Over Competitive Men

This is not strictly linked to the Everest expedition, however, it is related to men competing in a sporting environment, which is close enough so that I can vent my rage through the medium of online lyrics.

On Saturday, I took my 3rd XV rugby team to play away at a school called Abingdon. The hospitality was atrocious: we were given no food, which is ludicrous baring in mind we left at 11am to get there and did not return till 6pm. This may seem a little bit like a middle class whinge because...it is. I'm pretty sure even in war- torn famine hit countries the village sports team still would have eaten in this time frame, if they had also travelled to a posh boys school which on appearance doesn't suffer from a CHUFFING FOOD SHORTAGES.

Now this is what really got my breasts in a bunch. The opposition coach (who was incidentally the referee for the game), rocked up 5 mins before K.O. and shot off straight after it. Common courtesy would suggest he at least meets me before hand for a token cuppa. There are just too many rude individuals in this day and age (I feel like an old man saying this especially because he was about 50 and I'm 22).

This is why I genuinely have nothing but contempt for this cretin, who was Welsh and looked a lot like Ieuan Evans, however, the latter was one of the best wingers of all time and I believe has a job with the BBC (I will get BJ to check with Claire Balding-see post below), so I don't think it was him.

Not only did this vapid dregg of human being give zero penalties to my team in a game of rugby, which is statistically impossible in this kind of sport, but he also was rude to my captain and me: he asked how long I had been teaching for after I politely enquired about one minor aspect of the refereeing, which is irrelevant.

His team unsurprisingly won by 6 points, I still shook his hand but I had firmly wedged it up my crack first.

It just shows that some men have a chip on their shoulder or something to prove even when coaching a group of boys who just want a fun afternoon of sport. I hope he gets his just puddings in some brilliantly ironic way i.e. he cheats horribly in a game and his team win a trophy, which he collects- the trophy he is holding in fact has some substance on the surface that he is highly allergic to and therefore he croaks it. This may seem harsh but in my defence he was a proper you know what.

In conclusion, I hope on Everest the match is played in the right spirit and whether we lose or win, there is no hint of match fixing.

p.s. BJ rung me today and said that after reading the below post, he got on the Piccadilly line from Hammersmith thinking it would stop at Turnham Green, it went straight past it to Acton town. Really cheered me up that.