Saturday 3rd August

ATHLETICS TRIALS

It seems a complete waste of time doing track and field trials every year. I know I’m never going to make the school team because I’m smaller, slower and weaker than just about everyone in my age group.

Fatty frantically dug around in his locker looking for his doctor’s slip that says he has a peptic heart murmur. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find it, had a panic attack, and then sprinted off to the san like Carl Lewis. Further bad news for Fatty was that Sister Collins was off duty and a dodgy looking matric boy with acne and greasy hair had been left in charge.

The matric boy told Fatty he had to prove to him that he had a peptic heart murmur. Fatty tore back to the house and then dragged me to the san, with Vern and Runt following behind convinced that there was some sort of emergency. We all arrived at the san huffing and puffing to find the matric boy lounging around with his feet on Sister Collins’ desk. Fatty took some time to find his breath before he said, ‘This is Spud Milton. He’s my witness.’ The matric boy looked me up and down and said:

MATRIC You’rethe fag from the play last year. FATTY He was Oliver. MATRIC Blind. FATTY He only looked like a fag because he had to perm his hair. MATRIC Nah-nah-nah… he looked like a sheep because he permed his hair. He looks like a fag full stop. FATTY Okay, he looks a bit like a fag… but he scores a surprising amount of chicks. MATRIC Hot chicks or growlers? FATTY His last chick had huge tits. I tried to jump into the conversation at this point but the matric told me to shut up.

MATRIC How big? FATTY I dunno… a grapefruit? I suddenly had an image of Mermaid’s grapefruit and started feeling a little unsteady on my feet.

MATRIC What’s he got – a huge dick? FATTY Nah, his balls haven’t even properly dropped yet. MATRIC Blind. By now I was getting ready to stab someone with a medical instrument. The matric boy lounged back in his chair and gave a huge sigh and then looked me up and down.

MATRIC You the oke who kept jumping up and down singing solos in chapel last year? FATTY That was him. But he’s stopped doing all that now. MATRIC Jeez, he really is a fag, hey?’ The matric let out another huge sigh and opened a packet of jelly babies. He stuffed a handful in his mouth and then chewed for about five minutes. Poor Fatty started salivating and staring longingly at the jelly babies. The matric didn’t offer us any and leaned even further back in his chair like he owned the place.

MATRIC Look, Fatty, I’d like to help you and fag boy here, but while this san is under my control I won’t be handing out any off-sport slips. So good luck for the 400 metre hurdles. I decided that I couldn’t leave without saying something.

SPUD Are you doing athletics trials? MATRIC You mad, fag boy? SPUD Why not? MATRIC Cause I got an off-sport slip. He smiled and waved a blue slip at us.

MATRIC Now piss off and go and shit on someone else’s parade. Poor Fatty started sobbing on the bench outside the san. I tried to cheer him up but he reckoned that if he was forced to run more than fifty metres he would have a massive brain aneurysm, his head would explode and he would be left to die on the athletics track in complete agony and torment. He pointed at his massive stomach and said, ‘Look at me, Spud. Does it look like I’m built for sprints?’ I shook my head. He nodded back at me and looked angry. ‘I mean, my parents are paying twenty grand a year to send me here so that I get a good education, not to break the flippin’ four minute mile.’

Boggo appeared out of the morning mist dressed in tiny running shorts that made him look like giant mosquito with long white hairy legs. He nodded at us and said, ‘The second worst day of the year.’ I asked him what the worst day was. He looked up towards Hell’s View and said, ‘Cross country trials. And guess what – that’s next weekend.’ Boggo threw a thumb at the san and said, ‘You’re wasting your time trying the san while Bernard Duffus is on duty. His nickname’s Red Tape.’ According to Boggo, Red Tape has never issued an off-sport slip on his watch. Apparently, the highlight of his sanatorium assistant career was forcing a first year with a broken foot to climb Inhlazane last year.

Fatty, Boggo and I made our way to the long jump pit where Mongrel was repeatedly firing his starting pistol into the air and shouting: ‘Run, you bloody monkey naaiers!’

LONG JUMP

Vern’s first attempt at long jump saw him diving head first into the pit and then noisily chewing sand while people were trying to focus on their run ups. Fatty’s first jump fell well short of the long jump pit and he spent the next ten minutes furiously rubbing his knee under a tree. Simon won the long jump.

HIGH JUMP

Boggo’s the only person who does the scissors jump. With his long woolly legs it’s hilarious to watch. Fatty mistimed his acrobatic lunge quite badly and flattened the entire high jump apparatus. Mad Dog dived over the bar head first and managed to clear one and a half metres. Rambo won the high jump.

JAVELIN

Mad Dog was the best in the school last year in our age group. He can throw a javelin miles! My throw was embarrassingly short and Vern nearly killed a small boy running the 200 metres in lane 6 when he hurled his javelin sideways. Winner: Mad Dog.

SHOT PUT

Fatty won the shot put! I was second worst but only because Boggo fell over on all three throws and was disqualified.

HURDLES

Rambo beat us all by about twenty metres. Vern ran straight through the hurdles without jumping and Fatty was disqualified for running around the hurdles and pushing them over from the side.

100 METRE SPRINT

My time was 13.45 seconds which made me fourth, although Boggo reckons he should have beaten me but Vern kept running in his lane and making Darth Vader noises. Rambo clocked 11.8 which is point three seconds off the school record for the under sixteen age group.

Mad Dog won the 200m, 400m and 800m. Rambo said that if he didn’t smoke he would have won the 200m. After our trials Fatty got a savage thrashing by Mongrel with a loose piece of hurdle. It turns out that Fatty had only run to the first corner of the 800m before diving down and hiding behind the high jump mats. He then joined the group on the second lap. Bad news for Fatty was that a large crowd of people had gathered especially to watch him in case he vomited, exploded or had a heart attack.

After his thrashing poor Fatty limped back to the house looking like he did after being stuck in the chapel window last year.

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 554