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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)
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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)

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