Tuesday 18 July 2006

THIS UN-SPORTING LIFE

Recollections from the past seem to be coming thick and fast, just now. Maybe, the approaching 6-0 is freeing-up my long-term memory, just as the short-term version seems to be freezing-up!

Anyway…

Sitting on a shady bench in the park the other day as a school Sports Day hopped-skipped-and-jumped through an otherwise idyllic afternoon, a truly terrible remembrance crept out of the Mists That Time Forgot and sat down suddenly and coldly on my heart.

I was six-years-old again and had been picked to run in the three-legged-race attached to Robert L---, who had even less of the sporting spirit than I…

BANG! goes the starting pistol!

All the other duos start cooperatively hobbling across the sun-bleached grass towards the far-off chalky line. But, before I can taken even a single step, Robert L--- instantly sits down and starts rolling around, giggling…

I hear cruel snickering laughter mingling with the honest open-throated cheers of the onlookers as I struggle to undo the school-tie that binds our ankles together, whilst unsuccessfully attempting to keep my balance…

The ignominy! The shame!

That, I think, was the day when I first knew that I would never run for England…

1 comment:

Brian Sibley said...

Thanks for reminding me of Nick Clark's terrific poem, Mr Scrooge...

Readers might care to know that there's more verse by Nick and other poets to be found at Poetic Hours