Picking a team

Who would have thought choosing a team could be so difficult. Mr Skelt always chose two Captains and let them choose their own players. I’m faster and fitter than at least half the kids in my class, yet I’m nearly always one of the last ones picked.

I can understand them picking Lee over me because even though he’s fat, his size and strength are an asset, but when Mark picked Chris Jonson over me, I nearly walked back to the changing room.

From his chubby fingers to his chubby ass, Chris was round like a ball. His fat didn’t intimidate, there was no sense of strength, no hidden power and definitely no speed, yet he still managed to call me ’loser’ as he joined Mark’s side. As the last one to be picked, I was on Matthew’s side.

Bullrush is the colonial name for British bulldog, and it’s simple. You run to the other end, and don’t get caught. It was so simple that Mr Skelt left us to it while he went to take a dump.

The playing field is more than a green rectangle, it’s a place where boys become men, and learn to play hard, but fair, at least according to Mr Skelt, but it’s also a place to get some payback, and it’s not just me that wants to get even. We all have someone we owe a little something to.

Lee caught Simon in a tackle so hard that he had to sit out the rest of class due to a suspected concussion. It wasn’t called a concussion at the time, just a ’sweet-as tackle.’ There was no school nurse to run to, and the thought of going to the hospital because your head hurt, would have been considered an extreme over-reaction.

Mark was fine. He was on the small side, but fast, and explosive. He could change direction quicker than anyone else. He’d end up being the smallest guy ever in the first fifteen.

Hippie was wise but boring and chose to walk.

’Congratulations, you’ve got me. You win. You’re a big winner.’

Carl held his own, and made it to the end without being caught, while poor Chris got a hiding. Four boys, led by Sam, had each taken one of his limbs and as one, threw him into the air. He landed on his back, but didn’t roll as I thought he might. His shoulders had taken the brunt, but his head was ringing and his neck sore, so he joined Simon on the sideline.

Two more boys got caught out by Sam and his goons and were thrown in the air. Each landed badly on their backs, but were able to continue play.

It was my turn to run, and there was no way I was going to let them throw me in the air.

Someone took a lunge at me, but I was able to side-step, but there were too many. They formed a semi-circle and were closing in on me.

’You’re next’ called a grinning Sam. Sam, the farming man, was the last person I wanted throwing me in the air. I’d be lucky if I didn’t break my neck.

’Get the homo’ called out another.

’Grab his grips’ called Evan, the nerdy pork chop who didn’t even deserve the title, as I easily out scored him in every subject.

I was trapped, but being brought down wasn’t an option. They wanted blood. They were going to make me hurt. I lifted my guard up, slowed to a walk and began jabbing.

’You can’t fucking punch’ Sam complained, but he kept back.

’Well you’re not throwing me in the air like you did the others, so stand back or get hit’ Sam stayed back and I made it across the line.

’What the hell’s going on here’ Mr Skelt had returned from the bathroom and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. ’You’re supposed to be in the same class, but you’re treating each other like animals.’ No one said a thing. We were all guilty, although it’s really more their fault than mine. I had wanted to hurt someone, but it was only to pay them back for everything.

Mr Skelt sent us back to the changing room early as punishment.

Back in the changing room…

‘Just you wait’ Sam warned. We were in the changing room and Sam was still pissed about my actions. He turned to Mark ‘I’ll sort him out. I’ll teach him not to punch.’ At least Sam wasn’t trying to get physical with me, at least not off the playing field.

‘Next time mate, ’ Sam boasted as he boldly stepped into the shower. Not everyone has a shower after PE, and not everyone steps boldly into the shower. You may wonder how someone ‘boldly’ steps into a shower. Well, they don’t try to hide it… you know, they don’t mind full frontal, and they happily flick their towel at the exposed rears of those timidly facing the corner, and they always say ‘what you trying to hide, you ashamed of it or something?’ or ‘You trying to hide your pussy?’

‘Don’t get in the shower Mike, I don’t shower with homos.’ It’s just the usual banter, no use getting upset over it, but you learn to give it back. Sam had to come up with something new, but his words were met with the usual chuckles from the boys. I never showered after PE anyway.

‘Yeah Sam, your hairy ass is so irresistible, look, I’m rock hard right now.’

A murmur rippled through the room, maybe of admiration at my comeback, but probably because Sam’s banter suddenly got deadly serious. ‘You’re in for it mate, next time we play, you’re mine.’

Mr Skelt reckoned 3JS were lucky because we were the only class that was big enough to divide into two even rugby teams, plus have a few reserves, and reckoned we should have a class rugby game because it would ‘bring us together.’  He said he’d never seen such a dysfunctional group of kids. I reckon he must have been talking about every fucking one else in this dysfunctional class. I also reckon it’s a bad idea.

Sam lived rugby, (along with every other teenager in the country) but I’ve never played a proper game. Scrag was tough, but there was no coordination involved, just you against everyone as you fought for the ball, and Sam was probably the best player in our year. So many of the country’s best players come from farming backgrounds; it seems that there is no substitute for the physical life.

Should I try and make amends with Sam? I hadn’t punched him, just the air, so he wouldn’t hurt me like the others he’d thrown around.

‘Can’t wait for it Sam, looking forward to it.’ A howl went up from the boys in the locker, hooting and hollering:

‘Mike’s gonna get whipped’

‘Mike’s going down’

‘He’s gonna be owned’

I had to agree with the general consensus. Why does banter only work one way? I’m supposed to take it, but the givers can’t handle a taste of their own medicine.

Now I had to look forward to being legally pummelled in a game of sport.