Since the nation is in the grip of sport’s fever at the moment (which is a lot healthier than swine flu, as I understand it), the right honourable, venerable, wonderbum Chairman Sebastian Coe is rallying the government for sports funding. He wants to see more young people taking up sport in a push for British glory, and to eliminate obesity in all its misshapen, blobby forms.
Inspired by the Olympic splendour happening around me, I decided to get in on the act myself. I may not be the most athletic person in the world. In fact, I’m so out of shape I look like a Rorschach drawing imagined by Jackson Pollock. Regardless, I’m young and impressionable so I reckon I can just pick it up. The gold medal is assured!
But what sport is right for me? I didn’t really know which discipline I would excel at so I decided to try a few different ones. Here are the results:
Inspired by watching the men’s 100m finals and seeing the fastest men in the world compete, I decided that I’d try my hand (or foot) at sprinting. I wasn’t sure what kind of distance I needed to run though. I assumed the “m” in “100m” stood for 100 miles. I wasn’t sure how Usain Bolt managed to run that kind of distance in 9.64 seconds. It took me 3 days, 7 hours and 49 minutes. With enough training, I hope to whittle down this time to something more respectable.
Since I didn’t have my own hammer, I went to the nearest building site to borrow one. Unfortunately, a man on a ladder got in the way of my throw and now I’m being sued due to his incompetence. It’s a shame because I reckon I was on for a world record too.
|That's not a hammer. That's a shot put on a lead.|
I heard somewhere that male swimmers shave their legs to help them move through the water more smoothly. This sounded like a great idea. The lifeguard didn’t seem too pleased when I sat at the side of the pool and started shaving my legs into the water, especially when a kid coughed up a hairball in the shallow end. Apparently it’s “creepy” and I was banned for life. I bet Michael Phelps never had to deal with this nonsense.
By my own count, I managed to achieve a perfect score in this sport on my first try. The trick is to do it solo, so you can guarantee that you’ll always be in sync with yourself. I’ve applied for the regional championships, but they rejected my application when I put “Me, Myself and I” down as team competitors. It’s discrimination!
I threw a packet of Polos into a duck pond. The ducks ate them all and had minty-fresh beaks all day. I assumed that was a loss for me, and decided that this sport is too difficult to continue with.
Since all my attempts to procure a horse ended up with me being chased away by farmers, I had to come up with a plan B. I persuaded my brother to be the back end of a pantomime horse with me. Although we faltered at the first jump and fell down like a bag of spanners, I heard the announcer say that we’d bought the event into “disrepute”, which I assume is a good thing.
I had to try this out in the park since I was banned from the Velodrome for sliding around it in my socks. Regardless, I figured I’d be able to get a decent time just by pedalling hard. Unfortunately, my basket kept falling off whenever I hit a pothole at speed, which took valuable seconds off my time. I also think the pink streamers were slowing me down. Perhaps if I replace them with a go faster red, I might stand a chance.
My rowing attempts were once again destroyed by those ducks! They seem to have developed a taste for Polos and they attacked me on sight. I’ve been pecked in places that I hoped no beast would ever explore with a sharp beak.
Now this might be something I could excel at. I jumped right over my little sister’s sandpit in one massive leap. I’ve never seen a long jumper completely clear the pit before, so I awarded myself the gold in an official ceremony held in my back garden. No one can take that away from me. No one!