The Curious Incident of the Golden Delicous in the Rugby Pitch
I've never really been the athletic sort - if I was given a choice between curling up with a decent book or go stomping through the mud trying to kick a ball between a couple of poles while a couple of kids from the housing estate tried to practice their mugging techniques on you, you could find me in library everytime. Still, I couldn't get away with it all the time, and I'd usually be coerced into joining in for football or rugby. I kept getting told I'd be perfect for the rugby squad, considering at the time I was built like the proverbial. However, I'd also been graced with a mind that knew the best way to avoid getting hurt (I'm a self-confessed coward when it comes to pain) is to do a lot of screaming and running a long way from the ball. Funilly enough, I never played more than one match in the squad, but that didn't stop the teachers trying to keep me in the training in case I got the hint.

However, even they gave up after one particular training exercise. We'd been playing a small 5-a-side game and for once I'd actually been enjoying things. It's possibly for this reason I was acting a little less cautious than usual, and actually being close enough to the ball to be considered fair game. I'm fairly slow on my feet, but I'm causing trouble and liking it - hey, this isn't so bad after all. Then I decide to actually tackle someone, how hard can it be? Problem is, someone else has decided to do the exact same thing.

Picture the scene - a group of 15-year-old boys, roaring with pubescent testosterone playing around with an odd shaped ball (quiet at the back). One of them finally tears away from the mob with it, and is charging straight up the pitch. But watch as the defenders move in to intercept - coming in from the left is our hero in this tale, yelling like a loon and almost salivating with adrenaline. coming in from the right is the school Knob, whose only passions in life include sport and riding anything that looks female. They're bothing big and fast, so this is going to be brutal. The attacker slips past both of them by a hair's breadth.

Inertia's a bitch sometimes. I had enough time to register this blur in front of me as my target slipped away, and possibly just enough time to think "oh sh-" before I collided tete-a-tete with Knob. Luckily for him, his brain was stored somewhere in the region of his boxers, so had little more than a headache for his trouble. Me, on the other hand, was knocked clean out, somehow managing to crumple into the recovery position (something that my PE teacher was a little impressed/disturbed by). I wake up a couple of seconds later with a blinding headache, surrounded by a group of teammates. Everything looks fine - just before someone shouts "Jesus Christ, look at that!", followed shortly by several people getting out their camera phones. Not a good sign. I reach up to my head to find someone has somehow shoved an apple under my skin, and it takes me a few seconds for my mildly-concussed mind to figure this one out. Oh dear.

One visit to the A&E courtesy of an ambulance, a couple of X-rays and a panic-stricken mum later, and I've been released from hospital after being given the all clear for concussion. I then spent the next two days with a migrane in bed while the lump faded (not entirely - still slightly raised where it used to be). After that, I gave up on the idea of dangerous sports - at least, until I discovered the awesomeness that is fire poi...

Length? About 5 seconds between nothing and Granny Smith
(Nykrus, Fri 20 Nov 2009, 23:50, Reply)