School Sports DayAt 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.
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chthonic, Thu 30 Mar 2006, 11:13)
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Revenge.I was one of those incredibly irritating pupils that not only did well academically, but was quite good at sports. Smug? Never. I got bullied for being good at both, so wasn't exactly a pleasant experience.
Anyway; in Secondary School we played the usual PE sports; netball, hockey (which I hated), gymnastics etc etc. But when Summer came, I was in my element. Athletics and Tennis. I'd managed to dedicate my Thursday evenings since the age of 11 to training for four hours with a tennis racket and yellow ball. I was one determined girl.
Cue 1998, aged 13 and I was training my little arse off for the county championships. It was very much like Wimbledon (aherm) in that sixteen entrants were seeded and sixteen were not. Having won many of my qualifying matches to establish these seedings, I was confident I would be somewhere near the top, if only for the sake of my pride and hours I'd spent hammering a tennis ball about.
Oh no. My bastard PE Teacher who had a daughter and son in the same year as me decided, unfairly, to place them above me simply for the sake of family connections or some bollocks. So there I was, on the commencing week of the championship with my cute little tennis outfit waiting to be selected and finding out I'd been ROBBED.
Cue first match. My anger was evident, I hit fourteen aces in that match. I saw my PE Teacher of extreme arseholeness strolling over looking smug.
Next thing I knew, I hit a 60 (or thereabouts) mph serve straight into his head. His face was a picture in more ways than one, and as he was dragged off the court for "profanities" I felt immensely pleased (and ever so slightly scared of his wrath).
Result?
I won the championship beating his daughter in straight sets, and very clearly never let my PE Teacher forget it.
(, Sat 1 Apr 2006, 13:38, Reply)
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