ull) There was to be a fantastical sports day at a primary school on a lovely council estate. There would be races with eggs and spoons and potato sacks! And there would be prizes - Oh god the prizes!!!! Too fantastical for me to even mention (Something so shit I forget what they were)

Anyway, on the day of said sporting activities a particularly lovely teacher - Miss Chewbacca (Obviously not her real name, but it's similar!) So anyways, Miss Chewbacca approaches and ever so sweetly says "Who would rather go draw pictures and read books instead of joining in the racing?"

So of course myself and a few of my friends all look at each other - actually we were quite thrilled by this idea as we were lazy fecks that didn't want to participate in such wank activities, So we all raise our hands along with a couple of the weirdos that always threw tables and chairs at the teachers.
So Miss Chewbacca says "Excellent" (not unlike Mr Burns might i add) "follow me please children" so we all follow her giggling all the way, very proud of ourselves because we'd got out of crappy sports.

Oh what a bitch it was when she let us all into the smallest, hottest classroom, waited til we were all inside then slammed the door behind her and began shouting at us because we chose the wrong thing and that we were all crap cause we didn't want to do sporting activities. The rest of the afternoon in that stuffy room was a bitch.
We all had to sit in silence,(apart from the odd whimper) writing lines
"I must always participate in sport"
We were there for a good 3 hours.

I think the only good thing about that afternoon was the fact that my mother had a bitch fit at Miss Chewbacca when she found out what had happened. Wasn't a good day for that evil old cow - My mother was already her sworn enemy because she used to send my brother to the headteacher so often and told everyone, including my mother "He's trouble"
Okay so he might have been trouble (and it's possible that he still is) but you don't say shit like that to my mother, she'll give you a tongue lashing that you'll never forget - Her words scar you for life, she truly is an evil genius.

Looking back on it now it was all quite 'Simpsons' but this was a few years before then, i think big brother is watching me.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 2:22, Reply)
Now im not saying my school was in a rough area but we had the 'find the syringe in the sand pit' event and the 1500m 'leg it from the coppers' race.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 2:08, Reply)
Swimming Carnival
When I was 15, the hottest girl in our class was also academically brilliant and a natural sports star. She played netball, soccer, tennis and basketball in adult teams competetively, as well as swimming in the under 18 state squad. She was also the snobbiest bitch I have ever met, partly due to her parent's wealth, ( they owned a real estate business and several wineries) and partly because she knew she was so much better than everyone else.
So when it was the interschool swimming carnival, naturally she entered and won every event.

It still amuses me today when I think of her at the closing ceremony, medals around neck, standing smugly on the victory dias in her sleek Speedo costume, in front of hundreds of people, with the national anthem playing and her blissfully unaware of the menstrual blood trickling down her leg.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 1:30, Reply)
I came from a sports dominated school. woo.
At the time, I was a 13 year old undiagnosed dyspraxic that could barely put one foot ahead of the other, let alone participate in coordinated sports.

Sports Day. Everyone has to do at least ONE event for their tutor group. I figure "hey I'm not a bad long distance runner" and volunteer for the 1600m, thinking that I'll just go round the field like we usually do with no spectators and even if I finish last, that's still one participatory point for the tutor group than if I wimp out.

Problem? 1600m was taken. So was given 800m by my 20stone tutor who said "look, its still running" completely misunderstanding the difference between sprinting and running ( in a coordination sense, sprinting is a helluva lot harder for me ). So I'm there on the day.
Second problem. It wont be round the field, its round the track. Third problem, the race is done during the lesson everyone gets taught maths so of course EVERYONE comes out to watch. I shrug. It could be worse.

The gun goes off ( yeah our school actually spent *money* on sport ), everyone shoots off then finishes. I'm barely round the first circuit of the track. They couldn't start the next race until I'd finished, so suddenly the entire crowd's attention was on the incredibly slow sprinter. I look up. I get a yell.

"Come on, YOU CAN DO IT!"
"Yeah, come on!"

Suddenly combined yells of sarcastic and genuine cheers come out. The problem was, the cheers were the type you give a special needs kid who just learnt how to tie their showlaces.

"You can do it! Just focus on the track!"

and, to top it off

"Arthy, arthy, ARTHY, ARTHY, ARTHY!"

As I approach the finish line at a tremendous almost-walking pace. I finish. I get clapping, cheers. I grin. Well, there wasn't much else to do really...

And that is the story of how I became a special needs kid.

I didn't find out that they were being sarcastic or patronising until someone told me in 6th Form. Cunts.
(, Fri 31 Mar 2006, 0:57, Reply)
Sports day at my school consisted of being shipped over to the shitty wing of our school (a good 20 minute walk from the main site) and being forced to do the 1500m unless you were competing in 3 other events.
Sadly for Kerry Jones of Atherton house, nobody else turned up for their team so she was forced to do every event plus the 1500m while we all laughed from the sidelines.
She won fuck all and my mate almost took her out with a javelin. She swore to get her revenge on us. I believe she recently came out of prison.....oh shit!!
(, Thu 30 Mar 2006, 23:55, Reply)
I was 11. My first year in high school and the end of year activities day comes around. I hated swimming (with a phobia) so immeadiately opted out of swimming. I hated ice-skating so that was a no-no. So rounders it was.

I wasn't a bad sportsman, and in fairness I wasn't the only bloke who opted in for rounders. However, the ratio of guys to girls was about 1:4 and so it came to be mixed teams.

Amy was a very quiet girl. Not necesserily stunning but very "cute" in an I don't fancy you but I like to flirt with you sort of way. She was on the opposing team, fielding. It was my turn to bat.

Finally my chance for glory. As the ball came towards me I swang with a mighty swing, and ran with a mighty run. The ball actually didn't go that far due to it being sponge but I had third base (in the game- not with Amy- I was 11 FFS!) in my sights.

Amy had different ideas. She was determined to beat me to third base(in the game!!!!). I ran as fast as I could, she pelted accross the field and we both made it at the same time!


I was severely winded. I, however was the one running with the bat swinging to and fro. After I finally got up off the floor from coughing, a little begrudged to why nobody had come to help me, I saw Amy. Her nose had pretty much splattered accross her face and she was crying like a maniac. She also cracked a rib.

Amy, if you are reading this, I'm sorry. So very sorry!

You know, it's funny. I never did kop off with her! I wonder why.

/apologies for length and girth! It would have been longer if it was a baseball bat rather than a rounders bat!
(, Thu 30 Mar 2006, 23:40, Reply)
first sportsday as a dad.
eldest kid had her first sportsday last summer and it was fantastic. old favorites are still there - egg and spoon, sack race, etc. Obstacle race consisted of running 10 meters in a coppers helmet & feather boa whilst skipping a hula hoop. shame the paranoid fucks wont allow cameras/video cameras - nonce sence!
(, Thu 30 Mar 2006, 23:39, Reply)

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