Oh my word today sucked. Try to imagine a very pissed off 15 year old, sitting at his computer typing his way through the pain of a BAD day. The wafer thin silver lining is that at least I have some good material for the fledgling pages of this diary.
The doubles of Biology and Geography passed relatively uneventfully (the two lessons have a very different impact on my life, which i'm sure will be revisited in future posts here). The afternoon was a whole different kettle of marine life. Me and sport do not mix. Me and team-bases sports played on mud in the cold mix even less well. As you can imagine, rugby is therefore not exactly my bag.
I made a feeble attempt to avoid the whole thing by "forgetting" my kit. But me and Mr.Marlin have crossed paths before and he was having none of it. Down into the musky box of abandoned sportswear I went, trying to find something that would a) fit and b) not make me stand out on the pitch any more than my lack of sporting prowess would cause. Unfortunately Marlin was standing over me lending a helping hand to my wardrobe selection, a belittling smirk on his fat scarlet face (How a man so close to a well-deserved heart attack can teach PE without dying on the spot i'll probably never know). So out on to the field I went, wearing a vast, tent-like pair of red shorts and a first year's white vest, decorated with a lovely orange stain down the front. Cue sniggers all around.
The game (although the word "game" implies frivolous enjoyment. "Ordeal" is perhaps better) continues. My friendly classmates think it will be fun to involve me as much as possible, so take every opportunity to throw me the ball hard and fast in a way that's impossible to catch, and which invariably leaves me flat on my back with a nosebleed. Then Carl Kirby takes it upon himself to leave the touch rugby rules behind. and bring a touch more brutality to the afternoon. I finally get two hands on the ball, only to be tackled hard from behind. My enormous shorts end up round my ankles, and Marlin's next words are "Up gayboy, this is a man's game". More laughter, and as proved in the changing rooms afterwards, a new nickname that will probably see me out the rest of the year at least.
See i'm supposed to like sport. Everyone is it seems. According to the likes of Marlin, it's the glue that binds society together and what defines men. Funny, because to me it seems like a lot of chimps trying to prove to one another how much of a twat each of them can be. I'm sure Marlin would find some homosexual connotation in this but if him and his kind are right, society can kiss my arse.
Tuesday, 3rd October 2006
