U – Umpire

Throughout my adult life I have found that I have a talent for mediation.  Fence-sitting is such an innate talent of mine that my anus has become the exact size as the average fence post. As such, a friend recommended that I became a sports referee.

As you’ve probably gathered from my previous posts in this A-Z, I’m not really the sporty type. Most referees do a lot of running, which didn’t really suit my physique. I was tempted to become a boxing referee, but after watching several YouTube videos of boxing referees getting knocked out by stray punches, I figured I would be safer sticking to a sport with less contact.  That’s why I decided to become a cricket referee.

Cricket referees have a very special title.  They are called “umpires”, which I assumed to be some sort of special vampire.  On my first match, when someone was bowled out, I immediately jumped on the batsman and started sucking on his neck.  After giving him a hickey so large it could be seen from space, I was politely informed that umpires aren’t supposed to suck anyone’s blood.  This was disappointing because I had bought a variety of novelty drinking straws to introduce throughout the match.

I vant to adjudicate your cricket match

It was at this point that I remembered reading something about umpires and their deadly aversion to sunlight.  Not wanting to risk my life, I rescheduled the match for midnight, but the players had a lot of trouble bowling and batting in complete darkness.  I was told to call off the match and rearrange for tomorrow afternoon, which I agreed to as long I could keep every inch of my skin covered.  My trenchcoat and sunglasses combo made me the most stylish umpire the world of cricket had ever seen, even if it did lead to me being questioned by the police for wearing my cricketing clothes near a school.

Being an umpire was great fun.  Everyone knows that chicks dig umpires, especially since those Twilight books became popular.  Since there wasn’t a lot happening on the field, I decided I’d try my luck with the ladies in the stands.  I can’t say I across a single woman in the crowd, but that didn’t stop me from strutting around and flexing at every opportunity.  I can’t say I got a lot of attention, but at least I was able to drive Mrs Addman crazy when I came home in my dirty cricket whites, stood spread eagle in the doorway and shouted “scrub my gusset!” It made her so horny that she promptly moved out.

When one of the players decided to actually hit the ball, I noticed that everyone scrambled to pick it up.  Not wanting to be left out, when a ball sailed close to me, I plucked it out of the air.  The players seemed a little upset by this and chased me out of the stadium, brandishing their crickets bats in a dangerous manner.  I was upset that I wasn’t able to be a cricket umpire after that, but at least I’ve learned how to sleep comfortably while hanging upside down.

Q – Quidditch Athlete

Sports stars seem to earn a lot of money.  The richest people I can think of are the Beckhams and Rooneys of this world; grown men who are paid the annual GDP of Luxembourg to shepherd a piece of leather into a net.  It seems like easy money, provided you have the fitness and skill level required to do it.  Unfortunately, I have neither of those skills, and am unlikely to do so as long as I keep avoiding exercise as if I have a sweat phobia.  I considered trying a non-athletic sport such as snooker, but I don’t look good in a waistcoat.

So it would seem that the worlds of sports and athletics are closed to people such as me.  This seems very unfair.  Just because we aren’t willing to shovel performance-enhancers down our gullets doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t be allowed to compete.  I needed to find a sport where your fitness levels aren’t a problem, and where it doesn’t matter if you look like a dork.  That’s why I delved into the exciting world of Quidditch.

If you aren’t aware, Quidditch is a made up sport from Lord Of The Rings where competitors swim around in a spherical pool and shoot balls out of cannons.  Fortunately, the real life version of this sport is a little easier to understand.  You prance around with a broom between your legs, pretend that you’re flying, and throw balls through hoops.  It’s like basketball, but you walk around as though you’re trying to hide an erection.

Let push for this to be an Olympic sport in Rio 2016!

Joining a Quidditch team is remarkably easy.  You don’t have to prove yourself physically; you just choose a “house”.  I chose Slytherin because it sounded a little bit like foreskin, which no else seemed to find hilarious no matter how many times I pointed it out. 

So I found myself as the seeker for Slytherin Wanderers.  My job was to capture “the snitch”, which was a person running around the field with a top t shirt.  Capturing the snitch wins the game immediately, so I began to devise cunning schemes on how to achieve this.  Most of my nets were confiscated before the game, and the referee postponed the game due to an abundance of bear traps on the field.  In the end, I simply climbed up a tree, waited, then leaped on the snitch from a great height.  When I caught him, I tried to beat information out the snitch, drilling him with questions such as “who have you been snitching to?” and “where are the KGB hiding the nuclear device?”.  Turned out the golden snitch wasn’t exactly what I thought it was.

Still, I was fascinated by the idea of being a snitch.  You had to evade capture, which seemed like a lot of fun in a Loony Tunes, Road Runner kind of way.  I applied to become a snitch, and found myself wearing the coveted gold shirt in the next game.

The rules state that the snitch can leave the pitch and go wherever it wants.  On this revelation, I simply ran off the field as soon as the match started, jumped on a bus, and spent the rest of the game on my sofa at home eating crisps.  They still haven’t found me.  What a bunch of idiots!

I'm Gonna Win

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:

Sprinting

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.

Hammer Throw

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.

Swimming

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.

Synchronised Swimming

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!

Water Polo

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.

Equestrian 

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.

Cycling

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.

Rowing

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.

Long Jump

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!