Once a week, I don purple lycra leggings, leave the smalls in the care of Mr P and let my competitive streak loose on court. I have a big competitive streak and in a match it is all consuming, enveloping my usual sang froid and giving me a fiercely barbed focus.
I would love to say I am a magnanimous player, getting pleasure from the poetry of the game and the cameraderie of my teammates. In my mind I congratulate good passes and smile encouragingly to those who have less confidence in their ability.
In reality I fear I am a harpy. I do say encouraging things but I suspect my facial expressions contradict the kind words. I jump up and down and shout far too much. I fight for the ball as if my life depends on it and run about like a lunatic. I'm all elbows and jutting limbs, flailing in the air and occasionally making painful contact with another player.
Sheepishly, I always say nice things to my opponent when we go off court to compensate for my ferocious behaviour on court and usually they understand.
Occasionally we lose a match I think we should win and I silently boil with rage. There is nothing that irritates me more than losing a match that we were capable of winning and I really struggle to be nice to everyone in those steamy minutes after the final whistle. I smile through gritted teeth and congratulate everyone on a game well played, then make a cowardly dash for the solitary safety of the car where I can rant to the radio all the way home.
How can I tame this arrogant monster and teach it how to play nicely whilst I still have a team to play for?!
9 years ago
1 comment:
Don't tame her.
Let her go wild.
She needs to have her say, and I, for one, would rather you raved at people you don't know than people you do ...!
VW - dingish. What Amaranthine is on the netball court. A whirling dingish.
Post a Comment