Post by atticus on Feb 13, 2017 19:27:48 GMT
I was aware from the excited chatter in the pub over the weekend that something important has been happening in the world of rugby. It has never alas been a game that I have folliowed with any real addiction or even enthusiasm but know of several people who do.
It did remind me of another of my blog jottings which chums might like to see. This dates from 2011 so the early part is now a tad dated.
On Saturday 8 October I did something that I had never done before. I watched a rugby match on television. Well, most of it anyway.
It was the England v France world cup game and it happened to be on the TV of a bar some holiday chums and I were passing in Hisaronu in Turkey. A desire to view the match was expressed so I joined the party, sat down with a bottle of Tuborg lager (real ale is not generally found in Turkey) and found myself quite enjoying the experience. It was 11 am, two hours ahead of the UK so the consumption of a little alcohol was allowed.
I have never been a particular follower of rugby but using knowledge gleaned over the years I was able to follow the action with a fair degree of understanding and was disappointed when England ultimately lost. But the experience did put me in mind of possibly the greatest bluff I have ever managed to pull off.
While a student teacher, my second teaching practice was spent at Furzehill Middle School in Boreham Wood, Herts during the lead up to Christmas in 1974. It was a lovely school (and hopefully still is) and very close to Elstree film studios. One of my pupils was Nicola Gowans, the daughter of the much missed American actress Lee Remick and her husband film producer Kip Gowans. I did have the pleasure of meeting Mr Gowans and was sad to read that he died in March this year aged 80. But I digress.
The fact that Furzehill Middle School boys played rugby rather than soccer made not the slightest difference to me as my duties were entirely classroom based until one day I was asked if I could supervise a boys’ games lesson owing to some sort of emergency involving the regular games teacher. Impossible, I should have said, I have no idea how the game is played, I have no concept of the rules and although I am aware that Twickenham is the home of rugby that truly is the extent of my knowledge. But instead I simply said ‘Ok then’.
At the appointed hour some twenty or so 11 to 12 year old boys and I entered the field of battle with me not having the slightest idea of what I was going to do and acutely aware that every single one of those boys knew infinitely more about the game than I. I was also acutely aware that I had to fill the next hour and a quarter somehow and just prayed that my teaching practice supervisor had not chosen this moment to pay me a visit checking on my progress.
‘Right’, I shouted heartily taking on the persona of Brian Glover’s Mr Sugden character from the film ‘Kes’ ‘let’s have a couple of warm up laps of the field to start. Off you go’.
Good move, I thought. This will kill at least six minutes.
Then inspiration struck. One of the very few facts I knew about this game is that the ball has to be passed backwards so when the lads had assembled after the run I adopted a very serious tone and explained that I had been observing their back passing and it left a great deal to be desired. So we were going to practice back passing the ball for a while. Luckily we had a net housing about six or seven rugby balls so splitting into threes they ran up and down the pitch diligently honing their back passing skills and hopefully building their characters as well.
This carried on for as long as I dared until I was ready for the next stage of my survival plan which had been quietly bubbling away.
I assembled the class again and told them that they were going to split into two teams and play a match. The difference was that on this occasion one at a time they were going to be the referee as I wanted to see (a) how well they knew the rules and (b) how well they could maintain control of the game. A glance at my watch told me that I still had around 45 minutes to go.
Teams were selected, one boy was given my whistle (oh, yes I was a total pro) and the match started in earnest with me genuinely not having a clue as to what was going on. Every now and then I would select a new referee and was gratified to see that just about all of the boys were volunteering for the job when the time came.
Every third whistle blow or so I would stop the game and ask the current ref why he had blown. An explanation that could have been spoken in Arabic for all I knew was proffered to which I would say, ‘Well done. Quite right. Excellent call. Carry on’.
And so it went on. Forty five minutes became twenty and twenty became ten. Just time for another lap of the pitch and off to change.
