The Root of a Man

Sunday, May 2nd, 2010

Now I love sport. In grade 4 I was poised to hit the winning home run in our pre-lunch time game of rounders. The pressure was on, all the bases were loaded, Deirdre was renowned as a first rate pitcher, the sky was beckoning with ominous storm clouds and thunderous cracks of lightning, it was rumoured that there would be a test of the eight times table after lunch and the Fruit Loops I had for breakfast although tasty and nutritious had failed to sustain the energy and high level of concentration I needed to send Deirdre’s medium to slow paced under armed pitch over her head and of the park if Team B was to win the tightest of contests.

Deirdre swung her arm back and unleashed hell. As she released the tennis ball thunder echoed around the portables and poisonous treated pine laden playground, the crowd of 20 to 24 ten to eleven year old warriors inhaled a collective gasp on the first bounce of the ptich. Would the slazenger hit the root of the peppercorn tree or would it land on the sweet patch of dead grass like so many other rockets had failed to do? To the crowds amazement it landed smack bang on the top of the Shinius molle’s root system, this allowed the slazenger to sit up nice and plum. It was now only a question of whether I had the wear with all or the balls to strike Deirdre’s meteor back into the constellation from which it came.

Despite all of the odds stacked against me I crisply and cleanly hit that son-of-a-bitch least ten to twenty metres over Jacinta’s head and it was because of frankly her incompetence and inability to return the ball to the catcher with her non-broken arm that my srike resulted in the runs needed to overcome Team A. The celebrations were joyous and I don’t mind telling you that first taste of Champagne is the sweetest, thanks to the teachers of **** who allowed us to bask in the glory of victory and get pissed as well.

I tell you this story because I know what it’s like to be in a pressure situation as an athlete/sports star. Therefore I am the last one who would want to criticise the nature of sports celebrity. So I won’t. The clip below goes to some small way of approximating that glorious day back in ’88.