I truly believe to this day that not one of those boys (who will now be in their late forties) had any suspicion that an unborn child would have known more about the game of rugby than I. But if any one of you happens to read this then please get in touch and let me know. You know who you are.
It did remind me of another of my blog jottings which chums might like to see. This dates from 2011 so the early part is now a tad dated.
IF ONLY THEY HAD KNOWN
On Saturday 8 October I did something that I had never done before. I watched a rugby match on television. Well, most of it anyway.
It was the England v France world cup game and it happened to be on the TV of a bar some holiday chums and I were passing in Hisaronu in Turkey. A desire to view the match was expressed so I joined the party, sat down with a bottle of Tuborg lager (real ale is not generally found in Turkey) and found myself quite enjoying the experience. It was 11 am, two hours ahead of the UK so the consumption of a little alcohol was allowed.
I have never been a particular follower of rugby but using knowledge gleaned over the years I was able to follow the action with a fair degree of understanding and was disappointed when England ultimately lost. But the experience did put me in mind of possibly the greatest bluff I have ever managed to pull off.
While a student teacher, my second teaching practice was spent at Furzehill Middle School in Boreham Wood, Herts during the lead up to Christmas in 1974. It was a lovely school (and hopefully still is) and very close to Elstree film studios. One of my pupils was Nicola Gowans, the daughter of the much missed American actress Lee Remick and her husband film producer Kip Gowans. I did have the pleasure of meeting Mr Gowans and was sad to read that he died in March this year aged 80. But I digress.
The fact that Furzehill Middle School boys played rugby rather than soccer made not the slightest difference to me as my duties were entirely classroom based until one day I was asked if I could supervise a boys’ games lesson owing to some sort of emergency involving the regular games teacher. Impossible, I should have said, I have no idea how the game is played, I have no concept of the rules and although I am aware that Twickenham is the home of rugby that truly is the extent of my knowledge. But instead I simply said ‘Ok then’.
At the appointed hour some twenty or so 11 to 12 year old boys and I entered the field of battle with me not having the slightest idea of what I was going to do and acutely aware that every single one of those boys knew infinitely more about the game than I. I was also acutely aware that I had to fill the next hour and a quarter somehow and just prayed that my teaching practice supervisor had not chosen this moment to pay me a visit checking on my progress.
‘Right’, I shouted heartily taking on the persona of Brian Glover’s Mr Sugden character from the film ‘Kes’ ‘let’s have a couple of warm up laps of the field to start. Off you go’.
Good move, I thought. This will kill at least six minutes.
Then inspiration struck. One of the very few facts I knew about this game is that the ball has to be passed backwards so when the lads had assembled after the run I adopted a very serious tone and explained that I had been observing their back passing and it left a great deal to be desired. So we were going to practice back passing the ball for a while. Luckily we had a net housing about six or seven rugby balls so splitting into threes they ran up and down the pitch diligently honing their back passing skills and hopefully building their characters as well.
This carried on for as long as I dared until I was ready for the next stage of my survival plan which had been quietly bubbling away.
I assembled the class again and told them that they were going to split into two teams and play a match. The difference was that on this occasion one at a time they were going to be the referee as I wanted to see (a) how well they knew the rules and (b) how well they could maintain control of the game. A glance at my watch told me that I still had around 45 minutes to go.
Teams were selected, one boy was given my whistle (oh, yes I was a total pro) and the match started in earnest with me genuinely not having a clue as to what was going on. Every now and then I would select a new referee and was gratified to see that just about all of the boys were volunteering for the job when the time came.
Every third whistle blow or so I would stop the game and ask the current ref why he had blown. An explanation that could have been spoken in Arabic for all I knew was proffered to which I would say, ‘Well done. Quite right. Excellent call. Carry on’.
And so it went on. Forty five minutes became twenty and twenty became ten. Just time for another lap of the pitch and off to change.
I truly believe to this day that not one of those boys (who will now be in their late forties) had any suspicion that an unborn child would have known more about the game of rugby than I. But if any one of you happens to read this then please get in touch and let me know. You know who you are.
